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 fore
 
 THE 
 
 STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 r.v 
 
 T. B. ALDRICH, 
 
 1CTBOR OF " M AEJORIE DAW/' " THE QUBUT OF 
 AJID THOM," TC. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY. 
 fTlje HtbcritDt 
 
 1880.
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1880, 
 Br T. B. ALDRICH. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: 
 
 TEREOTTPED AMD PRINTED BY 
 H. 0. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY.
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 IT is close upon daybreak. The great wall of 
 pines and hemlocks that keep off the east wind 
 from Stillwater stretches black and indeterminate 
 against the sky. At intervals a dull, metallic 
 sound, like the guttural twang of a violin string, 
 rises from the frog-invested swamp skirting the 
 highway. Suddenly the birds stir in their nests 
 over there in the woodland, and break into that 
 wild jargoning chorus with which they herald the 
 advent of a new day. In the apple-orchards and 
 among the plum-trees of the few gardens in Still- 
 water, the wrens and the robins and the blue-jays 
 catch up the crystal crescendo, and what a melo- 
 dious racket they make of it with their fifes and 
 flutes and flageolets ! 
 
 The village lies in a trance like death. Possibly 
 not a soul hears this music, unless it is the watch- 
 ers at the bedside of Mr. Leonard Tappleton, the 
 
 311006 - 7
 
 6 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 richest man in town, who has lain dying these 
 three days, and cannot last till sunrise. Or per- 
 haps some mother, drowsily hushing her wakeful 
 baby, pauses a moment and listens vacantly to the 
 birds singing. But who else? 
 
 The hubbub suddenly ceases, ceases as sud- 
 denly as it began, and all is still again in the 
 woodland. But it is not so dark as before. A 
 faint glow of white light is discernible behind the 
 ragged line of the tree-tops. The deluge of dark- 
 ness is receding from the face of the earth, as the 
 mighty waters receded of old. 
 
 The roofs and tall factory chimneys of Stillwater 
 are slowly taking shape in the gloom. Is that a 
 cemetery coming into view yonder, with its ghostly 
 architecture of obelisks and broken columns and 
 huddled head-stones ? No, that is only Slocum's 
 Marble Yard, with the finished and unfinished 
 work heaped up like snowdrifts, a cemetery in 
 embryo. Here and there in an outlying farm a 
 lantern glimmers in the barn-yard : the cattle are 
 having their fodder betimes. Scarlet-capped chant- 
 icleer gets himself on the nearest rail-fence and 
 lifts up his rancorous voice like some irate old 
 cardinal launching the curse of Rome. Something 
 crawls swiftly along the gray of the serpentine 
 turnpike, a cart, with the driver lashing a jaded
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDT. 7 
 
 horse. A quick wind goes shivering by, and is lost 
 in the forest. v 
 
 Now a narrow strip of two-colored gold stretches 
 along the horizon. 
 
 Stillwater is gradually coming to its senses. The 
 sun has begun to twinkle on the gilt cross of the 
 Catholic chapel and make itself known to the 
 doves in the stone belfry of the South Church. 
 The patches of cobweb that here and there cling 
 tremulously to the coarse grass of the inundated 
 meadows have turned into silver nets, and the mill- 
 pond it will be steel-blue later is as smooth 
 and white as if it had been paved with one vast 
 unbroken slab out of Slocum's Marble Yard. 
 Through a row of button- woods on the northern 
 skirt of the village is seen a square, lap-streaked 
 building, painted a disagreeable brown, and sur- 
 rounded on three sides by a platform, one of 
 seven or eight similar stations strung like Indian 
 beads on a branch thread of the Great Sagamore 
 Railway. 
 
 Listen ! That is the jingle of the bells on the 
 baker's cart as it begins its rounds. From in- 
 numerable chimneys the curdled smoke gives evi- 
 dence that the thrifty housewife or, what is 
 rarer in Stillwater, the hired girl has lighted the 
 kitchen tire.
 
 8 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 The chimney-stack of one house at the end of a 
 small court the last house on the easterly edge 
 of the village, and standing quite alone sends up 
 no smoke. Yet the carefully trained ivy over the 
 porch, and the lemon verbena in a tub at the foot 
 of the steps, intimate that the place is not unoccu- 
 pied. Moreover, the little schooner which acts as 
 weather-cock on one of the gables, and is now head- 
 ing due west, has a new top-sail. It is a story-and- 
 a-half cottage, with a large expanse of roof, which, 
 covered with porous, unpainted shingles, seems to 
 repel the sunshine that now strikes full upon it. 
 The upper and lower blinds on the main building, 
 as well as those on the extensions, are tightly 
 closed. The sun appears to beat in vain at the 
 casements of this silent house, which has a curi- 
 ously sullen and defiant air, as if it had desperately 
 and successfully barricaded itself against the ap- 
 proach of morning; yet if one were standing in 
 the room that leads from the bed-chamber on the 
 ground-floor the room with the latticed window 
 one would see a ray of light thrust through a chink 
 of the shutters, and pointing like a human finger at 
 an object which lies by the hearth. 
 
 This finger, gleaming, motionless, and awful in 
 its precision, points to th.e body of old Mr. Lemuel
 
 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 9 
 
 Shackford, who lies there dead in his night-dress, 
 with a gash across his forehead. 
 
 la the darkness of that summer night a deed 
 darker than the night itself had been done in Still- 
 wiiter.
 
 II. 
 
 THAT morning, when Michael Hennessey's girl 
 Mary a girl sixteen years old carried the can 
 of milk to the rear door of the silent house, she was 
 nearly a quarter of hour later than usual, and 
 looked forward to being soundly rated. 
 
 " He 's up and been waiting for it," she said to 
 herself, observing the scullery door ajar. " Won't 
 I ketch it ! It 's him for growling and snapping at 
 a body, and it 's me for always being before or be- 
 hind time, bad luck to me. There's no plazing 
 him." 
 
 Mary pushed back the door and passed through 
 the kitchen, nerving herself all the while to meet 
 the objurgations which she supposed were lying in 
 wait for her. The sunshine was blinding without, 
 but sifted through the green jalousies, it made a 
 gray, crepuscular light within. As the girl ap- 
 proached the table, on which a plate with knife 
 and fork had been laid for breakfast, she noticed, 
 somewhat indistinctly at first, a thin red line run- 
 ning obliquely across the floor from the direction of
 
 THE STILL WATER TRAGEDY. 11 
 
 the sitting-room and ending near the stove, where 
 it had formed a small pool. Mary stopped short, 
 scarcely conscious why, and peered instinctively 
 into the adjoining apartment. Then, with a smoth- 
 ered cry, she let fall the milk-can, and a dozen 
 white rivulets, in strange contrast to that one dark 
 red line which first startled her, went meandering 
 over the kitchen floor. With her eyes riveted 
 upon some object in the next room, the girl re- 
 treated backward slowly and heavily dragging one 
 foot after the other, until she reached the scullery 
 door ; then she turned swiftly, and plunged into 
 the street. 
 
 Twenty minutes later, every man, woman, and 
 child in Stillwater knew that old Mr. Shackford 
 had been murdered. 
 
 Mary Hennessey had to tell her story a hundred 
 times during the morning, for each minute brought 
 to Michael's tenement a fresh listener hungry for 
 the details at first hand. 
 
 " How was it, Molly ? Tell a body, dear I " 
 
 " Don't be asking me I " cried Molly, pressing 
 her palms to her eyes as if to shut out the sight, 
 but taking all the while a secret creepy satisfaction 
 in living the scene over again. " It was kinder dark 
 in the other room, and there he was, laying in his 
 night-gownd, with his face turned towards me, so,
 
 12 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 looking mighty severe-like, jest as if he was a-going 
 to say, * It 's late with the milk ye are, ye hussy I ' 
 a way he had of spaking." 
 
 " But he did n't spake, Molly darlin' ? " 
 
 " Niver a word. He was stone dead, don't you 
 see. It was that still you could hear me heart beat, 
 saving there was n't a drop of beat in it. I let go 
 the can, sure, and then I backed out, with me eye 
 on 'im all the while, afeard to death that he would 
 up and spake them words." 
 
 " The pore child ! for the likes of her to be 
 wakin' up a murthered man in the mornin' ! " 
 
 There was little or no work done that day in 
 Stillwater outside the mills, and they were not run- 
 ning full handed. A number of men from the Mi- 
 antowona Iron Works and Slocum's Yard Slocum 
 employed some seventy or eighty hands lounged 
 about the streets in their blouses, or stood in knots 
 in front of the tavern, smoking short clay pipes. 
 Not an urchin put in an appearance at the small red 
 brick building on the turnpike. Mr. Pinkham, the 
 school-master, waited an hour for the recusants, 
 then turned the key in the lock and went home. 
 
 Dragged-looking women, with dishcloth or dust- 
 pan in hand, stood in door-ways or leaned from win- 
 dows, talking in subdued voices with neighbors on 
 the curb-stone. In a hundred far-away cities the 

 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 13 
 
 news of the suburban tragedy had already been 
 read and forgotten ; but here the horror stayed. 
 
 There was a constantly changing crowd gathered 
 in front of the house in Welch's Court. An inquest 
 was being held in the room adjoining the kitchen. 
 The court, which ended at the gate of the cottage, 
 was fringed for several yards on each side by rows 
 of squalid, wondering children, who understood it 
 that Coroner Whidden was literally to sit on the 
 dead body, Mr. Whidden, a limp, inoffensive lit- 
 tle man, who would not have dared to sit down on 
 a fly. He had passed, pallid and perspiring, to the 
 scene of his perfunctory duties. 
 
 The result of the investigation was awaited with 
 feverish impatience by the people outside. Mr. 
 Shackford had not been a popular man; he had 
 been a hard, avaricious, passionate man, holding his 
 own way remorselessly. He had been the reverse 
 of popular, but he had long been a prominent char- 
 acter in Stillwater, because of his wealth, his end- 
 less lawsuits, and his eccentricity, an illustration of 
 which was his persistence in living entirely alone in 
 the isolated and dreary old house, that was hence- 
 forth to be inhabited by his shadow. Not his 
 shadow alone, however, for it was now remembered 
 that the premises were already held in fee by 
 another phantasmal tenant. At a period long an-
 
 14 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 terior to this, one Lydia Sloper, a widow, bad died 
 an unexplained death under that same roof. The 
 coincidence struck deeply into the imaginative por- 
 tion of Still water. " The widow Sloper and old 
 Shackford have made a match of it," remarked f, 
 local humorist, in a grimmer vein than customary. 
 Two ghosts had now set up housekeeping, as it 
 were, in the stricken mansion, and what might not 
 be looked for in the way of spectral progeny I 
 
 It appeared to the crowd in the lane that the 
 jury were unconscionably long in arriving at a de- 
 cision, and when the decision was at length reached 
 it gave but moderate satisfaction. After a spend- 
 thrift waste of judicial mind the jury had decided 
 that " the death of Lemuel Shackford was caused 
 by a blow on the left temple, inflicted with some 
 instrument not discoverable, in the hands of some 
 person or persons unknown." 
 
 " We knew that before," grumbled a voice in the 
 crowd, when, to relieve public suspense, Lawyer 
 Perkins a long, lank man, with stringy black 
 hair announced the verdict from the doorstep. 
 
 The theory of suicide had obtained momentary 
 credence early in the morning, and one or two still 
 clung to it with the tenacity that characterizes 
 persons who entertain few ideas. To accept this 
 theory it was necessary to believe that Mr. Shack
 
 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 15 
 
 ford had ingeniously hidden the weapon after strik- 
 ing himself dead with a single blow. No, it was 
 not suicide. So far from intending to take his own 
 life, Mr. Shackford, it appeared, had made rather 
 careful preparations to live that day. The break- 
 fast-table had been laid over night, the coals left 
 ready for kindling in the Franklin stove, and a ket- 
 tle, filled with water to be heated for his tea or 
 coffee, stood on the hearth. 
 
 Two facts had sharply demonstrated themselves : 
 first, that Mr. Shackford had been murdered ; and, 
 second, that the spur to the crime had been the 
 possession of a sum of money, which the deceased 
 was supposed to keep in a strong-box in his bedroom. 
 The padlock had been wrenched open, and the less 
 valuable contents of the chest, chiefly papers, scat- 
 tered over the carpet. A memorandum among the 
 papers seemed to specify the respective sums in 
 notes and gold that had been deposited in the box. 
 A document of some kind had been torn into mi- 
 nute pieces and thrown into the waste-basket. On 
 close scrutiny a word or two here and there re- 
 vealed the fact that the document was of a legal 
 character. The fragments were put into an envel- 
 ope and given in charge of Mr. Shackford 's lawyer, 
 who placed seals on that and on the drawers of an 
 escritoire which stood in the corner and contained 
 other manuscript.
 
 16 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 The instrument with which the fatal blow had 
 been dealt for the autopsy showed that there had 
 been but one blow was not only not discoverable, 
 but the fashion of it defied conjecture. The shape 
 of the wound did not indicate the use of any im- 
 plement known to the jurors, several of whom were 
 skilled machinists. The wound was an inch and 
 three quarters in length and very deep at the ex- 
 tremities ; in the middle it scarcely penetrated to 
 the cranium. So peculiar a cut could not have been 
 produced with the claw part of a hammer, because 
 the claw is always curved, and the incision was 
 straight. A flat claw, such as is used in opening 
 packing-cases, was suggested. A collection of the 
 several sizes manufactured was procured, but none 
 corresponded with the wound ; they were either too 
 wide or too narrow. Moreover, the cut was as thin 
 as the blade of a case-knife. 
 
 " That was never done by any tool in these 
 parts," declared Stevens, the foreman of the finish- 
 ing shop at Slocum's. 
 
 The assassin or assassins had entered by the 
 scullery door, the simple fastening of which, a hook 
 and staple, had been broken. There were foot- 
 prints in the soft clay path leading from the side 
 gate to the stone step ; but Mary Hennessey had 
 BO confused and obliterated the outlines that now it
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 17 
 
 was impossible accurately to measure them. A 
 hulf-lmrned match was found under the sink, evi- 
 dently thrown there by the burglars. It was of a 
 kind known as the safety-match, which can be ig- 
 nited only by friction on a strip of chemically pre- 
 pared paper glued to the box. As no box of this 
 description was discovered, and as all the other 
 matches in the house were of a different make, the 
 charred splinter was preserved. The most minute 
 examination failed to show more than this. The 
 last time Mr. Shackford had been seen alive was ftt 
 six o'clock the previous evening. 
 
 Who had done the deed ? 
 
 Tramps ! answered Stillwater, with one voice, 
 though Stillwater lay somewhat out of the natural 
 highway, and the tramp that bitter blossom of 
 civilization whose seed was blown to us from over 
 seas was not then so common by the New Eng- 
 land roadsides ajs he became five or six years later. 
 But it was intolerable not to have a theory ; it was 
 that or none, for conjecture turned to no one in the 
 village. To be sure, Mr. Shackford had been in 
 litigation with several of the corporations, and had 
 had legal quarrels with more than one of his neigh- 
 bors ; but Mr. Shackford had never been victorious 
 in any of these contests, and the incentive of re- 
 
 8
 
 IS THE STILL WATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 venge was wanting to explain the crime. Besides, 
 it was so clearly robbery. 
 
 Though the gathering around the Shackford 
 house had reduced itself to half a dozen idlers, and 
 the less frequented streets had resumed their nor- 
 mal aspect of dullness, there was a strange, electric 
 quality in the atmosphere. The community was in 
 that state of suppressed agitation and suspicion 
 which no word adequately describes. The slightest 
 circumstance would have swayed it to the belief in 
 any man's guilt ; and, indeed, there were men in 
 Still water quite capable of disposing of a fellow- 
 creature for a much smaller reward than Mr. Shack- 
 ford had held out. In spite of the tramp theory, a 
 harmless tin-peddler, who had not passed through 
 the place for weeks, was dragged from his glitter- 
 ing cart that afternoon, as he drove smilingly into 
 town, and would have been roughly handled if Mr. 
 Richard Shackford, a cousin of the deceased, had 
 not interfered. 
 
 As the day wore on, the excitement deepened in 
 intensity, though the expression of it became nearly 
 reticent. It was noticed that the lamps throughout 
 the village were lighted an hour earlier than usual. 
 A sense of insecurity settled upon Stillwater with 
 the falling twilight, that nameless apprehension 
 which is possibly more trying to the nerves than
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 19 
 
 tangible danger. When a man is smitten inexplic- 
 ably, as if by a bodiless hand stretched out of a 
 cloud, when the red slayer vanishes like a mist 
 and leaves no faintest trace of his identity, the 
 mystery shrouding the deed presently becomes more 
 appalling than the deed itself. There is something 
 paralyzing in the thought of an invisible hand some- 
 where ready to strike at your life, or at some life 
 dearer than your own. Whose hand, and where is 
 it? Perhaps it passes you your coffee at break- 
 fast ; perhaps you have hired it to shovel the snow 
 off your sidewalk ; perhaps it has brushed against 
 you in the crowd ; or may be you have dropped a 
 coin into the fearful palm at a street corner. Ah, 
 the terrible unseen hand that stabs your imagina- 
 tion, this immortal part of you which is a hun- 
 dred times more sensitive than your poor perish- 
 able body I 
 
 In the midst of situations the most solemn and 
 tragic there often falls a light purely farcical in its 
 incongruity. Such a gleam was unconsciously pro- 
 jected upon the present crisis by Mr. Bodge, better 
 known in the village as Father Bodge. Mr. Bodge 
 was stone deaf, naturally stupid, and had been 
 nearly moribund for thirty years with asthma. Just 
 before night-fall he had crawled, in his bewildered, 
 wheezy fashion, down to the tavern, where he found
 
 20 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 a sombre crowd in the bar-room. Mr. Bodge or- 
 dered his mug of beer, and sat sipping it, glancing 
 meditatively from time to time over the pewter rim 
 at the mute assembly. Suddenly he broke out : 
 " S'pose you 've heerd that old Shackford 's ben 
 murdered." 
 
 So the sun went down on Stillwater. Again the 
 great wall of pines and hemlocks made a gloom 
 against the sky. The moon rose from behind the 
 tree-tops, frosting their ragged edges, and then 
 sweeping up to the zenith hung serenely above the 
 world, as if there were never a crime, or a tear, or 
 a heart-break in it all.
 
 III. 
 
 ON the afternoon of the following day Mr. Shack- 
 ford was duly buried. The funeral, under the direc- 
 tion of Mr. Richard Shackford, who acted as chief 
 mourner and was sole mourner by right of kinship, 
 took place in profound silence. The carpenters, 
 who had lost a day on Bishop's new stables, inter- 
 mitted their sawing and hammering while the serv- 
 ices were in progress ; the steam was shut off in 
 the iron-mills, and no clinking of the chisel was 
 heard in the marble yard for an hour, during which 
 many of the shops had their shutters up. Then,* 
 when all was over, the imprisoned fiend in the boil- 
 ers gave a piercing shriek, the leather bands slipped 
 on the revolving drums, the spindles leaped into 
 life again, and the old order of things was rein- 
 stated, outwardly, but not in effect. 
 
 In general, when the grave closes over a man his 
 career is ended. But Mr. Shackford was never so 
 much alive as after they had buried him. Never 
 before had he filled so large a place in the public 
 eye. Though invisible, he sat at every fireside.
 
 22 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 
 
 Until the manner of his death had been made clear, 
 his ubiquitous presence was not to be exorcised. 
 On the morning of the memorable day a reward of 
 one hundred dollars afterwards increased to five 
 hundred, at the instance of Mr. Shackford's cousin 
 had been offered by the board of selectmen for 
 the arrest and s conviction of the guilty party. Be- 
 yond this and the unsatisfactory inquest, the au- 
 thorities had done nothing, and were plainly not 
 equal to the situation. 
 
 When it was stated, the night of the funeral, 
 that a professional person was coining to Stillwater 
 to look into the case, the announcement was re- 
 ceived with a breath of relief. 
 
 The person thus vaguely described appeared on 
 the spot the next morning. To mention the name 
 of Edward Taggett is to mention a name well 
 known to the detective force of the great city lying 
 sixty miles southwest of Stillwater. Mr. Taggett's 
 arrival sent such a thrill of expectancy through the 
 village that Mr. Leonard Tappleton, whose obse- 
 quies occurred this day, made his exit nearly unob- 
 served. Yet there was little in Mr. Taggett's phys- 
 ical aspect calculated to stir either expectation or 
 enthusiasm : a slender man of about twenty-six, 
 but not looking it, with overhanging brown mus- 
 tache, sparse side-whiskers, eyes of no definite color,
 
 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 23 
 
 and faintly accentuated eyebrows. He spoke pre- 
 cisely, and with a certain unembarrassed hesitation, 
 as persons do who have two thoughts to one word, 
 if there are such persons. You might have 
 taken him for a physician, or a journalist, or the 
 secretary of an insurance company ; but you would 
 never have supposed him the man who had disen- 
 tangled the complicated threads of the great Bar- 
 nabee Bank defalcation. 
 
 Stillwater's confidence, which had risen into the 
 nineties, fell to zero at sight of him. " Is that 
 Taggett?" they asked. That was Taggett ; and 
 presently his influence began to be felt like a sea- 
 turn. The three Dogberrys of the watch were dis- 
 patched on secret missions, and within an hour it 
 was ferreted out that a man in a cart had been 
 seen driving furiously up the turnpike the morning 
 after the murder. This was an agricultural district, 
 the road led to a market town, and teams going 
 by in the early dawn were the rule and not the ex- 
 ception ; but on that especial morning a furiously 
 driven cart was significant. Jonathan Beers, who 
 farmed the Jenks land, had heard the wheels and 
 caught an indistinct glimpse of the vehicle as he 
 was feeding the cattle, but with a reticence purely 
 rustic had not been moved to mention the circum- 
 stance before.
 
