Hanging up the receiver, Parks sought amid the confusion of the desk for a sheet of paper, and envelope. At length he found them; but the pens on the desk were beyond use, and the ink-stands dried and dusty.
It had taken Parks a long time to come to the decision that he should leave this house. Long, and faithfully, and well had he served John Schuyler. He had served him gladly, and given of his best. And, until It had come, had he received besides generous pecuniary rewards, the more grateful compensation of pleasant treatment, consideration, good- fellowship, friendliness. He could not have cared more for John Schuyler had he been of kin to him…. But the disintegration of a man's soul, and brain, and body, is not a pleasant thing to watch. It had come to a place where Parks, in his heart, felt that he could do no more. For the rest, there was nothing to detain him longer.
At first Parks, as most, had come to think that the man was innately a libertine, awaiting but the right one to strike the hidden flint and set the tinder aglow—the tinder that would burn, and consume, and destroy. He had known of men like that—of men who went the even pathway of their lives until there crossed it another who tore them from it; and that one they followed, leaving soul and morals and decency and cleanliness forever behind them. This, at first, he had thought to be John Schuyler. For the woman was beautiful—beautiful as an animal is beautiful…. But then he had not been so sure. His confidence had been shaken; for she had looked into his eyes, too, playfully; and he had felt his very being rock upon its foundation, and he had slunk away, chilled, helpless, horror- ridden…. After that he had avoided her. She had paid no attention to him….
So the anger—the disgust—the resentment that at first he had felt had at length been altered to sorrow, and grief, and pity beyond utterance …. Yet there had been nothing that he could do—nothing…. He could not sleep, of nights…. It was killing him, too….
Upon the soiled, rumpled sheet he wrote…. Came a noise behind him. He looked up, quickly, frightenedly…. It was Blake; and quick relief sprang to the clean-cut face.
But the horror of it was in Blake's. Even as had Parks', his eyes wandered dreadingly about the room. The horror of it all was in his soul, too…. For a long time he said no word. He only looked. He thrust the curtains aside…. The dust, impalpable, strangling, fell about him ….
"Good God!" he muttered. "Good God in heaven!"
He saw Parks.
"Has it been like this for long?" he asked.
Parks shook his head.