Part 42 (1/2)

”Is this your answer?”

”What do you expect? do you want my a.s.surance that my promise to Sybil was made in good faith, and that I intend to keep it? If so, you have it.” She went swiftly past him, with the last words on her lips. And again Frank Lamotte was the prey of his enemy; like a drunken man, he reeled back into the parlor, gnas.h.i.+ng his teeth, cursing his fate, half mad and wholly desperate.

Meanwhile, above stairs, John Burrill was rehearsing to Evan, after his drunken fas.h.i.+on, the recent scene in Sybil's room, not even omitting his own expulsion by wily Mrs. Aliston. As he repeated, with wonderful accuracy, considering his condition, the wild words uttered by Sybil, his listener sat very erect, with wild staring eyes, and lips held tightly together, his teeth almost biting through them; with burning eyes, and quivering frame, and a strange fear at his heart.

Having finished his narrative, Burrill arose:

”I'm to meet some fellows at Forty's,” he said, thickly. ”I'll stop with them a couple of hours, or three, maybe; after that--” and he winked significantly.

”After that,” repeated Evan, and winked in return.

An hour later Evan, pale and s.h.i.+vering, knocked softly at Sybil's door; Mrs. Lamotte appeared.

”How is Sybil, mother?”

”Quiet, but not rational. Doctor Heath has just gone. Evan, why! how badly you look!”

”I feel badly. I'm going to bed; good night, mother.”

CHAPTER XXV.

THAT NIGHT.

At ten o'clock that night, business was running lively at the low ceiled, dingy, riverside saloon, that was most popular with the factory men, the colliers, the drovers, and the promiscuous roughs of W----, and that bears the dignified t.i.tle of ”Old Forty Rods.”

The saloon is well patronized to-night. At the upper end, nearest the door, ”Old Forty,” in person, is pa.s.sing liquors across the bar, and bawling orders to a nimble a.s.sistant, while every now and then he addresses a coa.r.s.e jest to some one of the numerous loafers about the bar, mingling them strangely with his orders, and his calling of the drinks, as he pa.s.ses them across the rail.

”Here's your beer, Lupin; Jack, half a dozen brandies for Mr. Burrill's party; Little, you are out on the brown horse--rum and water? Yes, sir, yes.”

”Burrill's beastly high to-night,” said a factory hand, setting down his beer gla.s.s and wiping his mouth; ”and the boys freeze to him since he handles old Lamotte's rocks.”

”Of course, of course. Burrill don't forget old friends; Jack, bring the rum flask; they've been here a plum hour, them chaps, sir; 'ere's your punch, mister, and they keep the stuff runnin' down their throats, now I can tell you. Burrill foots the bill, of course; and they can do anything with that big chap when the wines get the upper hands of him.

I'll be sworn, they're up to mischief to-night, for I see Rooney and Bob Giles, they delight in getting Burrill into sc.r.a.pes, are drinking light, and plying him heavy,” and ”Forty” turned about to draw a gla.s.s of beer for a low-browed, roughly-dressed man who had just entered, and who was in fact, none other than the tramp who had feasted by the roadside, on the day before, and whom Mr. Belknap had called Roake.

Roake drank his beer, and lounged over the bar for a short time, then called for a second gla.s.s, and after drinking it, went quietly out.

At the lower end of the long saloon, several tables are scattered, and gathered about one of these we see the party spoken of as ”Mr.

Burrill's.”

Five men are grouped about the small table, and among these, John Burrill is conspicuous for being much better dressed, much louder in his laughter, and viler in his jests, and much drunker than are the other four.

Since his change of fortunes, these men have made capital of his weakness, and his purse has supplied their thirst, in return for which he has been fawned upon, and flattered, during the earlier stages of his intoxication, and made a tool and a jest later.

”I mus' go home,” articulated Burrill, drawing forth and consulting a showy gold repeater. ”Folks's sick er home; mus' be good; take er nother drink, boys?”

”Folks sick, eh?” queried Rooney, winking behind his hand at the others, ”wife, I 'spose?”

”Yes, wife I 'spose; wife 'n' brother-in-law, both sick; take er nother--”