 24 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " Taggett has got a clew," said Stillwater under 
 its breath. 
 
 By noon Taggett had got the man, cart and all. 
 Fut it was only Bluftou's son Tom, of South Mill- 
 ville, who had started in hot haste that particular 
 morning to secure medical service for his wife, of 
 which she had sorely stood in need, as two tiny 
 girls in a willow cradle in South Millville now bore 
 testimony. 
 
 "I haven't been cutting down the population 
 much" said Blufton, with his wholesome laugh. 
 
 Thomas Blufton was well known and esteemed 
 in Stillwater, but if the crime had fastened itself 
 upon him it would have given something like popu- 
 lar satisfaction. 
 
 In the course of the ensuing forty-eight hours 
 four or five tramps were overhauled as having been 
 in the neighborhood at the time of the tragedy; 
 but they each had a clean story, and were let go. 
 Then one Durgin, a workman at Slocum's Yard, 
 was called upon to explain some half-washed-out 
 red stains on his overalls, which he did. He had 
 tightened the hoops on a salt-pork barrel for Mr. 
 Shackford several days previous ; the red paint on 
 the head of the barrel was fresh, and had come off 
 on his clothes. Dr. Weld examined the spots under 
 a microscope, and pronounced them paint. It was
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 25 
 
 manifest that Mr. Taggett meant to go to the bot- 
 tom of things. 
 
 The bar-room of the Stillwater hotel was a cen- 
 tre of interest these nights ; not only the bar-room 
 proper, but the adjoining apartment, where the 
 more exclusive guests took their seltzer-water and 
 looked over the metropolitan newspapers. Twice a 
 week a social club met here, having among its mem- 
 bers Mr. Craggie, the postmaster, who was sup- 
 posed to have a great political future, Mr. Pink- 
 ham, Lawyer Perkins, Mr. Whidden, and other 
 respectable persons. The room was at all times in 
 some sense private, with a separate entrance from 
 the street, though another door, which usually stood 
 open, connected it with the main saloon. In this 
 was a long mahogany counter, one section of which 
 was covered with a sheet of zinc perforated like a 
 sieve, and kept constantly bright by restless cara- 
 vans of lager-beer glasses. Directly behind that 
 end of the counter stood a Gothic brass-mounted 
 beer-pump, at whose faucets Mr. Snelling, the land- 
 lord, flooded you five or six mugs in the twinkling 
 of an eye, and raised the vague expectation that he 
 was about to grind out some popular operatic air. 
 At the left of the pump stretched a narrow mirror, 
 reflecting the gayly-colored wine-glasses and decan- 
 ters which stood on each other's shoulders, and held
 
 26 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 up lemons, and performed various acrobatic feats 
 on a shelf in front of it. 
 
 The fourth night after the funeral of Mr. Shack- 
 ford, a dismal southeast storm caused an unusual 
 influx of idlers in both rooms. With the rain 
 splashing against the casements and the wind slam- 
 ming the blinds, the respective groups sat discuss- 
 ing in a desultory way the only topic which could 
 be discussed 'at present. There had been a general 
 strike among the workmen a fortnight before ; but 
 even that had grown cold as a topic. 
 
 " That was hard on Tom Blufton," said Stevens, 
 emptying the ashes out of his long-stemmed clay 
 pipe, and refilling the bowl with cut cavendish from 
 a jar on a shelf over his head. 
 
 Michael Hennessey set down his beer-mug with 
 an air of argumentative disgust, and drew one 
 sleeve across his glistening beard. 
 
 " Stavens, you 've as many minds as a weather- 
 cock, jist ! Did n't ye say yerself it looked mighty 
 black for the lad when he was took ? " 
 
 " I might have said something of the sort," Ste- 
 vens admitted reluctantly, after a pause. " His 
 driving round at daybreak with an empty cart did 
 have an ugly look at first." 
 
 "Indade, then." 
 
 " Not to anybody who knew Tom Blufton," in- 

 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 27 
 
 temipted Samuel Piggott, Blufton's brother-in-Jaw. 
 " Tbe boy bas n't a bad streak in bira. It was an 
 outrage. Might as well have suspected Parson 
 Langly or Father O'Meara." 
 
 " If this kind of thing goes on," remarked a man 
 in the corner with a patch over one eye, " both of 
 them reverend gents will be hauled up, I shculd n't 
 wonder." 
 
 " That 's so, Mr. Peters," responded Durgin. " If 
 my respectability did n't save me, who 's safe? " 
 
 " Durgin is talking about his respectability I 
 He 's joking." 
 
 " Look here, Dexter," said Durgin, turning 
 quickly on the speaker, " when I want to joke, I 
 talk about your intelligence." 
 
 " What kind of man is Taggett, anyhow ? ' 
 asked Piggott. " You saw him, Durgin." 
 
 " I believe he was at Justice Beemis's office the 
 day Blufton and I was there ; but I did n't make 
 him out in the crowd. Should n't know him from 
 Adam." 
 
 " Stillwater 's a healthy place for tramps jest 
 about this time," suggested somebody. " Three on 
 'em snaked in to-day." 
 
 44 1 think, gentlemen, that Mr. Taggett is on the 
 right track there," observed Mr. Snelling, in the act 
 of mixing another Old Holland for Mr. Peters.
 
 28 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " Not too sweet, you said ? I feel it in my bones 
 that it was a tramp, and that Mr. Taggett will 
 bring him yet." 
 
 " He won't find him on the highway yonder," 
 said a tall, swarthy man named Torrini, an Italian. 
 Nationalities clash in Stillwater. " That tramp is 
 a thousand miles from here." 
 
 " So he is if he has any brains under his hat," 
 returned Snelling. " But they 're on the lookout 
 for him. The minute he pawns anything, he 's 
 gone." 
 
 " Can't put up greenbacks or gold, can he ? He 
 did n't take nothing else," interposed Bishop, the 
 veterinary surgeon. 
 
 " No jewelry nor nothing ? " 
 
 " There was n't none, as I understand it," said 
 Bishop, " except a silver watch. That was all snug 
 nnder the old man's piller." 
 
 " Wanter know ! " ejaculated Jonathan Beers. 
 
 " I opine, Mr. Craggie," said the school-master, 
 standing in the inner room with a rolled-up file of 
 the Daily Advertiser in his hand, " that the person 
 who who removed our worthy townsman will 
 never be discovered." 
 
 " I should n't like to go quite so far as that, sir," 
 answered Mr. Craggie, with that diplomatic suav- 
 ity which leads to postmasterships and seats in the
 
 THE 8TILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 29 
 
 General Court, and has even been known to oil a 
 dull fellow's way into Congress. " I Cannot take 
 quite so hopeless a view of it. There are difficul- 
 ties, but they must be overcome, Mr. Pinkham, ami 
 I think they will be." 
 
 " Indeed, I hope so," returned the school-mastei 
 " But there are cases are there not? in which 
 the the problem, if I may so designate it, has 
 never been elucidated, and the persons who under- 
 took it have been obliged to go to the foot, so to 
 speak." 
 
 44 Ah, yes, there are such cases, certainly. There 
 was the Burdell mystery in New York, and, later, 
 the Nathan affair By the way, I 've satisfactory 
 theories of my own touching both. The police were 
 baffled, and remain so. But, my dear sir, observe 
 for a moment the difference." 
 
 Mr. Pinkham rested one finger on the edge of a 
 little round table, and leaned forward in a respect- 
 ful attitude to observe the difference. 
 
 44 Those crimes were committed in a vast metrop- 
 olis affording a thousand chances for escape, as well 
 as offering a thousand temptations to the lawless. 
 But we are a limited community. We have no 
 professional murderers among us. The deed wlfich 
 has stirred society to its utmost depths was plainly 
 done by some wayfaring amateur. Remorse has
 
 30 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 already seized upon him, if the police have n't. For 
 the time being he escapes ; but he is bound to be- 
 tray himself sooner or later. If the right steps are 
 taken, and I have myself the greatest confidence 
 in Mr. Taggett, the guilty party can scarcely fail 
 to be brought to the bar of justice, if he does u't 
 bring himself there." 
 
 " Indeed, indeed, I hope so," repeated Mr. Pink- 
 ham. 
 
 " The investigation is being carried on very 
 closely." 
 
 " Too closely," suggested the school-master. 
 ' " Oh dear, no," murmured Mr. Craggie. " The 
 strictest secrecy is necessary in affairs of this deli- 
 cate nature. If Tom, Dick, and Hanry were taken 
 behind the scenes," he added, with the air of not 
 wishing to say too much, " the bottom would drop 
 out of everything." 
 
 Mr. Pinkham shrunk from commenting on a dis- 
 aster like that, and relapsed into silence. Mr. 
 Craggie, with his thumbs in the arm-holes of his 
 waistcoat, and his legs crossed in an easy, senato- 
 rial fashion, leaned back in the chair and smiled 
 blandly. 
 
 " I don't suppose there 's nothing new, boys I " 
 exclaimed a fat, florid man, bustling in good-nat- 
 uredly at the public entrance, and leaving a straight
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 81 
 
 wet trail on the sanded floor from the threshold to 
 the polished mahogany counter. Mr. Willson was 
 a local humorist of the Falstaffian stripe, though 
 not so much witty in himself as the cause of wit in 
 others. 
 
 ' No, Jemmy, there is n't anything new," re- 
 sponded Dexter. 
 
 " I suppose you did n't hear that the ole man 
 done somethin' handsome for me in his last will 
 and testyment." 
 
 * No, Jemmy, I don't think he has made any 
 provision whatever for an almshouse." 
 
 " Sorry to hear that, Dexter," said Willson, ab- 
 sorbedly chasing a bit of lemon peel in his glass 
 with the spoon handle, " for there is n't room for 
 us all up at the tywn-farm. How's your grand- 
 mother ? Finds it tol'rably comfortable ? " 
 
 They are a primitive, candid people in their 
 hours of unlaced social intercourse in Stillwater. 
 This delicate tu quoque was so far from wounding 
 Dexter that he replied carelessly, 
 
 "Well, only so so. The old woman complains 
 of too much chicken-sail id, and hot-house grapes all 
 the year round." 
 
 " Mr. Shackford must have left a large property," 
 observed Mr. Ward, of the firm of Ward & Lock, 
 glancing up from the columns of the Stillwater
 
 32 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 Gazette. The remark was addressed to Lawyer 
 Perkins, who had just joined the group in the read- 
 ing-room. 
 
 " Fairly large," replied that gentleman crisply. 
 
 " Any public bequests? " 
 
 " None to speak of." 
 
 Mr. Craggie smiled vaguely. 
 
 " You see," said Lawyer Perkins, " there 's a will 
 and no will, that is to say, the- fragments of what 
 is supposed to be a will were found, and we are try- 
 ing to put the pieces together. It is doubtful if we 
 can do it ; it is doubtful if we can decipher it after 
 we have done it ; and if we decipher it it is a ques- 
 tion whether the document is valid or not." 
 
 " That is a masterly exposition of the dilemma, 
 Mr. Perkins," said the scliool-niaster warmly. 
 
 Mr. Perkins had spoken in his court-room tone 
 of voice, with one hand thrust into his frilled shirt- 
 bosom. He removed this hand for a second, as he 
 gravely bowed to Mr. Pinkham. 
 
 "Nothing could be clearer," said Mr. Ward. 
 " In case the paper is worthless, what then ? I am 
 not asking you in your professional capacity," he 
 added hastily ; for Lawyer Perkins had been known 
 to send in a bill on as slight a provocation as Mr. 
 Ward's. 
 
 " That 's a point. The next of kin has his 
 claims."
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 33 
 
 44 My friend Shackford, of course," broke in Mr. 
 Craggie. . u Admirable young man ! one of my 
 warmest supporters." 
 
 " He is the only heir at law so far as we know," 
 said Mr. Perkins. 
 
 " Oh," said Mr. Craggie, reflecting. " The late 
 Mr. Shackford might have had a family in Timbuc- 
 too or the Sandwich Islands." 
 
 " That 's another point." 
 
 " The fact would be a deuced unpleasant point 
 for young Shackford to run against," said Mr. 
 Ward. 
 
 " Exactly." 
 
 " If Mr. Lemuel Shackford," remarked Coroner 
 Whidden, softly joining the conversation to which 
 he had been listening in his timorous, apologetic 
 manner, " had chanced, in the course of his early 
 sea-faring days, to form any ties of an unhappy 
 complexion " 
 
 44 Complexion is good," murmured Mr. Craggie. 
 44 Some Hawaiian lady !" 
 
 " perhaps that would be a branch of the case 
 worth investigating in connection with the homi- 
 cide. A discarded wife, or a disowned son, burn- 
 ing with a sense of wrong " *- 
 
 44 Really, Mr. Whidden I " interrupted Lawyer 
 Perkins witheringly, 44 it is bad enough for my
 
 34 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 client to lose his life, without having his reputation 
 filched away from him." 
 
 "I I will explain ! I was merely suppos- 
 ing " 
 
 " The law never supposes, sir ! " 
 
 This threw Mr. Whidden into great mental con- 
 fusion. As coroner was he not an integral part of 
 the law, and when, in his official character, he sup- 
 posed anything was not that a legal supposition? 
 But was he in his official character now, sitting 
 with a glass of lemonade at his elbow in the read- 
 ing-room of the Stillwater hotel ? Was he, or was 
 he not, a coroner all the time? Mr. Whidden 
 stroked an isolated tuft of hair growing low on the 
 middle of his forehead, and glared mildly at Mr. 
 Perkins. 
 
 " Young Shackford has gone to New York, I un- 
 derstand," said Mr. Ward, breaking the silence. 
 
 Mr. Perkins nodded. "Went this morning to 
 look after the real-estate interests there. It will 
 probably keep him a couple of- weeks, the longer 
 the better. He was of no use here. Lemuel's 
 death was a great shock to him, or rather the man- 
 ner of it was." 
 
 " That shocked every one. They were first 
 cousins, weren't they?" Mr. Ward was a com- 
 paratively new resident in Stillwater.
 
 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 85 
 
 ' First cousins," replied Lawyer Perkins ; " but 
 they were never very intimate, you know." 
 
 ** I imagine nobody was ever very intimate with 
 Mr. Shackford." 
 
 " My client was somewhat peculiar in his friend- 
 ships." 
 
 This was stating it charitably, for Mr. Perkins 
 knew, and every one present knew, that Lemuel 
 Shackford had not had the shadow of a friend in 
 Stillwater, unless it was his cousin Richard. 
 
 A cloud of mist and rain was blown into the bar- 
 room as the street door stood open for a second to 
 admit a dripping figure from the outside darkness. 
 
 " What ' blowed down ? " asked Durgin, turn- 
 ing round on his stool and sending up a ring of 
 smoke which uncurled itself with difficulty in the 
 dense atmosphere. 
 
 " It 's only some of Jeff Stavers's nonsense." 
 
 " No nonsense at all," said the new-comer, as he 
 shook the heavy beads of rain from his felt hat. 
 " I was passing by Welch's Court it 's as black 
 as pitch out, fellows when slap went something 
 against my shoulder ; something like wet wings. 
 Well, I was scared. It 's a bat, says I. But the 
 thing did n't fly off ; it was still clawing at my 
 houlder. I put up my hand, and I '11 be shot if it 
 was n't the foremast, jib-sheet and all, of the old
 
 36 THE ST1LLWATER TRAGEDY, 
 
 weather-cock on the north gable of the Shackford 
 house ! Here you are ! " and the speaker tossed the 
 broken mast, with the mimic sails dangling from it, 
 into Durgin's lap. 
 
 A dead silence followed, for there was felt to be 
 something weirdly significant in the incident. 
 
 " That 's kinder omernous," said Mr. Peters, in- 
 terrogatively. 
 
 " Ominous of what ? " asked Durgin, lifting the 
 wet mass from his knees and dropping it on the 
 floor. 
 
 " Well, sorter queer, then." 
 
 " Where does the queer come in ? " inquired 
 Stevens, gravely. " I don't know ; but I 'm hit 
 by it." 
 
 " Come, boys, don't crowd a feller," said Mr. 
 Peters, getting restive. " I don't take the contract 
 to explain the thing. But it does seem some way 
 droll that the old schooner should be wrecked so 
 soon after what has happened to the old skipper. 
 If you don't see it, or sense it, I don't insist. 
 What 's yours, Denyven ? " 
 
 The person addressed as Denyven promptly re- 
 plied, with a fine sonorous English accent, " A mug 
 of 'alf an' 'alf, with a head on it, Snelling." 
 
 At the same moment Mr. Craggie, in the inner 
 room, was saying to the school-master,
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 37 
 
 *! must really take issue with you there, Mr. 
 Pinkham. I admit there 's a good deal in spiritual 
 ism which we have n't got at yet ; the science is in 
 its infancy ; it is still attached to the bosom of specu- 
 lation. It is a beautiful science, that of psycholog- 
 ical phenomena, and the spiritualists will yet be- 
 come an influential class of" Mr. Cmggie was 
 going to say voters, but glided over it " persons. 
 I believe in clairvoyance myself to a large extent. 
 Before my appointment to the post-office I had it 
 very strong. I Ve no doubt that in the fur future 
 this mysterious factor will be made great use of in 
 criminal cases; but at present I should resort to 
 it only in the last extremity, the very last ex- 
 tremity, Mr. Pinkham ! " 
 
 *' Oh, of course," said the school-master depre- 
 catingly. " I threw it out only as the merest 
 suggestion. I shouldn't think of of you un- 
 derstand me ? " 
 
 ' Is it beyond the dreams of probability," said 
 Mr. Craggie, appealing to Lawyer Perkins, "that 
 clairvoyants may eventually be introduced into 
 cases in our courts ? " 
 
 " They are now," said Mr. Perkins, with a snort, 
 " the police bring 'em in." 
 
 Mr. Craggie finished the remainder of his glass 
 f sherry in silence, and presently rose to go. Cor-
 
 38 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 
 
 oner Whidden and Mr. Ward had already gone 
 The guests in the public room were thinning out ; 
 a gloom, indefinable and shapeless like the night, 
 seemed to have fallen upon the few that lingered. 
 At a somewhat earlier hour than usual the gas was 
 shut off in the Still water hotel. 
 
 In the lonely house in Welch's Court a light was 
 still burning.
 
 IV. 
 
 A SORELY perplexed man sat there, bending over 
 his papers by the lamp-light. Mr. Taggett had 
 established himself at the Shackford house on his 
 arrival, preferring it to the hotel, where he would 
 have been subjected to the curiosity of the guests 
 and to endless annoyances. Up to this moment, 
 perhaps not a dozen persons in the place had had 
 more than a passing glimpse of him. He was a very 
 busy man, working at his desk from morning until 
 night, and then taking only a brief walk, for exer- 
 cise, in some unfrequented street. His meals were 
 sent in from the hotel to the Shackford house, 
 where the constables reported to him, and where he 
 held protracted conferences with Justice Beemis, 
 Coroner Whidden, Lawyer Perkins, and a few 
 others, and declined to be interviewed by the local 
 editor. 
 
 To the outside eye that weather-stained, faded old 
 house appeared a throbbing seat of esoteric intelli- 
 gence. It was as if a hundred invisible magnetic 
 threads converged to a focus under that loof and
 
 40 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 incessantly clicked out the most startling informa- 
 tion, information which was never by any chance 
 allowed to pass beyond the charmed circle. As 
 nothing came of it all, this secrecy grew exasperat- 
 ing. The pile of letters which the mail brought to 
 Mr. Taggett every morning chiefly anonymous 
 suggestions, and offers of assistance from lunatics 
 in remote cities was enough in itself to exasper- 
 ate a community. 
 
 Covertly at first, and then openly, Stillwater be- 
 gan seriously to question Mr. Taggett's method of 
 working up the case. The Gazette, in a double- 
 leaded leader, went so far as to compare him to a 
 bird with fine feathers and no song, and to suggest 
 that perhaps the bird might have sung if the in- 
 ducement offered had been more substantial. A 
 singer of Mr. Taggett's plumage was not to be 
 caught by such chaff as five hundred dollars. Hav- 
 ing killed his man, the editor proceeded to remark 
 that he would suspend judgment until next week. 
 
 As if to make perfect the bird comparison, Mr. 
 Taggett, after keeping the public in suspense for 
 six days and nights, abruptly flew away, with all 
 the little shreds and straws of evidence he had 
 picked up, to build his speculative nest elsewhere. 
 
 The defection of Mr. Taggett caused a mild 
 panic among a certain portion of the inhabitants,
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 41 
 
 who were not reassured by the statement in the 
 Gazette that the case would now be placed in the 
 proper hands, the hands of the county constab- 
 ulary. " Within a few days," said the editor in 
 conclusion, " the matter will undoubtedly be cleared 
 up. At present we cannot say more ; " and it 
 would have puzzled him very much to do so. 
 
 A week passed, and no fresh light was thrown 
 upon the catastrophe, nor did anything occur to 
 ruffle the usual surface of life in the village. A man 
 it was Torrini, the Italian got hurt in Dana's 
 iron foundry; one of Blufton's twin girls died; 
 and Mr. Slocum took on a new hand from out of 
 town. That was all. Stillwater was the Still- 
 water of a year ago, with always the exception 
 of that shadow lying upon it, and the fact that 
 small boys who bad kindling to get in were care- 
 ful to get it in before nightfall. It would appear 
 that the late Mr. Shackford had acquired a habit 
 of lingering around wood-piles after dark, and also 
 of stealing into bed-chambers, where little children 
 were obliged to draw the sheets over their heads in 
 order not to see him. 
 
