What a heaven of
promise it opened to him! Ruth was probably waiting for him now.
Everything might be different when he saw her again.
All his life he had followed the current; the easy way was his way,
and he came back to it again and again. His thoughts shifted and
formed and shifted again like the bits of color in a kaleidoscope.
Presently his restless eyes fell on an old chromo hanging over the
mantel. It represented the death-bed of Washington. The dying figure
on the bed recalled that other figure down-stairs. In an instant all
the floating forms in his brain assumed one shape and held it.
The judge must be his first consideration. He had been shot down
without cause, and might pay his life for it. There was but one thing
to do: to find the real culprit, give him up, and take the
consequences.
Slipping the note in one pocket and the revolver in another, he
hurried down-stairs.
On the lowest step he found Mrs. Hollis sitting in the dark. Her hands
were locked around her knees, and hard, dry sobs shook her body.
In an instant he was down beside her, his arms about her. "He isn't
dead?" he whispered fearfully.
Mrs. Hollis shook her head. "He hasn't moved an inch or spoken since
we put him on the bed. Are you going with the men?"
"I'm going to town now," said Sandy, evasively.
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