“Oh, Fred, surely you--” Dearing started to say, but, raising his hand, Walton interrupted him.
“Never mind, Wynn. I have said enough. I have no right to send your sister even a farewell message, certainly not to tell her what my feeling for her is at this moment; but it will be best for the General to rest assured, so you may give him my word that I'll never cross her path again. I am going away to-night, never to be seen here any more. I am not man enough to face this town after my conduct becomes public. I was weak. I fell--that's all. I don't know what will become of me. I blame no one but myself, certainly not my poor old father. You will not see me again. Goodbye. I need not wish you well; you will do well. You were marked by Fate from the start as one of the lucky, _uncursed_ ones.”
The doctor stood up and extended his hand to detain him, but Walton had turned hastily away. Dearing heard his dragging feet in the corridor and then on the sidewalk.
“Poor chap! It is something very, very serious,” he mused. “Nothing but terrible trouble would work a man up like that. I wonder if--” He started and shuddered. Mrs. Barry's pale, troubled face of the morning came before him, then Dora's downcast attitude as he had seen her in the choir only a few moments before. He started, and his blood ran cold through his veins. Could it be possible--could any man sink low enough to--? No; he would not even think of it, else he would regret not having killed the man as he sat bowed before him. No, it wasn't that--the human monster did not live who could pluck and stamp upon that beautiful and helpless flower of maidenhood. He extinguished the lamp, went out into the dark street, and closed his door. The congregation was leaving the church as he reached it. Among the last to go was Dora. He fell in behind her, but made no effort to catch her up. She had shown no willingness to talk to him that morning, and he would not disturb her now. Perhaps the girl was really in love with Walton, and had gleaned some inkling of the young man's trouble. Yes, that would explain her present depression. He walked behind her till she disappeared at the cottage gate; then he turned and went homeward past Kenneth Galt's grounds. He saw a spark of fire moving about under the trees to the right of the gloomy-looking residence which to-night seemed devoid of any light, and knew that Galt was there smoking alone, as was his habit at that hour. Dearing put his hand out to the gate-latch. Perhaps a chat with his philosophic friend would help clear his brain of the maddening thoughts which surged about him, but he paused.