 The action of the county constabulary had proved 
 quite as mysterious and quite as barren of result 
 RS Mr. Taggett's had been. They had worn his 
 mantle of secrecy, and arrested his tramps over 
 again.
 
 42 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 Another week dragged by, and the editorial pre- 
 diction seemed as far as ever from fulfillment. But 
 on the afternoon which closed that fortnight a very 
 singular thing did happen. Mr. Slocum was sitting 
 alone in his office, which occupied the whole of a 
 small building at the right of the main gate to the 
 marble works, when the door behind him softly 
 opened and a young man, whose dress covered with 
 stone-dust indicated his vocation, appeared on the 
 threshold. He hesitated a second, and then stepped 
 into the room. Mr. Slocum turned round with a 
 swift, apprehensive air. 
 
 " You gave me a start ! I believe I have n't any 
 nerves left. Well?" 
 
 " Mr. Slocum, I have found the man." 
 
 The proprietor of the marble yard half rose 
 from the desk in his agitation. 
 
 " Who is it ? " he asked beneath his breath. 
 
 The same doubt or irresolution which had checked 
 the workman at the threshold seemed again to have 
 taken possession of him. It was fully a moment 
 before he gained the mastery over himself; but 
 the mastery was complete ; for he leaned forward 
 gravely, almost coldly, and pronounced two words. 
 A quick pallor overspread Mr. Slocum's features. 
 
 " Good God ! " he exclaimed, sinking back into 
 ihe chair. " Are you mad ! "
 
 V. 
 
 THE humblest painter of real life, if he could 
 have his desire, would select a picturesque back- 
 ground for his figures; but events have un inex- 
 orable fashion of choosing their own landscape. In 
 the present instance it is reluctantly conceded that 
 there are few uglier or more commonplace towns 
 in New England than Stillwater, a straggling, 
 overgrown village, with whose rural aspects are 
 curiously blended something of the grimness and 
 squalor of certain shabby city neighborhoods. Be- 
 ing of comparatively recent date, the place has 
 none of those colonial associations which, like 
 sprigs of lavender in an old chest of drawers, are 
 a saving grace to other quite as dreary nooks and 
 corners. 
 
 Here and there at what is termed the West End 
 is a neat brick mansion with garden attached, where 
 nature asserts herself in dahlias and china-asters ; 
 but the houses are mostly frame houses that have 
 tukt-n a prevailing dingy tint from the breath of 
 the tall chimneys which dominate the village. The
 
 44 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 sidewalks in the more aristocratic quarter are cov- 
 ered with a thin, elastic paste of asphalte, worn 
 down to the gravel in patches, and emitting in the 
 heat of the day an astringent, bituminous odor. 
 The population is chiefly of the rougher sort, such 
 as breeds in the shadow of foundries and factories ; 
 and if the Protestant pastor and the fatherly Cath- 
 olic priest, whose respective lots are cast there, have 
 sometimes the sense of being missionaries dropped 
 in the midst of a purely savage community, the de- 
 lusion is not wholly unreasonable. 
 
 The irregular heaps of scoria that have accumu- 
 lated in the vicinity of the iron works give the 
 place an illusive air of antiquity ; but it is neither 
 ancient nor picturesque. The oldest and most pic- 
 torial thing in Stillwater is probably the marble 
 yard, around three sides of which the village may 
 be said to have sprouted up rankly, bearing here 
 and there an industrial blossom in the shape of an 
 iron-mill or a cardigan-jacket manufactory. Row- 
 land Slocum, a man of considerable refinement, 
 great kindness of heart, and no force, inherited the 
 yard from his father, and at the period this narra- 
 tive opens (the summer of 187-) was its sole pro- 
 prietor and nominal manager, the actual manager 
 being Richard Shackford, a prospective partner in 
 the business and the betrothed of Mr. Slocum's 
 daughter Margaret.
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 45 
 
 Forty years ago every tenth person in Stillwater 
 was either a Shackford or a Slocum. Twenty yeare 
 later both names were nearly extinct there. That 
 fatality which seems to attend certain New Eng- 
 land families had stripped every leaf but two from 
 the Shackford branch. These were Lemuel Shack- 
 ford, then about forty-six, and Richard Shackford, 
 aged four. Lemuel Shackford had laid up a com- 
 petency as ship-master in the New York and Cal- 
 cutta trade, and in 1852 had returned to his native 
 village, where he found his name and stock repre- 
 sented only by little Dick, a very cheerful orphan, 
 who stared complacently with big blue eyes at fate, 
 and made mud-pies in the lane whenever he could 
 elude the vigilance of the kindly old woman who 
 had taken him under her roof. This atom of hu- 
 manity, by some strange miscalculation of nature, 
 was his cousin. 
 
 The strict devotion to his personal interests which 
 had enabled Mr. Shackford to acquire a fortune thus 
 early caused him to look askance at a penniless 
 young kinsman with stockings down at heel, and a 
 straw hat three sizes too large for him set on the 
 back of his head. But Mr. Shackford was ashamed 
 to leave little Dick a burden upon the hands of 
 a poor woman of no relationship whatever to the 
 child ; so little Dick was transferred to that tie-
 
 46 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 jected house which has already been described, and 
 was then known as the Sloper house. 
 
 Here, for three or four years, Dick grew up, as 
 neglected as a weed, and every inch as happy. It 
 should be mentioned that for the first year or so a 
 shock -headed Cicely from the town-farm had appar- 
 ently been hired not to take care of him. But 
 Dick asked nothing better than to be left to his 
 own devices, which, moreover, were innocent enough. 
 He would sit all day in the lane at the front gate 
 pottering with a bit of twig or a case-knife in the 
 soft clay. From time to time passers-by observed 
 that the child was not making mud-pies, but trac- 
 ing figures, comic or grotesque as might happen, 
 and always quite wonderful for their lack of resem- 
 blance to anything human. That patch of reddish- 
 brown clay was his sole resource, his slate, his 
 drawing-book, and woe to anybody who chanced to 
 walk over little Dick's arabesques. Patient and 
 gentle in his acceptance of the world's rebuffs, this 
 he would not endure. He was afraid of Mr. Shack- 
 ford, yet one day, when the preoccupied man hap- 
 pened to trample on a newly executed hieroglyphic, 
 the child rose to his feet white with rage, his fin- 
 gers clenched, and such a blue fire flashing in his 
 eyes that Mr. Shackford drew back aghast. 
 "Why, it's a little devill"
 
 THE ST1LLWATER TRAGEDY. 47 
 
 While Shackford junior was amusing himself 
 with his primitive bas-reliefs, Shackford senior 
 amused himself with his lawsuits. From the hour 
 when he returned to the town until the end of his 
 days Mr. Shackford was up to his neck in legal dif- 
 ficulties. Now he resisted a betterment assessment, 
 and fought the town ; now he secured an injunc- 
 tion on the Miantowona Iron Works, and fought 
 the corporation. He was understood to have a per- 
 petual case in equity before the Marine Court in 
 New York, to which city lie made frequent and 
 uiKiunounced journeys. His immediate neighbors 
 stood in terror of him. He was like a duelist, on 
 the alert to twist the slightest thing into a casus 
 belli. The law was his rapier, his recreation, and 
 IH willing to bleed for it. 
 
 Meanwhile that fairy world of which every baby 
 becomes a Columbus so soon as it is able to walk 
 ned an undiscovered continent to little Dick. 
 Grim life looked in upon him as he lay in the cra- 
 dle. The common joys of childhood were a sealed 
 volume to him. A single incident of those years 
 lights up the whole situation. A vague rumor had 
 been blown to Dick of a practice of hanging up 
 ings at Christmas. It struck his materialistic 
 mind as rather a senseless thing to do ; but never- 
 theless he resolved to try it one Christmas Eve. He
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 lay awake a long while in the frosty darkness, skep- 
 tically waiting for something remarkable to hap- 
 pen ; once he crawled out of the cot-bed and groped 
 his way to the chimney place. The next morning 
 he was scarcely disappointed at finding nothing in 
 the piteous little stocking, except the original holes. 
 The years that stole silently over the heads of 
 the old man and the young child in Welch's Court 
 brought a period of wild prosperity to Stilhvater. 
 The breath of war blew the forges to a white heat, 
 and the baffling problem of the mediaeval alchemists' 
 was solved. The baser metals were transmuted 
 into gold. A disastrous, prosperous time, with the 
 air rent periodically by the cries of newsboys a* 
 battles were fought, and by the roll of the drum in 
 the busy streets as fresh recruits were wanted. 
 Glory and death to the Southward, and at the 
 North pale women in black. 
 
 All which interested Dick mighty little. After 
 he had learned to read at the district school, he es- 
 caped into another world. Two lights were now 
 generally seen burning of a night in the Shackford 
 house: one on the ground-floor where Mr. Shack- 
 ford sat mouthing his contracts and mortgages, 
 1 weaving his webs like a great, lean, gray 
 spider; and the other in the north gable, where 
 hung over a tattered copy of Robinson
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 49 
 
 Crusoe by the flicker of the candle-ends which he 
 had captured during the day. 
 
 Little Dick was little Dick no more : a tall, 
 heavily built blond boy, with a quiet, sweet dis- 
 position, that at first offered temptations to the 
 despots of the playground ; but a sudden flaring up 
 once or twice of that unexpected spirit which had 
 broken out in his babyhood brought him immunity 
 from serious persecution. 
 
 The boy's home life at this time would have 
 seemed pathetic to an observer, the more pathetic, 
 perhaps, in that Dick himself was not aware of its 
 exceptional barrenness. The holidays that bring 
 new brightness to the eyes of happier children 
 were to him simply days when he did not go 
 to school, and was expected to provide an extra 
 quantity of kindling wood. He was housed, and 
 fed, and clothed, after a fashion, but not loved. 
 Mr. Sha^kford did not ill-treat the lad, in the sense 
 of beating him ; he merely neglected him. Every 
 year the man became more absorbed in his law 
 cases and his money, which accumulated magically. 
 He dwelt in a cloud of calculations. Though all 
 his interests attached him to the material world, 
 his dry, attenuated body seemed scarcely a part 
 of it. 
 
 4
 
 50 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " Shackford, what are you going to do with that 
 scapegrace of yours ? " 
 
 It was Mr. Leonard Tappleton who ventured the 
 question. Few persons dared to interrogate Mr. 
 Shackford on his private affairs. 
 
 " I ain going to make a lawyer of him," said Mr. 
 Shackford, crackling his finger-joints like stiff 
 parchment. 
 
 " You could u' do better. You ought to have an 
 attorney in the family." 
 
 " Just so," assented Mr. Shackford, dryly. " I 
 could throw a bit of business in his way now and 
 then, eh ? " 
 
 "You could make his fortune, Shackford. I 
 don't see but you might employ him all the time. 
 When he was not fighting the corporations, you 
 might keep him at it suing you for his fees." 
 
 " Very good, very good indeed," responded Mr. 
 Shackford, with a smile in which his eyes took no 
 share, it was merely a momentary curling up of 
 crisp wrinkles. He did not usually smile at other 
 people's pleasantries ; but when a person worth 
 three or four hundred thousand dollars condescends 
 to indulge a joke, it is not to be passed over like 
 that of a poor relation. " Yes, yes," muttered the 
 old man, as he stooped and picked up a pin, add- 
 ing it to a row of similarly acquired pins which
 
 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 61 
 
 gave .the left lapel of his threadbare coat the ap- 
 pearance of a miniature harp, " I shall make a 
 lawyer of him." 
 
 It had long been settled in Mr. Shackford's mind 
 that Richard, so soon as he had finished his studies, 
 should enter the law-office of Brandmann & Sharpe, 
 a firm of rather sinister reputation in South Mill- 
 ville. 
 
 At fourteen Richard's eyes had begun to open on 
 the situation ; at fifteen he saw very clearly ; and 
 one day, without much preliminary formulating of 
 his plan, he decided on a step that had been taken 
 by every male Shackford as far back as tradition 
 preserves the record of the family. 
 
 A friendship had sprung up between Richard 
 and one William Durgin, a school-mate. This 
 Durgin was a sallow, brooding boy, a year older 
 than himself. The two lads were antipodal in 
 disposition, intelligence, and social standing ; for 
 though Richard went poorly clad, the reflection of 
 his cousin's wealth gilded him. Durgin was the 
 son of a washerwoman. An intimacy between the 
 two would perhaps have been unlikely but for one 
 fact : it was Durgin's mother who had given little 
 Dick a shelter at the period of his parents' death. 
 Though the circumstance did not lie within the 
 pale of Richard's personal memory, he acknowl-
 
 52 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 edged the debt by rather insisting on Durgin's 
 friendship. It was William Durgin, therefore, 
 who was elected to wait upon Mr. Shackford on 
 a certain morning which found that gentleman 
 greatly disturbed by an unprecedented occurrence, 
 Richard had slept out of the house the previous 
 night. 
 
 Durgin was the bearer of a note which Mr. 
 Shackford received in some astonishment, and read 
 deliberately, blinking with weak eyes behind his 
 glasses. Having torn off the blank page and laid 
 it aside for his own more economical correspond- 
 ence (the rascal had actually used a whole sheet to 
 write ten words !), Mr. Shackford turned, and with 
 the absorbed air of a naturalist studying some ab- 
 normal bug gazed over the steel bow of his specta- 
 cles at Durgin. 
 
 " Skit ! " 
 
 Durgin hastily retreated. 
 
 "There's a poor lawyer saved," muttered the 
 old man, taking down his overcoat from a peg be- 
 hind the door, and snapping off a shred of lint on 
 the collar with his lean forefinger. Then his face 
 relaxed, and an odd grin diffused a kind of wintry 
 glow over it. 
 
 Richard had run away to sea.
 
 VI. 
 
 AFTER a lapse of four years, during which he 
 had as completely vanished out of the memory of 
 Stillwater as if he had been lying all the while in 
 the crowded family tomb behind the South Church, 
 Richard Shackford reappeared one summer morn- 
 ing at the door of his cousin's house in Welch's 
 Court. Mr. Shackford was absent at the moment, 
 and Mrs. Morganson, an elderly deaf woman, who 
 came in for a few hours every day to do the house- 
 work, was busy in the extension. Without an- 
 nouncing himself, Richard stalked up-stairs to the 
 chamber in the gable, and went directly to a little 
 shelf in one corner, upon which lay the dog's-eared 
 copy of Robinson Crusoe just as he had left it, save 
 the four years' accumulation of dust. Richard took 
 the book fiercely in both hands, and with a single 
 mighty tug tore it from top to bottom, and threw 
 the fragments into the fire-place. 
 
 A moment later, on the way down-stairs, he en- 
 countered his kinsman ascending. 
 
 " Ah, you have come back ! " was Mr. Shuck- 
 ford's grim greeting after a second's hesitation.
 
 54 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " Yes," said Richard, with embarrassment, though 
 he had made up his mind not to be embarrassed by 
 his cousin. 
 
 " I can't say I was looking for you. You might 
 have dropped me a line; you were politer when you 
 left. Why do you come back, and why did you go 
 away ? " demanded the old man, with abrupt fierce- 
 ness. The last four years had bleached him and 
 bent him and made him look very old. 
 
 "I did n't like the idea of Blandmann & Sharpe, 
 for one thing," said Richard, u and I thought I 
 liked the sea." 
 
 "And did you?" 
 
 " No, sir ! I enjoyed seeing foreign parts, and 
 all that." 
 
 " Quite the young gentleman on his travels. But 
 the sea did n't agree with you, and now you like 
 the idea of Blandmann & Sharpe ? " 
 
 "Not the least in the world, I assure you!" 
 cried Richard. "I take to it as little as ever I 
 did." 
 
 " Perhaps that is fortunate. But it 's going to 
 be rather difficult to suit your tastes. What do 
 you like ? " 
 
 " I like you, cousin Lemuel ; you have always 
 been kind to me in your way," said poor Rich- 
 ard, yearning for a glimmer of human warmth and
 
 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 55 
 
 sympathy, and forgetting all the dreariness of his 
 uncared-for childhood. He had been out in the 
 world, and had found it even harder-hearted than 
 his own home, which now he idealized in the first 
 flush of returning to it. Again he saw himself, a 
 blond-headed little fellow with stocking down at 
 heel, climbing the steep staircase, or digging in the 
 clay at the front gate with the air full of the breath 
 of lilacs. That same penetrating perfume, blown 
 through the open hall -door as he spoke, nearly 
 brought the tears to his eyes. He had looked for- 
 ward for years to this coming back to Stiliwater. 
 Many a time, as he wandered along the streets of 
 some foreign sea-port, the rich architecture and the 
 bright costumes had faded out before him, and 
 given place to the fat gray belfrey and slim red 
 chimneys of the humble New England village where 
 he was born. He had learned to love it after los- 
 ing it; and now he had struggled back through 
 countless trials and disasters to find no welcome. 
 
 " Cousin Lemuel," said Richard gently, ' only 
 just us two are left, and we ought to be good 
 friends, at least." 
 
 " We are good enough friends," mumbled Mr. 
 Shackford, who could not evade taking the hand 
 which Richard had forlornly reached out to him, 
 4 but that need n't prevent us understanding each
 
 56 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 other like rational creatures. I don't care for a 
 great deal of fine sentiment in people who run 
 away without saying so much as thank 'e." 
 
 " I was all wrong ! " 
 
 " That's what folks always say, with the delu- 
 sion that it makes everything all right." 
 
 "Surely it helps, to admit it." 
 
 " That depends ; it generally does n't. What 
 do yon propose to do ? " 
 
 " I hardly know at the moment ; my plans are 
 quite in the air." 
 
 "In the air !" repeated Mr. Shackford. "I fancy 
 that describes them. Your father's plans were 
 always in the air, too, and he never got any of 
 them down." 
 
 " I intend to get mine down." 
 
 " Have you saved by anything ? " 
 
 " Not a cent." 
 
 " I thought as much." 
 
 " I had a couple of hundred dollars in my sea- 
 chest ; but I was shipwrecked, and lost it. I barely 
 saved myself. When Robinson Crusoe " 
 
 " Damn Robinson Crusoe ! " snapped Mr. Shack- 
 ford. 
 
 " That 's what I say," returned Richard gravely. 
 ** When Robinson Crusoe was cast on an uninhab- 
 ited island, shrimps and soft-shell crabs and all
 
 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 57 
 
 sorts of delicious mollusks ready boiled, I 've no 
 doubt crawled up the beach, and bogged him to 
 eat them ; but / nearly starved to death." 
 
 " Of course. You will always be shipwrecked, 
 and always be starved to death; you are one of 
 that kind. I don't believe you are a Shackford at 
 all. When they were not anything else they were 
 good sailors. If you only had a drop of his blood 
 in your veins ! " and Mr. Shackford waved his 
 hand towards a faded portrait of a youngish, florid 
 gentleman with banged hair and high coat-collar, 
 which hung against the wall half-way up the stair- 
 case. This was the counterfeit presentment of 
 Lemuel Shackford's father seated with his back at 
 an open window, through which was seen a ship 
 under full canvas with the union-jack standing out 
 straight in the wrong direction. " But what are 
 you going to do for yourself ? You can't start a 
 subscription paper, and play the shipwrecked mar- 
 iner, you know." 
 
 " No, I hardly care to do that," said Richard, 
 with a good-natured laugh, " though no poor devil 
 ever had a better outfit for the character." 
 
 44 What are you calculated for ? " 
 
 Richard was painfully conscious of his unfitness 
 for many things ; but he felt there was nothing in 
 life to which he was so ill adapted as his present
 
 58 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 
 
 position. Yet, until he could look about him, he 
 must needs eat his kinsman's reluctant bread, or 
 starve. The world was younger and more unso- 
 phisticated when manna dropped from the clouds. 
 
 Mr. Shackford stood with his neck craned over 
 the frayed edge of his satin stock and one hand 
 resting indecisively on the banister, and Richard 
 on the step above, leaning his back against the 
 blighted flowers of the wall-paper. From an oval 
 window at the head of the stairs the summer sun- 
 shine streamed upon them, and illuminated the 
 high-shouldered clock which, ensconced in an al- 
 cove, seemed to be listening to the conversation. 
 
 " There 's no chance for you in the law," said Mr. 
 Shackford, after a long pause. " Sharpe's nephew 
 has the berth. A while ago I might have got you 
 into the Miantowona Iron Works ; but the rascally 
 directors are trying to ruin me now. There 's the 
 Union Store, if they happen to want a clerk. I 
 suppose you would be about as handy behind a 
 counter as a hippopotamus. I have no business of 
 my own to train you to. You are not good for the 
 sea, and the sea has probably spoiled you for any- 
 thing else. A drop of salt water just poisons a 
 landsman. I am sure I don't know what to do with 
 you." 
 
 "Don't bother yourself about it at all," said
 
 THE STILLWATEB TBAGEDY. 59 
 
 Richard, cheerfully. " You are going back on the 
 whole family, ancestors and posterity, by suggest- 
 ing that I can't make my own living. I only want 
 a little time to take breath, don't you see, and a 
 crust and a bed for a few days, such as you might 
 give any wayfarer. Meanwhile, I will look after 
 things around the place. I fancy I was never an 
 idler here since the day I learnt to split kindling." 
 
