Part 47 (1/2)

”La.s.s, if you're goin'--tell me--who was to blame?”

”No one--but myself--father,” she replied.

”Tell me, who was to blame?” demanded Clymer, harshly.

Her pale lips curled a little bitterly, and suddenly, as a change seemed to come over her, they set that way. She looked up at Lane with a different light in her eyes. Then she turned her face to the wall.

Lane left the room, to pace up and down the hall outside. His thoughts seemed deadlocked. By and bye, Doctor Bronson came out with Doctor Wallace, who was evidently leaving.

”She is unconscious and dying,” said Doctor Bronson to Lane, and then bade the minister good-bye and returned to the room.

”How strangely bitter she was!” exclaimed Doctor Wallace to Lane. ”Yet she seemed such a frank honest girl. Her att.i.tude was an acknowledgment of sin. But she did not believe it herself. She seemed to have a terrible resentment. Not against one man, or many persons, but perhaps life itself! She was beyond me. A modern girl--a pagan!

But such a brave, loyal, generous little soul. What a pity! I find my religion at fault because it can accomplish nothing these days.”

CHAPTER XX

Lane took Rose's death to heart as if she had been his sister or sweetheart. The exhaustion and exposure he was subjected to during these days dragged him farther down.

One bitter February day he took refuge in the railroad station. The old negro porter who had known Lane since he was a boy evidently read the truth of Lane's condition, for he contrived to lead him back into a corner of the irregular room. It was an obscure corner, rather hidden by a supporting pillar and the projecting end of a news counter. This seat was directly over the furnace in the cellar.

Several pipes, too hot to touch, came up through the floor. It was the warmest place Lane had found, and he sat there for hours. He could see the people pa.s.sing to and fro through the station, arriving and leaving on trains, without himself being seen. That afternoon was good for him, and he went back next day.

But before he could get to the coveted seat he was accosted by Blair Maynard. Lane winced under Blair's piercing gaze; and the haggard face of his friend renewed Lane's deadened pangs. Lane led Blair to the warm corner, and they sat down. It had been many weeks since they had seen each other. Blair talked in one uninterrupted flow for an hour, and so the life of the people Lane had given up was once again open to him. It was like the scoring of an old wound. Then Lane told what little there was to tell about himself. And the things he omitted Blair divined. After that they sat silent for a while.

”Of course you knew Mel's boy died,” said Blair, presently.

”Oh--No!” exclaimed Lane.

”Hadn't you heard? I thought--of course you--.... Yes, he died some time ago. Croup or flu, I forget.”

”Dead!” whispered Lane, and he leaned forward to cover his face with his hands. He had seemed so numb to feeling. But now a storm shook him.

”Dare, it's better for him--and Mel too,” said Blair, with a hand going to his friend's shoulder. ”That idea never occurred to me until day before yesterday when I ran into Mel. She looked--Oh, I can't tell you how. But I got that strange impression.”

”Did--did she ask about me?” queried Lane, hoa.r.s.ely, as he uncovered his face, and sat back.

”She certainly did,” replied Blair, warmly. ”And I lied like a trooper. I didn't know where you were or how you were, but I pretended you were O.K.”

”And then--” asked Lane, breathlessly.

”She said, 'Tell Daren I must see him.' I promised and set out to find you. I was pretty lucky to run into you.... And now, old sport, let me get personal, will you?”

”Go as far as you like,” replied Lane, in m.u.f.fled voice.

”Well, I think Mel loves you,” went on Blair, in hurried softness. ”I always thought so--even when we were kids. And now I know it.... And Lord! Dare you just ought to see her now. She's lovely. And she's your wife.”

”What if she is--both lovely--and my wife?” queried Lane, bitterly.

”If I were you I'd go to her. I'd sure let her take care of me....

Dare, the way you're living is horrible. I have a home, such as it is.