Part 19 (1/2)
”Are you hurt?” asked Edith, kneeling by her side, as she lay by the roadside.
”Not much,” she replied. ”Only had my wits knocked out a little; I am all right now. Are you hurt?”
”Not much,” answered Edith, as she brushed back the hair that had fallen over Star's face. Then Star arose.
”Where are we?” she asked.
”We seem to be in the country,” replied Edith. ”I see a house across the field aways. We must have help, Star, at once. I do not see the chauffeur; he must have disappeared.”
Edith now released Star, seeing that she was not hurt, and began to brush her clothing to remove some of the be-spatterment that came as a result of her dropping so miraculously in the mire of the highway.
”The chauffeur may be under the car,” said Star.
”Why, I do not see him; it is strange,” said Edith, as she walked about the car, and looked beneath it. ”Let us search the weeds by the fence.”
Carrying out the suggestion, the two young ladies, now fully recovered, but much excited still, began to tramp among the dead herbage by the fence. Edith plunged in among the weeds and thistles and briars, with as much courage as she would have shown in hunting for some piece of finery in her boudoir, having no regard for the dispoilment of her fine clothes any more than if they were of linsey-woolsey. Star climbed the fence and was treading down the reedage of the field with an earnestness of purpose that became her character to act her part well in any employment.
”Here he is!” shouted Star, after trampling down a few square feet of bramble to get to a spot, where she thought she saw, while mounting the fence, a man's coat. ”He is dead!” The man was lying on his face, and Star stood over him.
”Dead!” cried Edith, climbing the fence, and running toward Star, tearing her dress on the briars in her haste to join her friend.
”Dead!” she repeated, as she took Star by the arm. ”Dead! Poor man!”
Both stood looking down upon him, wondering what next to do. Edith stooped down and turned him on his back.
”Oh, Edith! He is my poor brother!” wildly cried Star.
Edith arose, shocked by Star's sudden outburst, wondering what it all meant. Star knelt down by his side, and tenderly took up one of the dead man's hands in hers.
”He is dead! dead! dead! Poor brother!” she said sadly, with her tears falling over him. ”We have found him alone, dear Edith, ourselves. G.o.d must have sent him on this wild ride to reach the pearly gates before his time. Poor brother! We did not know it was him. It is better that we did not know. Poor brother, he is dead!”
Edith bowed her head and wept in sympathy with the grief-stricken Star.
The hollow face of Michael Barton turned up to them, like a Death's Head, in the twilight. He was dead! And this loving sister never knew of the depravity of her fallen brother. It is probably well. For he must have his reckoning with his G.o.d.
CHAPTER XII.
JOHN IS CALLED UPON AN EXTRAORDINARY MISSION.
John Winthrope was sitting by his inelegant little table, and was reading, by the dim gas light, a new text book on modern business methods, and feeling perfectly contented and extremely happy over his prospects for the future, when there came three distinct and quickly repeated knocks at his door. The knocks were made apparently by a person impatient to gain admission. John dropped his book; ran to the door to ascertain the cause of the alarm, so significantly given, and threw it wide open. A messenger of the telephone company, standing in the hallway, handed him a message, and with it the additional information that he (the messenger) was to await an answer. Nervously John tore open the envelope, took out the contents, and read, with considerable trepidation, the following, dated eight p. m.:
”Come at once to my Highland avenue residence. Hiram Jarney.”
Without taking time to think or meditate for a fractional part of a second over the call, John hastily wrote out the following: ”Will be on hand as soon as possible,” and gave it to the messenger, with the instruction to dispatch it immediately upon arrival at the office.
He then began grooming himself for the journey, so suddenly called upon to undertake. He could not conceive the urgent necessity of the summons, except in the light of his position as a servitor of Hiram Jarney, who, he thought, might have very important matters to look after that night.
He pondered confusedly, while dressing, over what the business might be that required attention so promptly, and at that late hour of the day.
He had never been called on such a mission before; nor had he been instructed that he would, at any time, be requested to go to Mr.