 "There's your old bed in the north chamber," 
 said Mr. Shackford, wrinkling his forehead help- 
 lessly. " According to my notion, it is not so good 
 as a bunk, or a hammock slung in a tidy forecastle, 
 but it 's at your service, and Mrs. Morganson, I 
 dare say, can lay an extra plate at table." 
 
 With which gracious acceptance of Richard's 
 proposition, Mr. Shackford resumed his way up- 
 stairs, and the young man thoughtfully descended, 
 to the hall-door and thence into the street, to take 
 a general survey of the commercial capabilities of 
 Still water. 
 
 The outlook was not inspiring. A machinist, or 
 a mechanic, or a day laborer might have found a 
 foot-hold. A man without handicraft was not in 
 request in Stillwater. " What is your trade ? " was 
 the staggering question that met Richard at the 
 threshold. He went from workshop to workshop, 
 confidently and cheerfully at first, whistling softly
 
 60 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 between whiles; but at every turn the question 
 confronted him. In some places, where he was rec- 
 ognized with thinly veiled surprise as that boy of 
 Shackford's, he was kindly put off ; in others he re- 
 ceived only a stare or a brutal No. 
 
 By noon he had exhausted the leading shops and 
 offices in the village, and was so disheartened that 
 he began to dread the thought of returning home 
 to dinner. Clearly, he was a superfluous person in 
 Stillwater. A mortar-splashed hod-carrier, who had 
 seated himself on a pile of brick and was eating his 
 noonday rations from a tin can just brought to him 
 by a slatternly girl, gave Richard a spasui of envy. 
 Here was a man who had found his place, and was 
 establishing what Richard did not seem able to 
 establish in his own case a right to exist. 
 
 At supper Mr. Shackford refrained from examin- 
 ing Richard on his day's employment, for which re- 
 serve, or indifference, the boy was grateful. When 
 the silent meal was over the old man went to his 
 papers, and Richard withdrew to his room in the 
 gable. He had neglected to provide himself with 
 a candle. However, there was nothing to read, for 
 in destroying Robinson Crusoe he had destroyed 
 his entire library ; so he sat and brooded in the 
 moonlight, casting a look of disgust now and then 
 at the mutilated volume on the hearth. That lying
 
 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 61 
 
 romance ! It had been, indirectly, the cause of all 
 his woe, filling his boyish brain with visions of 
 picturesque adventure, and sending him off to sea, 
 where he had lost four precious yean of his life. 
 
 "If I had stuck to my studies," reflected Richard 
 while undressing, " I might have made something 
 of myself. He 's a great fraud, Robinson Crusoe." 
 
 Richard fell asleep with as much bitterness in 
 his bosom against DeFoe's ingenious hero as if Rob- 
 inson had been a living person instead of a living 
 fiction, and out of this animosity grew a dream so 
 fantastic and comical that Richard awoke himself 
 with a bewildered laugh just as the sunrise red- 
 dened the panes of his chamber window. In this 
 dream somebody came to Richard and asked him if 
 he had heard of that dreadful thing about young 
 Crusoe. 
 
 " No, confound him ! " said Richard, " what is 
 it?" 
 
 " It has been ascertained," said somebody, who 
 seemed to Richard at once an intimate friend and 
 an utter stranger, " it has been ascertained be- 
 yond a doubt that the man Friday was not a man 
 Friday at all, but a light-minded young princess 
 from one of the neighboring islands who had fallen 
 in luve with Robinson. Her real name was Satur- 
 day."
 
 62 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " Why, that 's scandalous ! " cried Richard with 
 heat. " Think of the admiration and sympathy the 
 world has been lavishing on this precious pair ! 
 Robinson Crusoe and his girl Saturday ! That puts 
 a different face on it." 
 
 " Another great moral character exploded," mur- 
 mured the shadowy shape, mixing itself up with the 
 motes of a sunbeam and drifting out through the 
 window. Then Richard fell to laughing in his 
 sleep, and so awoke. He was still confused with 
 the dream as he sat on the edge of the bed, pulling 
 himself together in the broad daylight. 
 
 " Well," he muttered at length, " I should n't 
 wonder ! There 's nothing too bad to be believed 
 of that man."
 
 VII. 
 
 RICHARD made an early start that morning in 
 search of employment, and duplicated the failure of 
 the previous day. Nobody wanted him. If nobody 
 wanted him in the village where he was born and 
 bred, a village of counting-rooms and workshops, 
 was any other place likely to need him? He had 
 only one hope, if it could be called a hope ; at any 
 rate, he had treated it tenderly as such and kept it 
 for the last. He would apply to Rowland Slocura. 
 Long ago, when Richard was an urchin making 
 pot-hooks in the lane, the man used occasionally to 
 pat him on the head and give him pennies. This 
 was not a foundation on which to rear a very lofty 
 castle ; but this was all he had. 
 
 It was noon when Richard approached the mar- 
 ble yard, and the men were pouring out into the 
 street through the wide gate in the rough deal 
 fence which inclosed the works, heavy, brawny 
 men, covered with fine white dust, who shouldered 
 each other like cattle, and took the sidewalk to 
 themselves. Richard stepped aside to let them
 
 64 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 pass, eying them curiously as possible comrades. 
 Suddenly a slim dark fellow, who had retained his 
 paper cap and leather apron, halted and thrust 
 forth a Jiorny hand. The others went on. 
 " Hullo, Dick Shackford ! " 
 " What, is that you, Will ? You here ? " 
 " Been here two years now. One of Slocum's 
 apprentices," added Durgin, with an air of easy 
 grandeur. 
 
 " Two years ? How time flies when it does n't 
 crawl ! Do you like it ? " 
 
 " My time will be out next Oh, the work ? 
 Well, yes ; it 's not bad, and there 's a jolly set in 
 the yard. But how about you ? I heard last night 
 you 'd got home. Been everywhere and come back 
 wealthy ? The boys used to say you was off pirat- 
 ing." 
 
 " No such luck," answered Richard, with a smile. 
 "I didn't prey on the high seas, quite the con- 
 trary. The high sea captured my kit and four 
 years' savings. I will tell you about it some day. 
 If I have a limb to my name and a breath left in 
 my body, it is no thanks to the Indian Ocean. 
 That is all I have got, Will, and I am looking 
 around for bread and butter, literally bread and 
 butter." 
 
 " No ? and the old gentleman so rich I "
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 65 
 
 Dilrgin said this with sincere indignation, and 
 was perhaps unconscious himself of experiencing 
 that nameless, shadowy satisfaction which Roche- 
 foucauld says we find in the adversity of our best 
 friends. Certainly Richard looked very seedy in 
 his suit of slop-shop clothes. 
 
 "I was on my way to Mr. Slocum's to see 
 if I could do anything with him," Richard con- 
 tinued. 
 
 " To get a job, do you mean ? " 
 
 " Yes, to get work, to learn how to work ; to 
 master a trade, in short/' 
 
 "You can't be an apprentice, you know," said 
 Durgin. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Slocura has two." 
 
 "Suppose he should happen to want another? 
 He might." 
 
 " The Association would n't allow it." 
 
 " What association ? " 
 
 " The Marble Workers' Association, of course." 
 
 " They would n't allow it ! How is that ? " 
 
 " This the way of it. Slocura is free to take on 
 two apprentices every year, but no more. That 
 prevents workmen increasing too fast, and so keeps 
 up wages. The Marble Workers' Association is a 
 very neat thing, I can tell you." 
 5
 
 66 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " But does n't Mr. Slocum own the yard ? I 
 thought he did." 
 
 " Yes, he owns the yard." 
 
 " If he wished to extend the business, could n't 
 he employ more hands ? " 
 
 "As many as he could get, skilled workmen ; 
 but not apprentices." 
 
 "And Mr. Slocum agrees to that?" inquired 
 Richard. 
 
 He does." 
 
 "And likes it?" 
 
 " Not he, he hates it ; but he can't help him- 
 self." 
 
 "Upon my soul, I don't see what prevents him 
 taking on as many apprentices as he wants to." 
 
 "Why, the Association, to be sure," returned 
 Durgin, glancing at the town clock, which marked 
 seven minutes past the hour. 
 
 " But how could they stop him ? " 
 
 " In plenty of ways. Suppose Slocum has a lot 
 of unfinished contracts on hand, he always has 
 fat contracts, and the men was to knock off work. 
 That would be kind of awkward, would n't it? " 
 
 " For a day or two, yes. He could send out of 
 town for hands," suggested Richard. 
 
 " And they would n't come, if the Association 
 said ' Stay where you are.' They are mostly in the 
 ring. Some outsiders might come, though."
 
 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 67 
 
 "Then what?" 
 
 " Why, then the boys would make it pretty hot 
 for them in Stillwater. Don't you notice ? " 
 
 " I notice there is not much chance for me," said 
 Richard, despondingly. " Is n't that so ? " 
 
 "Can't say. Better talk with Slocum. But I 
 must get along ; I have to be back sharp at one. I 
 want to hear about your knocking around the worst 
 kind. Can't we meet somewhere to-night, at the 
 tavern ?" 
 
 " The tavern ? That did n't use to be a quiet 
 place." 
 
 u It is n't quiet now, but there 's nowhere else to 
 go of a night. It 's a comfortable den, and there 's 
 always some capital fellows dropping in. A glass 
 of lager with a mate is not a bad thing after a hard 
 day's work." 
 
 " Both are good things when they are of the right 
 sort." 
 
 " That 's like saying I 'm not the right sort, is n't 
 it?" 
 
 " I meant nothing of the kind. But I don't take 
 to the tavern. Not that I 'm squeamish ; I have 
 lived four years among sailors, and have been in 
 rougher places than you ever dreamed of ; but all 
 the same I am afraid of the tavern. I 've seen 
 many a brave fellow wrecked on that reef."
 
 68 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " You always was a bit stuck up," said Durgin 
 candidly. 
 
 " Not an inch. I never had much reason to be ; 
 and less now than ever, when I can scarcely afford 
 to drink water, let alone beer. I will drop round 
 to your mother's some evening, I hope she 's 
 well, and tell you of my ups and downs. That 
 will be pleasanter for all hands." 
 
 " Oh, as you like." 
 
 "Now for Mr. Slocum, though you have taken 
 the wind out of me." 
 
 The two separated, Durgin with a half smile on 
 his lip, and Richard in a melancholy frame of mind. 
 He passed from the grass-fringed street into the de 
 serted marble yard, where it seemed as if the green 
 summer had suddenly turned into white winter, and 
 threading his way between the huge drifts of snowy 
 stone, knocked at the door of Mr. S locum 's private 
 office. 
 
 William Durgin had summed up the case fairly 
 enough as it stood between the Marble Workers' 
 Association and Rowland Slocum. The system of 
 this branch of the trades-union kept trained work- 
 men comparatively scarce, and enabled them to 
 command regular and even advanced prices at pe- 
 riods when other trades were depressed. The older 
 hands looked upon a fresh apprentice in the yard
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 69 
 
 with much the same favor as workingmen of the 
 era of Jacquard looked upon the introduction of a 
 new piece of machinery. Unless the apprentice had 
 exceptional tact, he underwent a rough novitiate. 
 In any case, he served a term of social ostracism 
 before he was admitted to full con/adeship. Mr. 
 Slocum could easily have found openings each year 
 for a dozen learners, had the matter been under his 
 control ; but it was not. " I am the master of each 
 man individually," he declared, "but collectively 
 they are my master." So his business, instead of 
 naturally spreading and becoming a benefit to the 
 many, was kept carefully pruned down for the ben- 
 efit of the few. He was often forced to decline im- 
 portant contracts, the filling of which would have 
 resulted to the advantage of every person in the 
 village. 
 
 Mr. Slocum recognized Richard at once, and list- 
 ened kindly to his story. It was Mr. Slocum's 
 way to listen kindly to every one ; but he was im- 
 pressed with Richard's intelligence and manner, and 
 became desirous, for several reasons, to assist him. 
 In the first place, there was room in the shops for 
 another apprentice ; experienced hands were on jobs 
 that could have been as well done by beginners ; 
 and, in the second place, Mr. Slocum had an intui- 
 tion that Lemuel Shackford was not treating the
 
 70 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 lad fairly, though Richard had said nothing to this 
 effect. Now, Mr. Slocum and Mr. Shackford were 
 just then at swords' points. 
 
 " I don't suppose I could annoy Shackford more," 
 was Mr. Slocum's reflection, " than by doing some- 
 thing for this boy, whom he has always shamelessly 
 neglected." 
 
 The motive was not a high one ; but Richard 
 would have been well satisfied with it, if he could 
 have divined it. He did divine that Mr. Slocum 
 was favorably inclined towards him, and stood 
 watching that gentleman's face with hopeful anx- 
 iety. 
 
 " I have my regulation number of young men, 
 Richard," said Mr. Slocum, " and there will be no 
 vacancy until autumn. If you could wait a few 
 months." 
 
 Richard's head drooped. 
 
 " Can't do that ? You write a good hand, you 
 say. Perhaps you could assist the book-keeper 
 until there 's a chance for you in the yard." 
 
 " I think I could, sir," said Richard eagerly. 
 
 " If you were only a draughtsman, now, I could 
 do something much better for you. I intend to set 
 up a shop for ornamental carving, and I want some 
 one to draw patterns. If you had a knack at de- 
 signing, if you could draw at all "
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 71 
 
 Richard's face lighted up. 
 
 " Perhaps you have a turn that way. I remem- 
 ber the queer things you used to scratch in the mud 
 in the court, when you were a little shaver. Can 
 you draw ? " 
 
 " Why, that is the one thing I can do ! " cried 
 Richard, "in a rough fashion, of course," he 
 added, fearing he bad overstated it. 
 
 " It is a rough fashion that will serve. You must 
 let me see some of your sketches." 
 
 " I have n't any, sir. I had a hundred in my 
 sea-chest, but that was lost, pencilings of old 
 archways, cathedral spires, bits of frieze, and such 
 odds and ends as took my fancy in the ports we 
 touched at. I recollect one bit. I think I could 
 do it for you now. Shall I ? " 
 
 Mr. Slocum nodded assent, smiling at the young 
 fellow's enthusiasm, and only partially suspecting 
 his necessity. Richard picked up a pen and began 
 scratching on a letter sheet which lay on the desk. 
 He was five or six minutes at the work, during 
 which the elder man watched him with an amused 
 expression. 
 
 " It 'a a section of cornice on the facade of tlio 
 Hindoo College at Calcutta," said Richard, hand- 
 ing him the paper, " no, it 's the custom-house. 
 I forget which ; but it does n't matter."
 
 72 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 The amused look gradually passed out of Mr. 
 Slocum's countenance as he examined the sketch. 
 It was roughly but clearly drawn, and full of fa- 
 cility. " Why, that is very clever ! " he said, hold- 
 ing it at arms'-length ; and then, with great gravity, 
 " I hope you are not a genius, Richard ; that would 
 be too much of a fine thing. If you are not, you 
 uan be of service to me in my plans." 
 
 Richard laughingly made haste to declare that 
 to the best of his knowledge and belief he was not 
 a genius, and it was decided on the spot that Rich- 
 ard should assist Mr. Simms, the bookkeeper, and 
 presently try his hand at designing ornamental pat- 
 terns for the carvers, Mr. Slocum allowing him ap- 
 prentice wages until the quality of his work should 
 be ascertained. 
 
 " It is very little," said Mr. Slocum, " but it will 
 pay your board, if you do not live at home." 
 
 " I shall not remain at my cousin's," Richard 
 replied, "if you call that home." 
 
 " I can imagine it is not much of a home. Your 
 cousin, not to put too fine a point on it, is a 
 wretch." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear you say that, sir ; he 's my 
 only living kinsman." 
 
 " You are fortunate in having but one, then. 
 However, I am wrong to abuse him to you ; but I
 
 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 73 
 
 cannot speak of him with moderation, he has just 
 played me such a despicable trick. Look here." 
 
 Mr. Slocum led Richard to the door, and pointing 
 to a row of new workshops which extended the 
 entire length of one side of the marble yard, said, 
 
 " I built these last spring. After the shingles 
 were on we discovered that the rear partition, for a 
 distance of seventy-five feet, overlapped two inches 
 on Shackford's meadow. I was ready to drop when 
 I saw it, your cousin is such an unmanageable old 
 fiend. Of course I went to him immediately, and 
 what do you think ? He demanded five hundred 
 dollars for that strip of land ! Five hundred dol- 
 lars for a few inches of swamp meadow not worth 
 ten dollars the acre I * Then take your disreputa- 
 ble old mill off my property I ' says Shackford, 
 he called it a disreputable old mill ! I was hasty, 
 perhaps, and I told him to go to the devil. He 
 said he would, and he did ; for he went to Bland- 
 mann. When the lawyers got hold of it, they 
 bothered the life out of me ; so I just moved the 
 building forward two inches, at an expense of 
 seven hundred dollars. Then what does the demon 
 do but board up all my windows opening on the 
 meadow ! Richard, I make it a condition that you 
 shall not lodge at Shackford's." 
 
 " Nothing could induce me to live another day in
 
 74 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 the same house with him, sir," answered Richard, 
 suppressing an inclination to smile ; and then seri- 
 ously, " His bread is bitter." 
 
 Richard went back with a light heart to Welch's 
 Court. At the gate of the marble yard he met 
 William Durgin returning to work. The steam- 
 whistle had sounded the call, and there was no 
 time for exchange of words ; so Richard gave his 
 comrade a bright nod and passed by. Durgin 
 turned and stared after him. 
 
 " Looks as if Slocum had taken him on ; but it 
 never can be as apprentice ; he would n't dare do 
 it." 
 
 Mr. Shackford had nearly finished his frugal din- 
 ner when Richard entered. " If you can't hit it to 
 be in at your meals," said Mr. Shackford, helping 
 himself absently to the remaining chop, " perhaps 
 you had better stop away altogether." 
 
 "I can do that now, cousin," replied Richard 
 sunnily. " I have engaged with Slocura." 
 
 The old man laid down his knife and fork. 
 
 " With Slocum ! A Shackford a miserable mar- 
 ble-chipper ! " 
 
 There was so little hint of the aristocrat in Lem- 
 uel Shackford's sordid life and person that no one 
 suspected him of even self-esteem. He went as 
 meanly dressed as a tramp, and as careless of con-
 
 THE STILLWATEK TRAGEDY. 75 
 
 temporary criticism ; yet clear down in his liver, or 
 somewhere in his anatomy, he nourished an odd 
 abstract pride in the family Shackford. Heaven 
 knows why I To be sure, it dated far back ; its 
 women had always been virtuous, and its men, if 
 not always virtuous, had always been ship-captains. 
 But beyond this the family had never amounted to 
 anything, and now there was so very little left of 
 it. For Richard as Richard Lemuel cared nothing ; 
 for Richard as a Shackford he had a chaotic feeling 
 that defied analysis and had never before risen to 
 the surface. It was therefore with a disgust en- 
 tirely apart from hatred of Slocum or regard for 
 Richard that the old man exclaimed, "A Shack- 
 ford a miserable marble-chipper I " 
 
 " That is better than hanging around the village 
 with my hands in my pockets. Is n't it ? " 
 
 " I don't know that anybody has demanded that 
 you should hang around the village." 
 
 " I ought to go away, you mean ? But I have 
 found work here, and I might not find it else- 
 where." 
 
 " Stillwater is not the place to begin life in. It 'a 
 the place to go away from, and come back to.'* 
 
 - Well, I have come back." 
 
 " And how ? With one shirt and a lot of bad 
 sailor habits."
 
 76 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " My one shirt is my only very bad habit," said 
 Richard, with a laugh, he could laugh now, 
 " and I mean to get rid of that." 
 
 Mr. Shackford snapped his fingers disdainfully. 
 
 " You ought to have stuck to the sea ; that 's re- 
 spectable. In ten years you might have risen to be 
 master of a bark ; that would have been honorable. 
 You might have gone down in a gale, you prob- 
 ably would, and that would have been fortunate. 
 But a stone-cutter ! You can understand," growled 
 Mr. Shackford, reaching out for his straw hat, 
 which he put on and crushed over his brows, " I 
 don't keep a boarding-house for Slocum's hands." 
 
 " Oh, I 'm far from asking it ! " cried Richard. 
 " I am thankful for the two nights' shelter I have 
 had." 
 
 " That 's some of your sarcasm, I suppose," said 
 Mr. Shackford, half turning, with his hand on the 
 door-knob. 
 
 " No, it is some of my sincerity. I am really 
 obliged to you. You were n't very cordial, to be 
 sure, but I did not deserve cordiality." 
 
 " You have figured that out correctly." 
 
 " I want to begin over again, you see, and start 
 fair." 
 
 "Then begin by dropping Slocum." 
 
 " You have not given me a chance to tell you
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 77 
 
 what the arrangement is. However, it 'a irrevoca- 
 ble." 
 
 " I don't want to hear. I don't care a curse, so 
 long as it is an arrangement," and Mr. Shackford 
 hurried out of the room, slamming the door behind 
 him. 
 
 Then Richard, quite undisturbed by his cousin's 
 unreasonableness, sat himself down to eat the last 
 meal he was ever to eat under that roof, a feat 
 which his cousin's appetite had rendered compara- 
 tively easy. 
 
 While engaged in this, Richard revolved in his 
 mind several questions as to his future abode. He 
 could not reconcile his thought to any of the work- 
 ingmen's boarding-houses, of which there were five 
 or six in the slums of the village, where the door- 
 ways were greasy, and women flitted about in the 
 hottest weather with thick woolen shawls over their 
 heads. Yet his finances did not permit him to as- 
 pire to lodgings much more decent. If he could 
 only secure a small room somewhere in a quiet 
 neighborhood. Possibly Mrs. Durgin would let him 
 have a chamber in her cottage. He was beginning 
 life over again, and it struck him as nearly an ideal 
 plan to begin it on the identical spot where he had, 
 in a manner, made his first start. Besides, there 
 was William Durgin for company, when the long
 
 78 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 nights of the New England winter set in. This 
 idea smiled so pleasantly in Richard's fancy that he 
 pushed the plate away from him impatiently, and 
 picked up his hat which lay on the floor beside the 
 chair. 
 
 That evening he moved from the Shackford house 
 to Mrs. Durgin's cottage in Cross Street. It was 
 not an imposing ceremony. With a small brown- 
 paper parcel under his arm, he walked from one 
 threshold to the other, and the thing was done.
 
 VIII. 
 
 THE six months which followed Richard's install- 
 ment in the office at Slocum's Yard were so crowded 
 with novel experience that he scarcely noted their 
 flight. The room at the Durgins, as will presently 
 appear, turned out an unfortunate arrangement; 
 but everything else had prospered. Richard proved 
 an efficient aid to Mr. Simms, who quietly shifted 
 the pay-roll to the younger man's shoulders. This 
 was a very complicated account to keep, involving 
 as it did a separate record of each employee's time 
 and special work. An ancient bookkeeper parts 
 lightly with such trifles when he has a capable as- 
 sistant. It also fell to Richard's lot to pay the 
 hands on Saturdays. William Durgin blinked his 
 surprise on the first occasion, as he filed in with the 
 others and saw Richard posted at the desk, with 
 the pay-roll in his hand and the pile of greenbacks 
 lying in front of him. 
 
 44 1 suppose you '11 be proprietor next," remarked 
 Durgin, that evening, at the supper table. 
 
 When I am, Will," answered Richard cheerily,
 
 80 THE STILLWATEB TBAGEDY. 
 
 " you shall be on the road to foreman of the finish- 
 ing shop." 
 
 " Thank you," said Durgin, not too graciously. 
 It grated on him to play the part of foreman, even 
 in imagination, with Dick Shackford as proprietor. 
 Durgin could not disconnect his friend from that 
 seedy, half-crestfallen figure to whom, a few months 
 before, he had given elementary instruction on the 
 Marble Workers' Association. 
 
 Richard did not find his old schoolmate so com- 
 panionable as memory and anticipation had painted 
 him. The two young men moved on different lev- 
 els. Richard's sea life, now that he had got at a 
 sufficient distance from it, was a perspective full of 
 pleasant color ; he had a taste for reading, a thirst 
 to know things, and his world was not wholly shut 
 in by the Stillwater horizon. It was still a pitifully 
 narrow world, but wide compared with Durgin's, 
 which extended no appreciable distance in any di- 
 rection from the Stillwater hotel. He spent his 
 evenings chiefly there, returning home late at night, 
 and often in so noisy a mood as to disturb Richard, 
 who slept in an adjoining apartment. This was an 
 annoyance ; and it was an annoyance to have Mrs. 
 Durgin coming to him with complaints of William. 
 Other matters irritated Richard. He had contrived 
 to replenish his wardrobe, and the sunburn was dis-
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 81 
 
 appearing from his hands, which the nature of his 
 occupation left soft and unscarred. Durgin was 
 disposed at times to be sarcastic on these changes, 
 but always stopped short of actual offense ; for he 
 remembered that Shackford when a boy, amiable 
 and patient as he was, had had a tiger's temper at 
 bottom. Durgin had seen it roused once or twice, 
 and even received a chance sweep of the paw. 
 Richard liked Durgin's rough wit as little as Dur- 
 gin relished Richard's good-natured bluntness. It 
 was a mistake, that trying to pick up the dropped 
 thread of old acquaintance. 
 
 As soon as the permanency of his position was 
 assured, and his means warranted the step, Richard 
 transported himself and his effects to a comfortable 
 chamber in the same house with Mr. Pinkham, the 
 school-master, the perpetual falsetto of whose flute 
 was positively soothing after four months of Will- 
 iam Durgin's bass. Mr. Pinkham having but one 
 lung, and that defective, played on the flute. 
 
 " You see what you 've gone and done, William," 
 remarked Mrs. Durgin plaintively, "with your 
 ways. There goes the quietest youi.g man in Still- 
 water, and four dollars a week ! " 
 
 " There goes a swell, you 'd better say. He was 
 always a proud beggar ; nobody was ever good 
 enough for him."
 
 82 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 You should n't say that, William. I could cry, 
 to lose him and his cheerfulness out of the house," 
 and Mrs. Durgin began to whimper. 
 
 " Wait till he 's out of luck again, and he '11 
 come back to us fast enough. That 's when his 
 kind remembers their friends. Blast him ! he can't 
 even take a drop of beer with a chum at the tav- 
 ern." 
 
 " And right, too. There 's beer enough taken at 
 the tavern without him." 
 
 " If you mean me, mother, I '11 get drunk to- 
 night." 
 
 " No, no ! " cried Mrs. Durgin, pleadingly, " I 
 did n't mean you, William, but Peters and that 
 set." 
 
 " I thought you could n't mean me," said Will- 
 iam, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his 
 monkey-jacket, and sauntering off in the direction 
 of the Stillwater hotel, where there was a choice 
 company gathered, it being Saturday night, and 
 the monthly meeting of the Union. 
 
 Mr. Slocum had wasted no time in organizing a 
 shop for his experiment in ornamental carving. 
 Five or six men, who had worked elsewhere at this 
 branch, were turned over to the new department, 
 with Stevens as foreman and Richard as designer. 
 Very shortly Richard had as much as he could do
 
 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 83 
 
 to furnish the patterns required. These consisted 
 mostly of scrolls, wreaths, and mortuary dove-wings 
 for head-stones. Fortunately for Richard he had 
 no genius, but plenty of a kind of talent just 
 abreast with Mr. Slocum's purpose. As the carvers 
 became interested in their work, they began to show 
 Richard the respect and good-will which at first had 
 been withheld, for they had not quite liked being 
 under the supervision of one who had not served at 
 the trade. His youth had also told against him ; but 
 Richard's pleasant, off-hand manner quickly won 
 them. He had come in contact with rough men on 
 shipboard ; he had studied their ways, and he knew 
 that with all their roughness there is no class so 
 sensitive. This insight was of great service to him. 
 Stevens, who had perhaps been the least disposed 
 to accept Richard, was soon his warm ally. 
 
 " See what a smooth fist the lad has ! " he said 
 one day holding up a new drawing to the shop. 
 A man with a wreath of them acorns on his 
 head-stone oughter be perfectly happy, damn him I " 
 
 It was, however, an anchor with a broken chain 
 pendent a design for a monument to the late 
 Captain Septimius Salter, who had parted his 
 cable at sea which settled Richard's status with 
 Stevens. 
 
 "Boys, that Shackford is what I call a born 
 genei."
 
 84 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 
 
 After all, is not the one-eyed man who is king 
 among the blind the most fortunate of monarchs ? 
 Your little talent in a provincial village looms a 
 great deal taller than your mighty genius in a city. 
 Richard Shackford working for Rowland Slocum 
 at Stillwater was happier than Michaelangelo in 
 Rome with Pope Julius II. at his back. And 
 Richard was the better paid, too ! 
 
 One day he picked up a useful hint from a cele- 
 brated sculptor, who had come to the village in 
 search of marble for the base of a soldiers' monu- 
 ment. Richard was laboriously copying a spray of 
 fern, the delicacy of which eluded his pencil. The 
 sculptor stood a moment silently observing him. 
 
 " Why do you spend an hour doing only pas- 
 sably well what you could do perfectly in ten 
 minutes ? " 
 
 " I suppose it is because I am stupid, sir," said 
 Richard. 
 
 " No stupid man ever suspected himself of being 
 anything but clever. You draw capitally; but 
 nature beats you out and out at designing ferns. 
 Just ask her to make you a fac-simile in plaster, 
 and see how handily she will lend herself to the 
 job. Of course you must help her a little." 
 
 ** Oh, I am not above giving nature a lift," said 
 Richard modestly.
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 85 
 
 " Lay a cloth on your table, place the fern on 
 the cloth, and pour a thin paste of plaster of Paris 
 over the leaf, do that gently, so as not to disar- 
 range the spray. When the plaster is set, there 's 
 your mold ; remove the leaf, oil the matrix, and 
 pour in fresh plaster. When that is set, cut away 
 the mold carefully, and there 's your spray of fern, 
 as graceful and perfect as if nature had done it 
 all by herself. You get the very texture of the 
 leaf by this process." 
 
 After that, Richard made casts instead of draw- 
 ings for the carvers, and fancied he was doing a 
 new thing, until he visited some marble-works in 
 the great city. 
 
 At this period, whatever change subsequently 
 took place in his feeling, Richard was desirous of 
 establishing friendly relations with his cousin. The 
 young fellow's sense of kinship was singularly 
 strong, and it was only after several repulses at the 
 door of the Shackford house and on the street that 
 he relinquished the hope of placating the sour old 
 man. At times Richard was moved almost to pity 
 him. Every day Mr. Shackford seemed to grow 
 shabbier and more spectral. He was a grotesque 
 figure now, in his napless hat and broken-down 
 stock. The metal button-molds on his ancient 
 waistcoat had worn their way through the satin
 
 86 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 coverings, leaving here and there a sparse fringe 
 around the edges, and somehow suggesting little 
 bald heads. Looking at him, you felt that the inner 
 man was as threadbare and dilapidated as his out- 
 side ; but in his lonely old age he asked for no hu- 
 man sympathy or companionship, and, in fact, stood 
 in no need of either. With one devouring passion 
 he set the world at defiance. He loved his gold, 
 the metal itself, the weight and color and touch of 
 it. In his bedroom on the ground-floor Mr. Shack- 
 ford kept a small iron-clamped box filled to the lid 
 with bright yellow coins. Often, at the dead of 
 night, with door bolted and curtain down, he would 
 spread out the glittering pieces on the table, and 
 bend over them with an amorous glow in his faded 
 eyes. These were his blond mistresses ; he took a 
 fearful joy in listening to their rustling, muffled 
 laughter as he drew them towards him with eager 
 hands. If at that instant a blind chanced to slam, 
 or a footfall to echo in the lonely court, then the 
 withered old sultan would hurry his slaves back 
 into their iron-bound seraglio, and extinguish the 
 light. It would have been a wasted tenderness to 
 pity him. He was very happy in his own way, 
 that Lemuel STiackford.
 
 IX. 
 
 TOWARDS the close of his second year with Mr. 
 Slocum, Richard was assigned a work-room by 
 himself, and relieved of his accountant's duties. 
 His undivided energies were demanded by the 
 carving department, which had proved a lucrative 
 success. 
 
 The rear of the lot on which Mr. Slocum's house 
 stood was shut off from the marble yard by a high 
 brick wall pierced with a private door for Mr. 
 Slocum's convenience. Over the kitchen in the 
 extension, which reached within a few feet of the 
 wall, was a disused chamber, approachable on the 
 outside by a flight of steps leading to a veranda. 
 To this room Richard and his traps were removed. 
 With a round table standing in the centre, with the 
 plaster models arranged on shelves and sketches in 
 pencil and crayon tacked against the whitewashed 
 walls, the apartment was transformed into a delight- 
 ful atelier. An open fire-place, with a brace of an- 
 tiquated iron-dogs straddling the red brick hearth, 
 gave the finishing touch. The occupant was in
 
 88 THE STILLWATEE TRAGEDY. 
 
 easy communication with the yard, from which the 
 busy din of clinking chisels came up musically to 
 his ear, and was still beyond the reach of unneces- 
 sary interruption. Richard saw clearly all the ad- 
 vantages of this transfer, but he was far from hav- 
 ing any intimation that he had made the most im- 
 portant move of his life. 
 
 The room had two doors : one opened on the 
 veranda, and the other into a narrow hall connect- 
 ing the extension with the main building. Fre- 
 quently, that first week after taking possession, 
 Richard detected the sweep of a broom and the 
 rustle of drapery in this passage-way, the sound 
 sometimes hushing itself quite close to the door, 
 as if some one had paused a moment just outside. 
 He wondered whether it was the servant-maid 
 or Margaret Slocum, whom he knew very well by 
 sight. It was, in fact, Margaret, who was dying 
 with the curiosity of fourteen to peep into the 
 studio, so carefully locked whenever the young 
 man left it, dying with curiosity to see the work- 
 shop, and standing in rather great awe of the 
 workman. 
 
 In the home circle her father had a habit of 
 speaking with deep respect of young Shackford's 
 ability, and once she had seen him at their table, 
 at a Thanksgiving. On this occasion Richard
 
 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 89 
 
 had appalled her by the solemnity of his shyness, 
 poor Richard, who was so unused to the ameni- 
 ties of a handsomely, served dinner, that the chill 
 which came over him cooled the Thanksgiving tur- 
 key on his palate. 
 
 When it had been decided that he was to have 
 the spare room for his workshop, Margaret, with 
 womanly officiousness, had swept it and dusted it 
 and demolished the cobwebs ; but since then she 
 had not been able to obtain so much as a glimpse 
 of the interior. A ten minutes' sweeping . had 
 sufficed for the chamber, but the passage-way 
 seemed in quite an irreclaimable state, judging by 
 the number of times it was necessary to sweep it in 
 the course of a few days. Now Margaret was not 
 an unusual mixture of timidity and daring ; so one 
 morning, about a week after Richard was settled, 
 she walked with quaking heart up to the door of 
 the studio, and knocked as bold as brass. 
 
 Richard opened the door, and smiled pleasantly 
 at Margaret standing on the threshold with an ex- 
 pression of demure defiance in her face. Did Mr. 
 Shackford want anything more in the way of pans 
 and pails for his plaster ? No, Mr. Shackford had 
 everything he required of the kind. But would 
 not Miss Margaret walk in ? Yes, she would step 
 in for a moment, but with a good deal of indiffer-
 
 90 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 
 
 ence, though, giving an air of chance to her settled 
 determination to examine that room from top to 
 bottom. 
 
 Richard showed her his drawings and casts, and 
 enlightened her on all the simple mysteries of his 
 craft. Margaret, of whom he was a trifle afraid at 
 first, amused him with her candor and sedateness, 
 seeming now a mere child, and now an elderly 
 person gravely inspecting matters. The frankness 
 and simplicity were hers by nature, and the oldish 
 ways notably her self-possession, so quick to as- 
 sert itself after an instant's forgetfulness came 
 perhaps of losing her mother in early childhood, 
 and the premature duties which that misfortune 
 entailed. She amused him, for she was only four- 
 teen ; but she impressed him also, for she was Mr. 
 Slocum's daughter. Yet it was not her lightness, 
 but her gravity, that made Richard smile to him- 
 self. 
 
 " I am not interrupting you ? " she asked pres- 
 ently. 
 
 " Not in the least," said Richard. " I am wait- 
 ing for these molds to harden. I cannot do any- 
 thing until then." 
 
 " Papa says you are very clever," remarked 
 Margaret, turning her wide black eyes full upon 
 him. "Are you ? "
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 91 
 
 " Far from it," replied Richard, laughing to veil 
 his confusion, " but I am glad your father thinks 
 so." 
 
 " You should not be glad to have him think so," 
 returned Margaret reprovingly, "if you are not 
 clever. I suppose you are, though. Tell the truth, 
 now." 
 
 "It is not fair to force a fellow into praising 
 himself." 
 
 " You are trying to creep out ! " 
 
 " Well, then, there are many cleverer persons 
 than I in the world, and a few not so clever." 
 
 " That won't do," said Margaret positively. 
 
 " I don't understand what you mean by clever- 
 ness, Miss Margaret. There are a great many 
 kinds and degrees. I can make fairly honest pat- 
 terns for the men to work by ; but I am not an 
 artist, if you mean that." 
 
 " You are not an artist ? " 
 
 "No; an artist creates, and I only copy, and 
 that in a small way. Any one can learn to pre- 
 pare casts ; but to create a bust or a statue that 
 is to say, a fine one a man must have genius." 
 
 " You have no genius ? " 
 
 " Not a grain." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear that," said Margaret, with 
 a disappointed look. " But perhaps it will come,"
 
 92 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 she added encouragingly. " I have read that nearly 
 all great artists and poets are almost always mod- 
 est. They know better than anybody else how far 
 they fall short of what they intend, and so they 
 don't put on airs. You don't, either. I like that 
 in you. May be you have genius without knowing 
 it, Mr. Shackford." 
 
 " It is quite without knowing it, I assure you ! " 
 protested Richard, with suppressed merriment. 
 " What an odd girl ! " he thought. " She is actu- 
 ally talking to me like a mother I " 
 
 The twinkling light in the young man's eyes, or 
 something that jarred in his manner, caused Mar- 
 garet at once to withdraw into herself. She went 
 silently about the room, examining the tools and 
 patterns ; then, nearing the door, suddenly dropped 
 Richard a quaint little courtesy, and was gone. 
 
 This was the colorless beginning of a friendship 
 that was destined speedily to be full of tender 
 lights and shadows, and to flow on with unsuspected 
 depth. For several days Richard saw nothing more 
 of Margaret, and scarcely thought of her. The 
 strange little figure was fading out of his mind, 
 when, one afternoon, it again appeared at his door. 
 This time Margaret had left something of her se- 
 dateness behind ; she struck Richard as being both 
 less ripe and less immature than he had fancied ;
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 93 
 
 she interested rather than amused him. Perhaps he 
 had been partially insulated by his own shyness on 
 the first occasion, and had caught only a confused 
 and inaccurate impression of Margaret's person- 
 ality. She renmined half an hour in the work- 
 shop, and at her departure omitted the formal 
 courtesy. 
 
 After this, Margaret seldom let a week slip 
 without tapping once or twice at the studio, at first 
 with some pretext or other, and then with no pre- 
 tense whatever. When Margaret had disburdened 
 herself of excuses for dropping in to watch Richard 
 mold his leaves and flowers, she came oftener, and 
 Richard insensibly drifted into the habit of expect- 
 ing her on certain days, and was disappointed when 
 she failed to appear. His industry had saved him, 
 until now, from discovering how solitary his life 
 really was ; for his life was as solitary as solitary 
 as that of Margaret, who lived in the great house 
 with only her father, the two servants, and an 
 episodical aunt. The mother was long ago dead ; 
 Margaret could not recollect when that gray head- 
 stone, with blotches of rusty-green moss breaking 
 out over the lettering, was not in the churchyard ; 
 and there never had been any brothers or sisters. 
 
 To Margaret Richard's installation in the empty 
 room, where as a child she had always been afraid
 
 94 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 
 
 to go, was the single important break she could 
 remember in the monotony of her existence ; and 
 now a vague yearning for companionship, the blind 
 sense of the plant reaching towards the sunshine, 
 drew her there. The tacitly prescribed half hour 
 often lengthened to an hour. Sometimes Margaret 
 brought a book with her, or a piece of embroidery, 
 and the two spoke scarcely ten words, Richard 
 giving her a smile now and then, and she return- 
 ing a sympathetic nod as the cast came out suc- 
 cessfully. 
 
 Margaret at fifteen she was fifteen now was 
 not a beauty. There is the loveliness of the bud 
 and the loveliness of the f ull-blowii flower ; but 
 Margaret as a blossom was not pretty. She was 
 awkward and angular, with prominent shoulder- 
 blades, and no soft curves anywhere in her slim- 
 ness ; only her black hair, growing low on the fore- 
 head, and her eyes were fine. Her profile, indeed, 
 with the narrow forehead and the sensitive upper 
 lip, might fairly have suggested the mask of Clytie 
 which Richard had bought of an itinerant image- 
 dealer, and fixed on a bracket over the mantel- 
 shelf. But her eyes were her specialty, if one may 
 say that. They were fringed with such heavy 
 lashes that the girl seemed always to be in half- 
 mourning. Her smile was singularly sweet and
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 95 
 
 bright, perhaps because it broke through so much 
 sombre coloring. 
 
 If there was a latent spark of sentiment between 
 Richard and Margaret in those earlier days, neither 
 was conscious of it ; they had seemingly begun 
 where happy lovers generally end, by being dear 
 comrades. He liked to have Margaret sitting there, 
 with her needle flashing in the sunlight, or her 
 eyelashes making a rich gloom above the book as 
 she read aloud. It was so agreeable to look up 
 from his work, and not be alone. He had been 
 alone so much. And Margaret found nothing in 
 the world pleasanter than to sit there and watch 
 Richard making his winter garden, as she called it. 
 By and by it became her custom to pass every Sat- 
 urday afternoon in that employment. 
 
 Margaret was not content to be merely a visitor ; 
 she took a housewifely care of the workshop, reso- 
 lutely straightening out its chronic disorder at un- 
 expected moments, and fighting the white dust that 
 settled upon everything. The green-paper shade, 
 which did not roll up very well, at the west window 
 was of her devising. An empty camphor vial on 
 Richard's desk had always a clove pink, or a pansy, 
 or a rose, stuck into it, according to the season. 
 She hid herself away and peeped out in a hundred 
 feminine things in the room. Sometimes she was
 
 96 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 a bit of crochet-work left on a chair, and some- 
 times she was only a hair-pin, which Richard 
 gravely picked up and put on the mantel-piece. 
 
 Mr. Slocum threw no obstacles in the path of 
 this idyllic friendship ; possibly he did not observe 
 it. In his eyes Margaret was still a child, a 
 point of view that necessarily excluded any consid- 
 eration of Richard. Perhaps, however, if Mr. Slo- 
 cum could have assisted invisibly at a pretty little 
 scene which took place in the studio, one day, some 
 twelve or eighteen months after Margaret's first 
 visit to it, he might have found food for reflection. 
 
 It was a Saturday afternoon. Margaret had come 
 into the workshop with her sewing, as usual. The 
 papers on the round table had been neatly cleared 
 away, and Richard was standing by the window, 
 indolently drumming on the glass with a palette- 
 knife. 
 
 " Not at work this afternoon ? " 
 
 " I was waiting for you." 
 
 " That is no excuse at all," said Margaret, sweep- 
 ing across the room with a curious air of self-con- 
 sciousness, and arranging her drapery with infinite 
 pains as she seated herself. 
 
 Richard looked puzzled for a moment, and then 
 exclaimed, " Margaret, you have got on a long 
 dress!"
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 97 
 
 " Yes," said Margaret, with dignity. " Do you 
 like it, the train?" 
 
 " That 's a train ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Margaret, standing up and glancing 
 over her left shoulder at the soft folds of maroon- 
 colored stuff, which, with a mysterious feminine 
 movement of the foot, she caused to untwist itself 
 and flow out gracefully behind her. There was 
 really something very pretty in the hesitating lines 
 of the tall, slender figure, as she leaned back that 
 way. Certain unsuspected points emphasized them- 
 selves so cunningly. 
 
 " I never saw anything finer," declared Richard. 
 " It was worth waiting for." 
 
 " But you should n't have waited," said Margaret, 
 with a gratified flush, settling herself into the chair 
 again. " It was understood that you were never to 
 let me interfere with your work." 
 
 " You see yoft have, by being twenty minutes 
 late. I 've finished that acorn border for Stevens's 
 capitals, and there's nothing more to do for the 
 yard. I am going to make something for myself, 
 and I want you to lend me a hand." 
 
 "How can I help you, Richard?" Margaret 
 asked, promptly stopping the needle in the hem. 
 
 "I need a paper-weight to keep my sketches 
 from being blown about, and I wish you liter- 
 
 T
 
 98 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 ally to lend me a hand, a hand to take a cast 
 of." 
 
 "Really?" 
 
 " I think that little white claw would make a 
 very neat paper-weight," said Richard. 
 
 Margaret gravely rolled up her sleeve to the el- 
 bow, and contemplated the hand and wrist crit- 
 ically. 
 
 " It is like a claw, is n't it. I think you can find 
 something better than that." 
 
 " No ; that is what I want, and nothing else. 
 That, or no paper-weight for me." 
 
 " Very well, just as you choose. It will be a 
 fright." 
 
 "The other hand, please." 
 
 " I gave you the left because I 've a ring on this 
 one." 
 
 " You can take off the ring, I suppose." 
 
 " Of course I can take it off." 
 
 "Well, then, do." 
 
 " Richard," said Margaret severely, " I hope you 
 are not a fidget." 
 
 "A what?." 
 
 " A fuss, then, a person who always wants 
 everything some other way, and makes just twice 
 as much trouble as anybody else." 
 
 "No, Margaret, I am not that. I prefer your
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 99 
 
 right hand because the left is next to the heart, and 
 the evaporation of the water in the plaster turns it 
 as cold as snow. Your arm will be chilled to the 
 shoulder. We don't want to do anything to hurt 
 the good little heart, you know." 
 
 u Certainly not," said Margaret. " There ! " and 
 she rested her right arm on the table, while Rich- 
 ard placed the hand in the desired position on a 
 fresh napkin which he had folded for the purpose. 
 
 "Let your hand lie flexible, please. Hold it nat- 
 urally. Why do you stiffen the fingers so ? " 
 
 " I don't ; they stiffen themselves, Richard. 
 They know they are going to have their photo- 
 graph taken, and can't look natural. Who ever 
 does? " 
 
 After a minute the fingers relaxed, and settled of 
 their own accord into an easy pose. Richard laid 
 his hand softly on her wrist. 
 
 " Don't move now." 
 
 "I'll be as quiet as a mouse," said Margaret 
 giving a sudden queer little glance at his face. 
 
 Richard emptied a paper of white powder into a 
 great yellow bowl half filled with water, and fell to 
 stirring it vigorously, like a pastry-cook beating 
 eggs. When the plaster was of the proper consist- 
 ency he began building it up around the hand, pour- 
 ing on a spoonful at a time, here and there, care-
 
 100 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 fully. In a minute or two the inert white fingers 
 were completely buried. Margaret made a comical 
 grimace. 
 
 " Is it cold ? " 
 
 " Ice," said Margaret, shutting her eyes involun- 
 tarily. 
 
 " If it is too disagreeable we can give it up," 
 suggested Richard. 
 
 " No, don't touch it ! " she cried, waving him 
 back with her free arm. "I don't mind ; but it 's 
 as cold as so much snow. How curious ! What 
 does it?" 
 
 " I suppose a scientific fellow could explain the 
 matter to you easily enough. When the water 
 evaporates a kind of congealing process sets in, 
 a sort of atmospherical change, don't you know? 
 The sudden precipitation of the the " 
 
 " You 're as good as Tyndall on Heat," said Mar- 
 garet demurely. 
 
 41 Oh, Tyndall is well enough in his way," re- 
 turned Richard, "but of course he doesn't go into 
 things so deeply as I do." 
 
 " The idea of telling me that ' a congealing proc- 
 ess sets in,' when I am nearly frozen to death ! " 
 cried Margaret, bowing her head over the impris- 
 oned arm. 
 
 " Your unseemly levity, Margaret, makes it nee-
 
 THE STILL WATER TRAGEDY. 101 
 
 essary for me to defer my remarks on natural phe- 
 nomena until some more fitting occasion." 
 
 " Oh, Richard, don't let an atmospherical change 
 come over you ! " 
 
 " When you knocked at my door, months ago," 
 said Richard, " I did n't dream you were such a 
 satirical little piece, or may be you would n't have 
 got in. You stood there as meek as Moses, with 
 your frock reaching only to the tops of your boots. 
 You were a deception, Margaret." 
 
 " I was dreadfully afraid of you, Richard." 
 
 " You are not afraid of me nowadays." 
 
 "Not a bit." 
 
 " You are showing your true colors. That long 
 dress, too ! I believe the train has turned your 
 head." 
 
 " But just now you said you admired it." 
 
 '* So I ciid, and do. It makes you look quite like 
 a woman, though." 
 
 " I want to be a woman. I would like to be as 
 old as old as Mrs. Methuselah. Was there a 
 Mrs. Methuselah ? " 
 
 " I really forget," replied Richard, considering. 
 " But there must have been. The old gentleman 
 had time enough to have several. I believe, how- 
 ever, that history is rather silent about his domestic 
 affairs."
 
 102 THE STILL WATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " Well, then," said Margaret, after thinking it 
 over, " I would like to be as old as the youngest 
 Mrs. Methuselah." 
 
 " That was probably the last one," remarked 
 Richard, with great profundity. " She was proba- 
 bly some giddy young thing of seventy or eighty. 
 Those old widowers never take a wife of their own 
 age. I should n't want you to be seventy, Marga- 
 ret, or even eighty." 
 
 "On the whole, perhaps, I shouldn't fancy it 
 myself. Do you approve of persons marrying 
 twice ? " 
 
 " N o, not at the same time." 
 
 " Of course I did n't mean that," said Margaret, 
 with asperity. " How provoking you can be ! " 
 
 " But they used to, in the olden time, don't 
 you know ? " 
 
 " No, I don't." 
 
 Richard burst out laughing. " Imagine him," he 
 cried, " imagine Methuselah in his eight or nine 
 hundredth year, dressed in his customary bridal 
 suit, with a sprig of century-plant stuck in his but- 
 ton-hole ! " 
 
 " Richard," said Margaret solemnly, " you should 
 n't speak jestingly of a scriptural character." 
 
 At this Richard broke out again. " But gracious 
 me ! ' he exclaimed, suddenly checking himself. 
 v I am forgetting you all this while I "
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 103 
 
 Richard hurriedly reversed the mass of plaster 
 on the table, and released Margaret's half-petrified 
 fingers. They were shriveled and colorless with the 
 cold. 
 
 " There is n't any feeling in it whatever," said 
 Margaret, holding up her hand helplessly, like a 
 wounded wing. 
 
 Richard took the fingers between his palms, and 
 chafed them smartly for a moment or two to restore 
 the suspended circulation. 
 
 " There, that will do," said Margaret, withdraw- 
 ing her hand. 
 
 " Are you all right now ? " 
 
 " Yes, thanks ; " and then she added, smiling, 
 " I suppose a scientific fellow could explain why my 
 fingers seem to be full of hot pins and needles 
 shooting in every direction." 
 
 " Tyndall 's your man Tyndall on Heat," an- 
 swered Richard, with a laugh, turning to examine 
 the result of his work. " The mold is perfect, Mar- 
 garet. You were a good girl to keep so still." 
 
 Richard then proceeded to make the cast, which 
 vas soon placed on the window ledge to harden in 
 the sun. When the plaster was set, he cautiously 
 chipped off the shell with a chisel, Margaret lean- 
 ing over his shoulder to watch the operation, and 
 there was the little white claw, which ever after
 
 104 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 took such dainty care of his papers, and ultimately 
 became so precious to him as a part of Margaret's 
 very self that he would not have exchanged it for 
 the Venus of Milo. 
 
 But as yet Richard was far enough from all that.
 
 THREE years glided by with Richard Shackford 
 as swiftly as those periods of time which are imag- 
 ined to elapse between the acts of a play. They 
 were eventless, untroubled years, aud have no his- 
 tory. Nevertheless, certain changes had taken 
 place. Little by little Mr. Slocum had relinquished 
 the supervision of the workshops to Richard, until 
 now the affairs of the yard rested chiefly on his 
 shoulders. It was like a dream to him when he 
 looked directly back to his humble beginning, 
 though as he reflected upon it, and retraced his 
 progress step by step, he saw there was nothing 
 illogical or astonishing in his good fortune. He 
 had won it by downright hard work and the faith- 
 ful exercise of a sufficing talent. 
 
 In his relations with Margaret, Richard's attitude 
 had undergone no appreciable change. Her chance 
 visits to the studio through the week and those 
 pleasant, half-idle Saturday afternoons had become 
 to both Richard and Margaret a matter of course, 
 like the sunlight, or the air they breathed.
 
 106 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 To Richard, Margaret Slocum at nineteen was 
 simply a charming, frank girl, a type of gracious 
 young womanhood. He was conscious of her influ- 
 ence ; he was very fond of Margaret ; but she had 
 not yet taken on for him that magic individuality 
 which makes a woman the one woman in the world 
 to her lover. Thougli Richard had scant experi- 
 ence in such matters, he was not wrong in accept- 
 ing Margaret as the type of a class of New England 
 girls, which, fortunately for New England, is not a 
 small class. These young women for the most part 
 lead quiet and restricted lives so far as the actuali- 
 ties are concerned, but very deep and full lives in 
 the world of books and imagination, to which they 
 make early escapes. They have the high instincts 
 that come of good blood, the physique that natu- 
 rally fits fine manners ; and when chance takes one 
 of these maidens from her inland country home or 
 from some sleepy town on the sea-board, and sets 
 her amid the complications of city existence, she is 
 an unabashed and unassuming lady. If in Paris, 
 she differs from the Parisiennes only in the greater 
 delicacy of her lithe beauty, her innocence which is 
 not ignorance, and her French pronunciation ; if in 
 London, she differs from English girls only in the 
 matter of rosy cheeks and the rising inflection. 
 Should none of these fortunate transplun tings be-
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 107 
 
 fall her, she always merits them by adorning with 
 grace and industry and intelligence the narrower 
 sphere to which destiny has assigned her. 
 
 Destiny had assigned Margaret Slocum to a very 
 narrow sphere ; it had shut her up in an obscure 
 New England manufacturing village, with no soci- 
 ety, strictly speaking, and no outlets whatever to 
 large experiences. To her father's affection, Rich- 
 ard's friendship, and her household duties she was 
 forced to look for her happiness. If life held wider 
 possibilities for her, she had not dreamed of them. 
 She looked up to Richard with respect, perhaps 
 with a dash of sentiment in the respect ; there was 
 something at once gentle and virile in his character 
 which she admired and leaned upon ; in his pres- 
 ence the small housekeeping troubles always slipped 
 from her ; but her heart, to use a pretty French 
 phrase, had not consciously spoken, possibly it 
 had murmured a little, incoherently, to itself, but 
 it had not spoken out aloud, as perhaps it would 
 have done long ago if an impediment had been 
 placed in the way of their intimacy. With all her 
 subtler intuitions, Margaret was as far as Richard 
 from suspecting the strength and direction of the 
 eurrent with which they were drifting. Freedom, 
 habit, and the nature of their environment con- 
 spired to prolong this mutual lack of perception.
 
 108 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 
 
 The hour had sounded, however, when these two 
 were to see each other in a different light. 
 
 One Monday morning in March, at the close of 
 the three years in question, as Richard mounted the 
 outside staircase leading to his studio in the exten- 
 sion, the servant-maid beckoned to him from the 
 kitchen window. 
 
 Margaret had failed to come to the studio the 
 previous Saturday afternoon. Richard had worked 
 at cross-purposes and returned to his boarding- 
 house vaguely dissatisfied, as always happened to 
 him on those rare occasions when she missed the 
 appointment ; but he had thought little of the cir- 
 cumstance. Nor had he been disturbed on Sunday 
 at seeing the Slocum pew vacant during both serv- 
 ices. The heavy snow-storm which had begun the 
 night before accounted for at least Margaret's ab- 
 sence. 
 
 " Mr. Slocum told me to tell you that he should 
 n't be in the yard to-day," said the girl. " Miss 
 Margaret is very ill." 
 
 " 111 ! " Richard repeated, and the smile with 
 which he had leaned over the rail towards the win- 
 dow went out instantly on his lip. 
 
 "Dr. Weld was up with her until five o'clock 
 this morning," said the girl, fingering the corner of 
 her apron. " She 's that low."
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 109 
 
 "What is the matter?" 
 
 " It 's a fever." 
 
 "What kind of fever?" 
 
 " I don't mind me what the doctor called it. He 
 thinks it come from something wrong with the 
 drains." 
 
 " He did n't say typhoid ? " 
 
 " Yes, that 'a the name of it." 
 
 Richard ascended the stairs with a slow step, and 
 a moment afterwards stood stupidly in the middle 
 of the workshop. " Margaret is going to die," he 
 said to himself, giving voice to the dark foreboding 
 that had instantly seized upon him, and in a swift 
 vision he saw the end of all that simple, fortunate 
 existence which he had lived without once reflect- 
 ing it could ever end. He mechanically picked up 
 a tool from the table, and laid it down again. Then 
 he seated himself on the low bench between the 
 windows. It was Margaret's favorite place ; it was 
 not four days since she sat there reading to him. 
 Already it appeared long ago, years and years 
 ago. He could hardly remember when he did not 
 have this heavy weight on his heart. His life of 
 yesterday abruptly presented itself to him as a rem- 
 iniscence ; he saw now how happy that life had 
 been, and how lightly he had accepted it. It took 
 to itself all that precious quality of things irrevoca- 
 bly lost.
 
 110 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 The clamor of the bell in the South Church 
 striking noon, and the shrilling of the steam-whis- 
 tles softened by the thick-falling snow, roused Rich- 
 ard from his abstraction. He was surprised that it 
 was noon. He rose from the bench and went home 
 through the storm, scarcely heeding the sleet that 
 snapped in his face like whip-lashes. Margaret was 
 going to die ! 
 
 For four or five weeks the world was nearly a 
 blank to Richard Shackford. The insidious fever 
 that came and went, bringing alternate despair and 
 hope to the watchers in the hushed room, was in 
 his veins also. He passed the days between his 
 lonely lodgings in Lime Street and the studio, do- 
 ing nothing, restless and apathetic by turns, but 
 with always a poignant sense of anxiety. Ho 
 ceased to take any distinct measurement of time 
 further than to note that an interval of months 
 seemed to separate Monday from Monday. Mean- 
 while, if new patterns had been required by the 
 men, the work in the carving departments would 
 have come to a dead lock. 
 
 At length the shadow lifted, and there fell a day 
 of soft May weather when Margaret, muffled in 
 shawls and as white as death, was seated once 
 more in her accustomed corner by the west win- 
 dow. She had insisted on being brought there the
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. Ill 
 
 first practicable moment; nowhere else in the house 
 was such sunshine, and Mr. Slocum himself had 
 brought her in his arms. She leaned back against 
 the pillows, smiling faintly. Her fingers lay locked 
 on her lap, and the sunlight showed through the 
 narrow transparent palms. It was as if her hands 
 were full of blush-roses. 
 
 Richard breathed again, but not with so free a 
 heart as before. What if she had died? He felt 
 an immense pity for himself when he thought of 
 that, and he thought of it continually as the days 
 wore on. 
 
 Either a great alteration had wrought itself in 
 Margaret, or Richard beheld her through a clearer 
 medium during the weeks of convalescence that fol- 
 lowed. Was this the slight, sharp-faced girl he 
 used to know ? The eyes and the hair were the 
 same ; but the smile was deeper, and the pliant 
 figure had lost its extreme slimness without a sacri- 
 fice to its delicacy. The spring air was filling her 
 veins with abundant health, and mantling her 
 cheeks with a richer duskiness than they had ever 
 worn. Margaret was positively handsome. Her 
 beauty had come all in a single morning, like the 
 crocuses. This beauty began to awe Richard ; it 
 had the effect of seeming to remove her further and 
 further from him. He grew moody and restless
 
 112 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 when they were together, and was wretched alone. 
 His constraint did not escape Margaret. She 
 watched him, and wondered at his inexplicable de- 
 pression when every one in the household was re- 
 joicing in her recovery. By and by this depression 
 wounded her, but she was too spirited to show the 
 hurt. She always brought a book with her now, 
 in her visits to the studio ; it was less awkward to 
 read than to sit silent and unspoken to over a piece 
 of needle-work. 
 
 " How very odd you are ! " said Margaret, one 
 afternoon, closing the volume which she had held 
 mutely for several minutes, waiting for Richard to 
 grasp the fact that she had ceased reading aloud. 
 
 " I odd ! " protested Richard, breaking with a 
 jerk from one of his long reveries. "In what 
 way ? " 
 
 " As if I could explain when you put the ques- 
 tion suddenly, like that." 
 
 " I did n't intend to be abrupt. I was curious to 
 know. And then the charge itself was a trifle un- 
 expected, if you will look at it. But never mind," 
 he added with a smile ; " think it over, and tell me 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " No, I will tell you now, since you are willing 
 to wait." 
 
 " I was n't really willing to wait, but I knew if
 
 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 113 
 
 I did n't pretend to be I should never get it out of 
 you." 
 
 " Very well, then ; your duplicity is successful. 
 Richard, I am puzzled where to begin with your 
 oddities." 
 
 " Begin at the beginning." 
 
 " No, I will take the nearest. When a young 
 lady is affable enough to read aloud to you, the 
 least you can do is to listen to her. That is a def- 
 erence you owe to the author, when it happens to 
 be Hawthorne, to say nothing of the young lady." 
 
 " But I have been listening, Margaret. Every 
 word ! " 
 
 " Where did I leave off ? " 
 
 " It was where where the " and Richard 
 knitted his brows in the vain effort to remember 
 " where the young daguerreotypist, what 's-his- 
 name, took up his residence in the House of the 
 Seven Gables." 
 
 " No, sir ! You stand convicted. It was ten 
 pages further on. The last words were," and 
 Margaret read from the book, 
 
 '* ' Good-night, cousin,' said Phoebe, strangely af- 
 fected by Hepzibah's manner. ' If you begin to 
 love me, I am glad.' " 
 
 " There, sir 1 what do you say to that ? " 
 
 Richard did not say anything, but he gave a
 
 114 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 guilty start, and shot a rapid glance at Margaret 
 coolly enjoying her triumph. 
 
 " In the next place," she continued soberly, after 
 a pause, " I think it very odd in you not to reply 
 to me, oh, not now, for of course you are with- 
 out a word of justification ; but at other times. 
 Frequently, when I speak to you, you look at me 
 so," making a vacant little face, " and then sud- 
 denly disappear, I don't mean bodily, but men- 
 tally." 
 
 " I am no great talker at best," said Richard 
 with a helpless air. " I seldom speak unless I have 
 something to say." 
 
 " But other people do. I, for instance." 
 
 " Oh, you, Margaret ; that is different. When 
 you talk I don't much mind what you are talking 
 about." 
 
 " I like a neat, delicate compliment like that ! " 
 
 " What a perverse girl you are to-day ! " cried 
 Richard. " You won't understand me. I mean 
 that your words and your voice are so pleasant they 
 make anything interesting, whether it 's important 
 or not." 
 
 " If no one were to speak until he had something 
 important to communicate," observed Margaret, 
 " conversation in this world would come to a gen- 
 eral stop." Then she added, with a little ironical
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 115 
 
 smile, "Even you, Richard, wouldn't be talking 
 all the time." 
 
 Formerly Margaret's light sarcasms, even when 
 they struck him point-blank, used to amuse Rich- 
 ard ; but now he winced at being merely grazed. 
 
 Margaret went on : " But it 'a not a bit neces- 
 sary to be oracular or instructive with me. I 
 am interested in trivial matters, in the weather, 
 in my spring hat, in what you are going to do next, 
 and the like. One must occupy one's self with 
 something. But you, Richard, nowadays you seem 
 interested in nothing, and have nothing whatever 
 to say." 
 
 Poor Richard ! He had a great deal to say, but 
 he did not know how, nor if it were wise to breathe 
 it. Just three little words, murmured or whispered, 
 and the whole conditions would be changed. With 
 those fateful words uttered, what would be Mar- 
 garet's probable attitude, and what Mr. Slocum's ? 
 Though the line which formerly drew itself be- 
 tween employer and employee had grown faint 
 with time, it still existed in Richard's mind, and 
 now came to the surface with great distinctness, 
 like a word written in sympathetic ink. If he 
 spoke, and Margaret was startled or offended, then 
 there was an end to their free, unembarrassed in- 
 tercourse, perhaps an end to all intercourse. By
 
 116 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 
 
 keeping his secret locked in his breast he at least 
 secured the present. But that was to risk every- 
 thing. Any day somebody might come and carry 
 Margaret off under his very eyes. As he reflected 
 on this, the shadow of John Dana, the son of the 
 rich iron-manufacturer, etched itself sharply upon 
 Richard's imagination. Within the week young 
 Dana had declared in the presence of Richard that 
 " Margaret Slocum was an awfully nice little 
 thing," and the Othello in Richard's blood had 
 been set seething. Then his thought glanced from 
 John Dana to Mr. Pinklmm and the Rev. Arthur 
 Langly, both of whom were assiduous visitors at 
 the house. The former had lately taken to accom- 
 panying Margaret on the piano with his dismal lit- 
 tle flute, and the latter was perpetually making a 
 moth of himself about her class at Sunday-school. 
 
 Richard stood with the edge of his chisel resting 
 idly upon the plaster mold in front of him, ponder- 
 ing these things. Presently he heard Margaret's 
 voice, as if somewhere in the distance, saying, 
 
 " I have not finished yet, Richard." 
 
 " Go on," said Richard, falling to work again 
 with a kind of galvanic action. " Go on, please." 
 
 " I have a serious grievance. Frankly, I am 
 hurt by your preoccupation and indifference, your 
 want of openness or cordiality, I don't know
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 117 
 
 how to name it. You are the only person who 
 seems to be unaware that I escaped a great danger 
 a month ago. I am obliged to remember all the 
 agreeable hours I have spent in the studio to keep 
 off the impression that during my illness you got 
 used to not se'eing me, and that now my presence 
 somehow obstructs your work and annoys you." 
 
 Richard threw his chisel on the bench, and 
 crossed over to the window where Margaret sat. 
 
 "You are as wrong as you can be," he said, 
 looking down on her half-lifted face, from which a 
 quick wave of color was subsiding; for the ab- 
 ruptness of Richard's movement had startled her. 
 
 " I am glad if I am wrong." 
 
 " It is nearly an unforgivable thing to be as wide 
 of the mark as you are. Oh, Margaret, if you had 
 died that time ! " 
 
 " You would have been very sorry ? " 
 
 "Sorry? No. That does n't express it; one 
 outlives mere sorrow. If anything had happened 
 to you, I should never have got over it. You don't 
 know what those five weeks were to me. It was a 
 kind of death to come to this room day after day, 
 and not find you." 
 
 Margaret rested her eyes thoughtfully on the 
 space occupied by Richard rather than on Richard 
 himself, seeming to look through and beyond him, 
 as if he were incorporeal.
 
 118 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " You missed me like that ? " she said slowly. 
 
 " I missed you like that." 
 
 Margaret meditated a moment. "In the first 
 days of iny illness I wondered if you did n't miss 
 me a little ; afterwards everything was confused in 
 my mind. When I tried to think, I seemed to be 
 somebody else, I seemed to be you waiting for 
 me here in the studio. Was n't that singular ? 
 But when I recovered, and returned to my old 
 place, I began to suspect I had been bearing your 
 anxiety, that I had been distressed by the ab 
 sence to which you had grown accustomed." 
 
 " I never got used to it, Margaret. It became 
 more and more unendurable. This workshop was 
 full of of your absence. There was n't a sketch 
 or a cast or an object in the room that did n't re- 
 mind me of you, and seem to mock at me for hav- 
 ing let the most precious moments of my life slip 
 away unheeded. That bit of geranium in the glass 
 yonder seemed to say with its dying breath, You 
 have cared for neither of us as you ought to have 
 cared ; my scent and her goodness have been all 
 one to you, things to take or to leave. It was 
 for no merit of yours that she was always planning 
 something to make life smoother and brighter for 
 you. What had you done to deserve it? How 
 unselfish and generous and good she has been to
 
 THE STILL WATER TRAGEDY. 119 
 
 you for years and years ! What would have be- 
 come of you without her ? She left me here on 
 purpose ' it 's the geranium leaf that is speaking 
 all the while, Margaret ' to say this to you, and 
 to tell you that she was not half appreciated ; and 
 now you have lost her ! ' ' 
 
 As she leaned forward listening, with her lips 
 slightly parted, Margaret gave an unconscious little 
 approbative nod of the head. Richard's fanciful 
 accusation of himself caused her a singular thrill of 
 pleasure. He had never before spoken to her in 
 just this fashion ; the subterfuge which his tender- 
 ness had employed, the little detour it had made 
 in order to get at her, was a novel species of flat- 
 tery. She recognized the ring of a distinctly new 
 note in his voice ; but, strangely enough, the note 
 lost its unfamiliarity in an instant. Margaret rec- 
 ognized that fact also, and as she swiftly speculated 
 on the phenomenon her pulse went one or two 
 strokes faster. 
 
 " Oh, you poor boy ! " she said, looking up with 
 a laugh and a flush so interfused that they seemed 
 one, " that geranium took a great deal upon itself. 
 It went quite beyond its instructions, which were 
 simply to remind you of me now and then. One 
 day, while you were out, the day before I was 
 taken ill, I placed the flowers on the desk there,
 
 120 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 perhaps with a kind of premonition that I was 
 going away from you for a time." 
 
 " What if you had never come back ! " 
 
 " I would n't think of that if I were you," said 
 Margaret softly. 
 
 '* But it haunts me, that thought. Sometimes 
 of a morning, after I unlock the workshop door, I 
 stand hesitating, with my hand on the latch, as one 
 might hesitate a few seconds before stepping into 
 a tomb. There were days last month, Margaret, 
 when this chamber did appear to me like a tomb. 
 All that was happy in my past seemed to lie buried 
 here ; it was something visible and tangible ; I 
 used to steal in and look upon it." 
 
 " Oh, Richard ! " 
 
 " If you only knew what a life I led as a boy in 
 my cousin's house, and what a doleful existence for 
 years afterwards, until I found you, perhaps you 
 would understand my despair when I saw every- 
 thing suddenly slipping away from me. Margaret ! 
 the day your father brought you in here, I had all 
 I could do not to kneel down at your feet" 
 Richard stopped short. " I did n't mean to tell 
 you that," he added, turning towards the work- 
 table. Then he checked himself, and came and 
 stood in front of her again. He had gone too far 
 not to go further. " While you were ill I made a 
 great discovery."
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 121 
 
 " What was that, Richard ? " 
 
 " I discovered that I had been blind for two or 
 three years." 
 
 " Blind ? " repeated Margaret. 
 
 " Stone-blind. I discovered it by suddenly see- 
 ing by seeing that I had loved you all the while, 
 Margaret ! Are you offended? " 
 
 " No," said Margaret, slowly ; she was a moment 
 finding her voice to say it. "I ought I to be 
 offended ? " 
 
 '* Not if you are not ! " said Richard. 
 
 " Then I am not. I I 've made little discov- 
 eries myself," murmured Margaret, going into full 
 mourning with her eyelashes. 
 
 But it was only for an instant. She refused to 
 take her happiness shyly or insincerely ; it was 
 something too sacred. She was a trifle appalled 
 by it, if the truth must be told. If Richard had 
 scattered his love-making through the month of 
 her convalescence, or if he had made his avowal in 
 a different mood, perhaps Margaret might have 
 met him with some natural coquetry. But Rich- 
 ard's tone and manner had been such as to suppress 
 any instinct of the kind. His declaration, more- 
 over, had amazed her. Margaret's own feelings 
 had been more or less plain to her that past month, 
 and she had diligently disciplined herself to accept
 
 122 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 
 
 Richard's friendship, since it seemed all he had to 
 give. Indeed, it had seemed at times as if he had 
 not even that. 
 
 When Margaret lifted her eyes to him, a second 
 after her confession, they were full of a sweet seri- 
 ousness, and she had no thought of withdrawing 
 the hands which Richard had taken, and was hold- 
 ing lightly, that she might withdraw them if she 
 willed. She felt no impulse to do so, though as 
 Margaret looked up she saw her father standing a 
 few paces behind Richard. 
 
 With an occult. sense of another presence in the 
 room, Richard turned at the same instant. 
 
 Mr. Slocum had advanced two steps into the 
 apartment, and had been brought to a dead halt by 
 the surprising tableau in the embrasure of the win- 
 dow. He stood motionless, with an account-book 
 under his arm, while a dozen expressions chased 
 each other over his countenance. 
 
 " Mr. Slocum," said Richard, who saw that only 
 one course lay open to him, " I love Margaret, and 
 I have been telling her." 
 
 At that the flitting shadows on Mr. Slocum's face 
 settled into one grave look. He did not reply im- 
 mediately, but let his glance wander from Marga- 
 ret to Richard, and back again to Margaret, slowly 
 digesting the fact. It was evident he had not rel-
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 123 
 
 ished it. Meanwhile the girl had risen from the 
 chair and was moving towards her father. 
 
 " This strikes me as very extraordinary," he said 
 at last. " You have never given any intimation 
 that such a feeling existed. How long has this 
 been going on ? " 
 
 " I have always been fond of Margaret, sir ; but 
 I was not aware of the strength of the attachment 
 until the time of her illness, when I that is, we 
 came so near losing her." 
 
 " And you, Margaret ? " 
 
 As Mr. Slocum spoke he instinctively put one 
 arm around Margaret, who had crept closely to his 
 side. 
 
 " I don't know when I began to love Richard," 
 said Margaret simply. 
 
 " You don't know ! " 
 
 " Perhaps it was while I was ill ; perhaps it was 
 long before that ; may be my liking for him com- 
 menced as far back as the time he made the cast of 
 my hand. How can I tell, papa ? I don't know." 
 
 " There appears to be an amazing diffusion of 
 ignorance here !" 
 
 Margaret bit her lip, and kept still. Her father 
 was taking it a great deal more seriously than she 
 had expected. A long, awkward silence ensued. 
 Richard broke it at last by remarking uneasily,
 
 124 THE STILL WATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 "Nothing has been or was to be concealed from 
 you. Before going to sleep to-night Margaret 
 would have told you all I 've said to her." 
 
 " You should have consulted with me before say- 
 ing anything." 
 
 " I intended to do so, but my words got away 
 from me. I hope you will overlook it, sir, and not 
 oppose my loving Margaret, though I see as plainly 
 as you do that I am not worthy of her." 
 
 " I have not said that. I base my disapproval 
 on entirely different ground. Margaret is too 
 young. A girl of seventeen or eighteen " 
 
 " Nineteen," said Margaret, parenthetically. 
 
 " Of nineteen, then, has no business to bother 
 her head with such matters. Only yesterday she 
 was a child ! " 
 
 Richard glanced across at Margaret, and endeav- 
 ored to recall her as she impressed him that first 
 afternoon, when she knocked defiantly at the work- 
 shop door to inquire if he wanted any pans and 
 pails ; but he was totally unable to reconstruct that 
 crude little figure with the glossy black head, all 
 eyes and beak, like a young hawk's. 
 
 " My objection is impersonal," continued Mr. 
 Slocum. " I object to the idea. I wish this had 
 not happened. I might not have disliked it 
 years hence ; I don't say ; but I dislike it now."
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 125 
 
 Richard's face brightened. " It will be years 
 hence in a few years ! " 
 
 Mr. Slocum replied with a slow, grave smile, " I 
 am not going to be unreasonable in a matter where 
 I find Margaret's happiness concerned ; and yours, 
 Richard, I care for that, too ; but I '11 have no en* 
 tanglements. You and she are to be good friends, 
 and nothing beyond. I prefer that Margaret should 
 not come to the studio so often ; you shall see her 
 whenever you like at our fireside, of an evening. 
 I don't think the conditions hard." 
 
 Mr. Slocum had dictated terms, but it was vir- 
 tually a surrender. Margaret listened to him with 
 her cheek resting against his arm, and a warm light 
 nestled down deep under her eyelids. 
 
 Mr. Slocum drew a half-pathetic sigh. " I pre- 
 sume I have not done wisely. Every one bullies 
 me. The Marble Workers' Association runs my 
 yard for me, and now my daughter is taken off my 
 hands. By the way, Richard," he said, interrupt- 
 ing himself brusquely, and with an air of dismiss- 
 ing the subject, " I forgot what I came for. I 've 
 been thinking over Torrini's case, and have con- 
 cluded that you had better make up his account 
 and discharge him." 
 
 " Certainly, sir," replied Richard, with a shadow 
 of dissent in his manner, "if you wish it."
 
 126 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " He causes a deal of trouble in the yard." 
 
 " I am afraid lie does. Such a clean workman 
 when he 's sober ! " 
 
 " But he is never sober." 
 
 " He has been in a bad way lately, I admit." 
 
 " His example demoralizes the men. I can see 
 it day by day." 
 
 " I wish he were not so necessary at this mo- 
 ment," observed Richard. " I don't know who 
 else could be trusted with the frieze for the Soldiers' 
 Monument. I 'd like to keep him on a week or ten 
 days longer. Suppose I have a plain talk with Tor- 
 rini?" 
 
 " Surely we have enough good hands to stand the 
 loss of one." 
 
 " For a special kind of work there is nobody in 
 the yard like Torrini. That is one reason why I 
 want to hold on to him for a while, and there are 
 other reasons." 
 
 " Snch as what ? " 
 
 " Well, I think it would not be wholly politic to 
 break with him just now." 
 
 " Why not now as well as any time ? " 
 
 " He has lately been elected secretary of the As- 
 sociation." 
 
 " What of that ? " 
 
 " He has a great deal of influence there."
 
 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 127 
 
 " If we put him out of the works it seems to me 
 he would lose his importance, if he really has any 
 to speak of." 
 
 " You are mistaken if you doubt it. His posi- 
 tion gives him a chance to do much mischief, and 
 he would avail himself of it very adroitly, if he 
 had a personal grievance." 
 
 " I believe you are actually afraid of the fellow." 
 Richard smiled, " No, I am not afraid of him, 
 but I don't underrate him. The men look up to 
 Torrini as a sort of leader ; he 's an effective 
 speaker, and knows very well how to fan a dissat- 
 isfaction. Either he or some other disturbing ele- 
 ment has recently been at work among the men. 
 There 's considerable grumbling in the yard." 
 " They are always grumbling, are n't they ? " 
 " Most always, but this is more serious than 
 usual ; there appears to be a general stir among the 
 trades in the village. I don't understand it clearly. 
 The marble workers have been holding secret meet- 
 ings." 
 
 " They mean business, you think ? " 
 " They mean increased wages, perhaps." 
 " But we are now paying from five to ten per 
 cent, more than any trade in the place. What are 
 they after ? " 
 
 " So far as I can gather, sir, the finishers and the
 
 128 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 slab-sawers want an advance, I don't know how 
 much. Then there 's some talk about having the 
 yard closed an hour earlier on Saturdays. All this 
 is merely rumor ; but I am sure there is something 
 in it." 
 
 " Confound the whole lot ! If we can't discharge 
 d drunken hand without raising the pay of all the 
 rest, we had better turn over the entire business to 
 the Association. But do as you like, Richard. You 
 see how I am bullied, Margaret. He runs every- 
 thing ! Come, dear." 
 
 And Mr. Slocum quitted the workshop, taking 
 Margaret with him. Richard remained standing 
 awhile by the table, in a deep study, with his eyes 
 fixed on the floor. He thought of his early days in 
 the sepulchral house in Welch's Court, of his wan- 
 derings abroad, his long years of toil since then, of 
 this sudden blissful love that had come to him, and 
 Mr. Slocum's generosity. Then he thought of Tor- 
 rini, and went down into the yard gently to admon- 
 ish the man, for Richard's heart that hour was full 
 of kindness for all the world.
 
 XL 
 
 IN spite of Mr. Slocum's stipulations respecting 
 the frequency of Margaret's visits to the studio, she 
 was free to come and go as she liked. It was easy 
 for him to say, Be good friends, and nothing be- 
 yond ; but after that day in the workshop it was 
 impossible for Richard and Margaret to be any- 
 thing but lovers. The hollowness of pretending 
 otherwise was clear even to Mr. Slocum. In the 
 love of a father for a daughter there is always a 
 vague jealousy which refuses to render a coherent 
 explanation of itself. Mr. Slocum did not escape 
 this, but he managed, nevertheless, to accept the in- 
 evitable with very fair grace, and presently to con- 
 fess to himself that the occurrence which had at 
 first taken him aback was the most natural in the 
 world. That Margaret and Richard, thrown to- 
 gether as they had been, should end by falling in 
 love with each other was not a result to justify 
 much surprise. Indeed, there was a special propri- 
 ety in their doing so. The Shackfords had always 
 been reputable people in the village, down to 
 Lemuel Shackford, who of course was an old musk- 
 9
 
 130 THE STILL WATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 rat. The family attributes of amiability and hon- 
 esty had skipped him, but they had reappeared in 
 Richard. It was through his foresight and personal 
 energy that the most lucrative branch of the trade 
 had been established. His services entitled him to 
 a future interest in the business, and Mr. Slocum 
 had intended he should have it. Mr. Slocum had 
 not dreamed of throwing in Margaret also ; but 
 since that addition had suggested itself, it seemed 
 to him one of the happy features of the arrange- 
 ment. Richard would thus be doubly identified 
 with the yard, to which, in fact, he had become 
 more necessary than Mr. Slocum himself. 
 
 " He has more backbone with the men than I 
 have," acknowledged Mr. Slocum. " He knows 
 how to manage them, and I don't." 
 
 As soft as Slocum was a Stillwater proverb. 
 Richard certainly had plenty of backbone ; it was 
 his only capital. In Mr. Slocum's estimation it was 
 sufficient capital. But Lemuel Shackford was a 
 very rich man, and Mr. Slocum could not avoid 
 seeing that it would be decent in Richard's only 
 surviving relative if, at this juncture, he were to 
 display a little interest in the young fellow's wel- 
 fare. 
 
 " If he would only offer to advance a few thou- 
 sand dollars for Richard," said Mr. Slocum, one
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 131 
 
 evening, to Margaret, with whom he had been talk- 
 ing over the future, " the property must all come 
 to him some time, it would be a vast satisfaction 
 to me to tell the old man that we can get along 
 without any of his ill-gotten gains. He made the 
 bulk of his fortune during the war, you know. The 
 old sea-serpent," continued Mr. Slocum, with hope- 
 less confusion of metaphor, "had a hand in fitting 
 out more than one blockade-runner. They used to 
 talk of a ship that got away from Charleston with 
 a cargo of cotton that netted the share-holders 
 upwards of two hundred thousand dollars. He 
 denies it now, but everybody knows Shackford. 
 He 'd betray his country for fifty cents in post- 
 age-stamps." 
 
 " Oh, papa ! you are too hard on him." 
 In words dropped cursorily from time to time, 
 Margaret imparted to Richard the substance of her 
 father's speech, and it set Richard reflecting. It 
 was not among the probabilities that Lemuel Shack- 
 ford would advance a dollar to establish Richard, 
 but if he could induce his cousin even to take the 
 matter into consideration, Richard felt that it would 
 be a kind of moral support to him circumstanced as 
 he was. His pride revolted at the idea of coming 
 quite unbacked and disowned, as well as empty- 
 handed, to Mr. Slocum.
 
 132 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 For the last twelve months there had been a ces- 
 sation of ordinary courtesies between the two cous- 
 ins. They now passed each other on the street 
 without recognition. A year previously Mr. Shack- 
 ford had fallen ill, and Richard, aware of the ineffi- 
 cient domestic arrangements in Welch's Court, had 
 gone to the house out of sheer pity. The old man 
 was in bed, and weak with fever, but at seeing 
 Richard he managed to raise himself on one elbow. 
 
 " Oh, it 's you ! " he exclaimed, mockingly. 
 " When a rich man is sick the anxious heirs crowd 
 around him ; but they 're twice as honestly anxious 
 when he is perfectly well." 
 
 " I came to see if I could do anything for you! " 
 cried Richard, with a ferocious glare, and in a tone 
 that went curiously with his words, and shook to 
 the foundations his character of Good Samaritan. 
 
 " The only thing you can do for me is to go 
 away." 
 
 " I '11 do that with pleasure," retorted Richard 
 bitterly. 
 
 And Richard went, vowing he would never set 
 foot across the threshold again. He could not help 
 having ugly thoughts. Why should all the efforts 
 to bring about a reconciliation and all the forbear- 
 ance be on his side ? Thenceforth the crabbed old 
 man might go to perdition if he wanted to.
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 133 
 
 And now here was Richard meditating a visit to 
 that same house to beg a favor ! 
 
 Nothing but his love for Margaret could have 
 dragged him to such a banquet of humble-pie as he 
 knew was spread for his delectation, the morning 
 he passed up the main street of Stilhvater and 
 turned into Welch's Court. 
 
 As Richard laid his hand on the latch of the gate, 
 Mr. Shackford, who was digging in the front gar- 
 den, looked up and saw him. Without paying any 
 heed to Richard's amicable salutation, the old man 
 left the shovel sticking in the sod, and walked stiffly 
 into the house. At another moment this would 
 have amused Richard, but now he gravely followed 
 his kinsman, and overtook him at the foot of the 
 staircase. 
 
 " Cousin Shackford, can you spare me five or ten 
 minutes ? " 
 
 " Don't know as I can," said Mr. Shackford, with 
 one foot on the lower stair. " Time is valuable. 
 What do you want ? You want something." 
 
 " Certainly, or I would n't think of trespassing 
 on your time." 
 
 " Has Slocum thrown you over ? " inquired the 
 old man, turning quickly. A straw which he held 
 between his thin lips helped to give him a singu- 
 larly alert expression.
 
 134 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 "No; Mr. Slocum and I agree the best in the 
 world. I want to talk with you briefly on certain 
 matters ; I want to be on decent terms with you, if 
 you will let me." 
 
 " Decent terms means money, does n't it? " asked 
 Mr. Shackford, with a face as wary and lean as a 
 shark's. 
 
 " I do wish to talk about money, among other 
 things," returned Richard, whom this brutal direct- 
 ness disconcerted a little, " money on satisfactory 
 security." 
 
 " You can get it anywhere with that." 
 
 " So I might, and be asking no favor ; but I 
 would rather get it of you, and consider it an obli- 
 gation." 
 
 " I would rather you would n't." 
 
 " Listen to me a moment." 
 
 "Well, I'm listening." 
 
 Mr. Shackford stood in an attitude of attention, 
 with his head canted on one side, his eyes fixed on 
 the ceiling, and the straw between his teeth tilted 
 up at an angle of forty degrees. 
 
 " I have, as you know, worked my way in the 
 marble yard to the position of general manager," 
 began Richard. 
 
 ' I did n't know," said Mr. Shackford, but I 
 understand. You're a sort of head grave-stone 
 maker."
 
 THE STILL WATER TRAGEDY. 135 
 
 " That is taking rather a gloomy view of it," 
 said Richard, " but no matter. The point is, I hold 
 a responsible position, and I now have a chance to 
 purchase a share in the works." 
 
 " Slocum is willing to take you in, eh ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Then the concern is hit." 
 
 "Hit?" 
 
 " Slocum is going into bankruptcy." 
 
 " You are wrong there. The yard was never so 
 prosperous ; the coming year we shall coin money 
 like a mint." 
 
 " You ought to know," said Mr. Shackford, ru- 
 minatively. " A thing as good as a mint must be a 
 good thing." 
 
 " If I were a partner in the business, I could 
 marry Margaret." 
 
 "Who's Margaret?" 
 
 " Mr. Slocum's daughter." 
 
 " That 's where the wind is ! Now how much 
 capital would it take to do all that?" inquired Mr. 
 Shackford, with an air of affable speculation. 
 
 " Three or four thousand dollars, perhaps 
 less." 
 
 " Well, I would n't give three or four cents to 
 have you marry Slocum's daughter. Richard, you 
 can't pull any chestnuts out of the fire with my 
 paw."
 
 136 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 
 
 Mr. Shackford's interrogations and his more than 
 usual conciliatory manner had lighted a hope which 
 Richard had not brought with him. Its sudden 
 extinguishment was in consequence doubly aggra- 
 vating. 
 
 " Slocum's daughter ! " repeated Mr. Shackford. 
 " I 'd as soon you would marry Crazy Nan up at the 
 work-house." 
 
 The association of Crazy Nan with Margaret sent 
 a red flush into Richard's cheek. He turned an- 
 grily towards the door, and then halted, recollecting 
 the resolves he had made not to lose his temper, 
 come what would. If the interview was to end 
 there it had better not have taken place. 
 
 " I had no expectation that you would assist me 
 pecuniarily," said Richard, after a moment. " Let 
 us drop the money question ; it should n't have come 
 up between us. I want you to aid me, not by lend- 
 ing me money, but by giving me your countenance 
 as the head of the family, by showing a natural 
 interest in my affairs, and seeming disposed to pro- 
 mote them." 
 
 "By just seeming? " 
 
 " That is really all I desire. If you were to pro- 
 pose to put capital into the concern, Mr. Slocum 
 would refuse it." 
 
 " Slocum would refuse it I Why in the devil 
 should he refuse it ? "
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 137 
 
 " Because " Richard hesitated, finding himself 
 unexpectedly on delicate ground " because he 
 would not care to enter into business relations with 
 you, under the circumstances." 
 
 Mr. Shackford removed the straw from his 
 mouth, and holding it between his thumb and fore- 
 finger peered steadily through his half-closed eye- 
 lids at Richard. 
 
 " I don't understand you." 
 
 " The dispute you had long ago, over the piece 
 of meadow land behind the marble yard. Mr. Slo- 
 cuni felt that you bore on him rather heavily in 
 that matter, and has not quite forgiven you for forc- 
 ing him to rebuild the sheds." 
 
 " Bother Slocum and his sheds ! I understand 
 him. What I don't understand is you. I am to of- 
 fer Slocum three or four thousand dollars to set you 
 up, and he is to decline to take it. Is that it ? " 
 
 " That is not it at all," returned Richard. " My 
 statement was this : If you were to propose pur- 
 chasing a share for me in the works, Mr. Slocum 
 would not entertain the proposition, thinking as 
 I don't think that he would mortify you by the 
 refusal of your money." 
 
 " The only way Slocum could mortify me would 
 be by getting hold of it. But what are you driving 
 at, anyhow? In one breath you demand several
 
 138 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 thousand dollars, and in the next breath you tell 
 me that nobody expects it, or wants it, or could be 
 induced to have it on any terms. Perhaps you will 
 inform me what you are here for." 
 
 " That is what you will never discover ! " cried 
 Richard. " It is not in you to comprehend the ties 
 of sympathy that ought to hold between two persons 
 situated as we are. In most families this sympathy 
 binds closely at times, at christenings, or burials, 
 or when some member is about to take an impor- 
 tant step in life. Generally speaking, blood is 
 thicker than water ; but your blood, cousin Shack- 
 ford, seems to be a good deal thinner. I came here 
 to consult with you as my sole remaining kinsman, 
 as one authorized by years and position to give me 
 wise counsel and kindly encouragement at the turn- 
 ing point in my fortune. I did n't wish to go 
 among those people like a tramp, with neither kith 
 nor kin to say a word for me. Of course you don't 
 understand that. How should you ? A sentiment 
 of that kind is something quite beyond your concep- 
 tion." 
 
 Richard's words went into one ear and out the 
 other, without seeming for an instant to arrest Mr. 
 Shackford's attention. The idea of Slocum not ac- 
 cepting money anybody's money presented it- 
 self to Mr. Shackford in so facetious a light as
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 139 
 
 nearly to throw him into good humor. His foot 
 was on the first step of the staircase, which he now 
 began slowly to mount, giving vent, as he ascended, 
 to a series of indescribable chuckles. At the top of 
 the landing he halted, and leaned over the rail. 
 
 " To think of Slocum refusing, that 's a good 
 one ! " 
 
 In the midst of his jocularity a sudden thought 
 seemed to strike Mr. Shackford ; his features under- 
 went a swift transformation, and as he grasped the 
 rail in front of him with both hands a malicious 
 cunning writhed and squirmed in every wrinkle of 
 his face. 
 
 " Sir ! " he shrieked, " it was a trap ! Slocum 
 would have taken it ! If I had been ass enough to 
 make any such offer, he would have jumped at it. 
 What do you and Slocum take me for ? You 're a 
 pair of rascals ! " 
 
 Richard staggered back, bewildered and blinded, 
 as if he had received a blow in the eyes. 
 
 ** No," continued Mr. Shackford, with a gesture 
 of intense contempt, " you are less than rascals. 
 You are fools. A rascal has to have brains ! " 
 
 " You shameless old man ! " cried Richard, as 
 soon as he could get his voice. 
 
 To do Mr. Shackford justice, he was thoroughly 
 convinced that Richard had lent himself to a pre-
 
 140 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 posterous attempt to obtain money from him. The 
 absence of ordinary shrewdness in the method 
 stamped it at once as belonging to Slocum, of whose 
 mental calibre Mr. Shackford entertained no flat- 
 tering estimate. 
 
 " Slocum ! " he muttered, grinding the word be- 
 tween his teeth. " Family ties ! " he cried, hurl- 
 ing the words scornfully over the banister as he 
 disappeared into one of the upper chambers. 
 
 Richard stood with one hand on the newel-post, 
 white at the lip with rage. For a second he had a 
 wild impulse to spring up the staircase, but, con- 
 trolling this, he turned and hurried out of the 
 house. 
 
 At the gate he brushed roughly against a girl, 
 who halted and stared. It was a strange thing 
 to see Mr. Richard Shackford, who always had a 
 pleasant word for a body, go by in that blind, ex- 
 cited fashion, striking one fist into the palm of the 
 other hand, and talking to his own self ! Mary 
 Hennessey watched him until he wheeled out of 
 Welch's Court, and then picking up her basket, 
 which she had rested on the fence, went her way.
 
 XII. 
 
 AT the main entrance to the marble works Rich- 
 ard nearly walked over a man who was coming out, 
 intently mopping his forehead with a very dirty 
 calico handkerchief. It was an English stone-dresser 
 named Denyven. Richard did not recognize him 
 at first. 
 
 " That you, Denyven ! . . . what has hap- 
 pened?" 
 
 " I 've 'ad a bit of a scrimmage, sir." 
 
 " A scrimmage in the yard, in work hours I " 
 
 The man nodded. 
 
 " With whom ? " 
 
 " Torrini, sir, he 's awful bad this day." 
 
 " Torrini, it is always Torrini ! It seems odd 
 that one man should be everlastingly at the bottom 
 of everything wrong. How did it happen ? Give 
 it to me straight, Denyven ; I don't want a crooked 
 story. This thing has got to stop in Slocum's 
 Yard." 
 
 " The way of it was this, sir : Torrini was n't at 
 the shop the morning. He 'ad a day off." 
 
 " I know."
 
 142 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " But about one o'clock, sir, he come in the yard. 
 He 'ad been at the public 'ouse, sir, and he was 
 hummin'. First he went among the carvers, talk- 
 ing Hitalian to 'em and making 'em laugh, though 
 he was in a precious bad humor hisself. By and by 
 he come over to where me and my mates was, and 
 began chaffin' us, which we did n't mind it, seeing 
 he was 'eavy in the 'ead. He was as clear as a fog- 
 'orn all the same. But when he took to banging 
 the tools on the blocks, I sings out, * 'Ands off ! ' 
 and then he fetched me a clip. I was never look- 
 ing for nothing less than that he 'd hit me. I was 
 a smiling at the hinstant." 
 
 " He must be drunker than usual." 
 
 " Hevidently, sir. I went down between two 
 slabs as soft as you please. When I got on my 
 pins, I was for choking him a bit, but my mates 
 hauled us apart. That's the 'ole of it, sir. They '11 
 tell you the same within." 
 
 " Are you hurt, Deny ven ? " 
 
 " Only a bit of a scratch over the heye, sir, 
 and the nose," and the man began mopping his 
 brow tenderly. " I 'd like to 'ave that Hitalian for 
 about ten minutes, soaie day when he 's sober, over 
 yonder on the green." 
 
 " I 'm afraid he would make the ten minutes 
 seem long to you."
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 143 
 
 " Well, sir, I 'd willingly let him try his 'and." 
 "How is it, Denyven," said Richard, " that you, 
 and sensible workingmen like you, have permitted 
 such a quarrelsome and irresponsible fellow to be- 
 come a leader in the Association ? He 's secretary, 
 or something, is n't he ? " 
 
 " Well, sir, he writes an uncommonly clean fist, 
 and then he 's a born horator. He 's up to all the 
 parli'mentary dodges. Must 'ave 'ad no end of 
 hexperience in them sort of things on the other 
 side." 
 
 " No doubt, and that accounts for him being 
 over here." 
 
 " As for horganizing a meeting, sir " 
 " I know. Torrini has a great deal of that kind 
 of ability ; perhaps a trifle too much for his own 
 good or anybody else's. There was never any 
 trouble to speak of among the trades in Stillwater 
 till he and two or three others came here with for- 
 eign grievances. These men get three times the 
 pay they ever received in their own land, and are 
 treated like human beings for the first time in their 
 lives. But what do they do ? They squander a 
 quarter of their week's wages at the tavern, no 
 rich man could afford to put a fourth of his income 
 into drink, and make windy speeches at the 
 Union. I don't say all of them, but too many of
 
 144 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 them. The other night, I understand, Torrini 
 compared Mr. Slocum to Nero, Mr. Slocum, the 
 fairest and gentlest man that ever breathed I What 
 rubbish!" 
 
 "It wasn't just that way, sir. His words was, 
 and I 'card him, 'from Nero down to Slocum. " 
 
 " It amounts to the same thing, and is enough to 
 make one laugh, if it didn't make one want to 
 swear. I hear that that was a very lively meeting 
 the other night. What was that nonsense about 
 ' the privileged class ' ? " 
 
 " Well, there is a privileged class in the States." 
 
 41 So there is, but it 's a large class, Deny ven. 
 Every soul of us has the privilege of bettering our 
 condition if we have the brain and the industry to 
 do it. Energy and intelligence come to the front, 
 and have the right to be there. A skillful work- 
 man gets double the pay of a bungler, and deserves 
 it. Of course there will always be rich and poor, 
 and sick and sound, and I don't see how that can be 
 changed. But no door is shut against ability, black 
 or white. Before the year 2400 we shall have a 
 chrome-yellow president and a blaek-and-tan secre- 
 tary of the treasury. But, seriously, Denyven, 
 whoever talks about privileged classes here does it 
 to make mischief. There are certain small politi- 
 cians who reap their harvest in times of public con-
 
 8U( 
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 145 
 
 fusion, just aa pickpockets do. Nobody can play 
 the tyrant or the bully in this country, not even 
 a workingman. Here 's the Association dead against 
 an employer who, two years ago, ran his yard full- 
 handed for a twelvemonth at a loss, rather than 
 shut down, as every other mill and factory in Still- 
 water did. For years and years the Association 
 has prevented this employer from training more 
 than two apprentices annually. The result is, 
 eighty hands find work, instead of a hundred and 
 eighty. Now, that can't last." 
 
 " It keeps wages fixed in Stillwater, sir." 
 
 "It keeps out a hundred workmen. It sends 
 away capital." 
 
 " Torrini says, sir " 
 
 " Steer clear of Torrini and what he says. He 'a 
 a dangerous fellow for his friends. It is hand- 
 some in you, Denyven, to speak up for him with 
 that eye of yours." 
 
 "Oh, I don't love the man, when it comes to 
 that ; but there 's no denying he 's right smart," 
 replied Denyven, who occasionally marred his ver- 
 nacular with Americanisms. ** The Association 
 could n't do without him." 
 
 " But Slocum's Yard can," said Richard, irritated 
 to observe the influence Torrini exerted on even 
 such men as Denyven.
 
 146 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " That's between you and him, sir, of course, 
 but"- 
 
 But what ? " 
 
 " Well, sir, I can't say hexactly ; but if I was 
 you I would bide a bit." 
 
 " No, I think Ton-mi's time has come." 
 
 " I don't make bold to advise you, sir. I merely 
 throws out the hobservation." 
 
 With that Denyven departed to apply to his 
 bruises such herbs and simples as a long experience 
 had taught him to be efficacious. 
 
 He had gone only a few rods, however, when it 
 occurred to him that there were probabilities of a 
 stormy scene in the yard ; so he turned on his 
 tracks, and followed Richard Shackford. 
 
 Torrini was a Neapolitan, who had come to this 
 country seven or eight years before. He was a man 
 above the average intelligence of his class ; a mar- 
 ble worker by trade, but he had been a fisherman, 
 a mountain guide among the Abruzzi, a soldier in 
 the papal guard, and what not, and had contrived 
 to pick up two or three languages, among the rest 
 English, which he spoke with purity. His lingual 
 gift was one of his misfortunes. 
 
 Among the exotics in Stillwater, which even 
 boasted a featureless Celestial, who had unobtru- 
 sively extinguished himself with a stove-pipe hat,
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 147 
 
 Torrini was the only figure that approached pictu- 
 resqueness. With his swarthy complexion and 
 large, indolent eyes, in which a southern ferocity 
 slept lightly, he seemed to Richard a piece out of 
 his own foreign experience. To him Torrini was 
 the crystallization of Italy, or so much of that Italy 
 as Richard had caught a glimpse of at Genoa. To 
 the town-folks Torrini perhaps vaguely suggested 
 hand-organs and eleemosynary pennies ; but Rich- 
 ard never looked at the straight-limbed, handsome 
 fellow without recalling the Phrygian-capped sail- 
 ors of the Mediterranean. On this account, and 
 for other reasons, Richard had taken a great fancy 
 to the man. Torrini had worked in the ornamental 
 department from the first, and was a rapid and ex- 
 pert carver when he chose. 'He had carried himself 
 steadily enough in the beginning, but in these later 
 days, as Mr. Slocum had stated, he was scarcely 
 ever sober. Richard had stood between him and 
 bis discharge on several occasions, partly because he 
 was so skillful a workman, and partly through pity 
 for his wife and children, who were unable to speak 
 a word of English. But Torrini's influence on the 
 men in the yard, especially on the younger hands, 
 who needed quite other influences, and his intem- 
 perate speeches at the trades-union, where he had 
 recently gained a kind of ascendency by his daring, 
 were producing the worst effects.
 
 148 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 At another hour Richard might have been in- 
 clined to condone this last offense, as he had con- 
 doned others ; but when he parted from Denyven, 
 Richard's heart was still hot with his cousin's in- 
 sult. As he turned into the yard, not with his usual 
 swinging gait, but with a quick, wide step, there 
 was an unpleasant dilation about young Shack- 
 ford's nostrils. 
 
 Torrini was seated on a block of granite in front 
 of the upper sheds, flourishing a small chisel in one 
 hand and addressing the men, a number of whom 
 had stopped work to listen to him. At sight of 
 Richard they made a show of handling their tools, 
 but it was so clear something grave was going to 
 happen that the pretense fell through. They re- 
 mained motionless, resting on their mallets, with 
 their eyes turned towards Richard. Torrini fol- 
 lowed the general glance, and paused in his ha- 
 rangue. 
 
 " Talk of the devil ! " he muttered, and then, ap- 
 parently continuing the thread of his discourse, 
 broke into a strain of noisy declamation. 
 
 Richard walked up to him quietly. 
 
 "Torrini," he said, "you can't be allowed to 
 speak here, you know." 
 
 " I can speak where I like," replied Torrini 
 gravely. He was drunk, but the intoxication was
 
 THE STILLWATER TBAGEDY. 149 
 
 not in his tongue. His head, as Denyven had as- 
 serted, was as clear as a fog-horn. 
 
 " When you are sober, you can come to the desk 
 and get your pay and your kit. You are discharged 
 from the yard." 
 
 Richard was standing within two paces of the 
 man, who looked up with an uncertain smile, as 
 if he had not quite taken in the sense of the 
 words. Then, suddenly straightening himself, he 
 exclaimed, 
 
 " Slocum don't dare do it ! " 
 
 " But I do." 
 
 You I " 
 
 " When I do a thing Mr. Slocum backs me." 
 
 " But who backs Slocum, the Association, may 
 be?" 
 
 " Certainly the Association ought to. I want 
 you to leave the yard now." 
 
 " He backs Slocum," said Torrini, settling him- 
 self on the block again, " and Slocum backs down," 
 at which there was a laugh among the men. 
 
 Richard made a step forward. 
 
 " Hands off ! " cried a voice from under the 
 sheds. 
 
 " Who said that ? " demanded Richard, wheeling 
 around. No one answered, but Richard had recog- 
 nized Durgin's voice. " Torrini, if you don't quit
 
 150 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 the yard in two minutes by the clock yonder, I 
 shall put you out by the neck. Do you under- 
 stand?" 
 
 Torrini glared about him confusedly for a mo- 
 ment, and broke into voluble Italian ; then, with- 
 out a warning gesture, sprung to his feet and struck 
 at Richard. A straight red line, running vertically 
 the length of his cheek, showed where the chisel 
 had grazed him. The shops were instantly in a 
 tumult, the men dropping their tools and stumbling 
 over the blocks, with cries of " Keep them apart ! " 
 " Shame on you ! " " Look out, Mr. Shackford ! " 
 
 " Is it mad ye are, Torrany ! " cried Michael 
 Hennessey, hurrying from the saw-bench. Durgin 
 held him back by the shoulders. 
 
 " Let them alone," said Durgin. 
 
 The flat steel flashed again in the sunlight, but 
 fell harmlessly, and before the blow could be re- 
 peated Richard had knitted his fingers in Torrini's 
 neckerchief and twisted it so tightly that the man 
 gasped. Holding him by this, Richard dragged 
 Torrini across the yard, and let him drop on the 
 sidewalk outside the gate, where he lay in a heap, 
 inert. 
 
 " That was nate," said Michael Hennessey, sen- 
 tentiously. 
 
 Richard stood leaning on the gate-post to recover
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 151 
 
 his breath. His face was colorless, and the crimson 
 line defined itself sharply against the pallor ; but 
 the rage was dead within him. It had been one of 
 his own kind of rages, like lightning out of a 
 blue sky. As he stood there a smile was slowly 
 gathering on his lip. 
 
 A score or two of the men had followed him, and 
 now lounged in a half-circle a few paces in the rear. 
 When Richard was aware of their presence, the 
 glow came into his eyes again. 
 
 " Who ordered you to knock off work ? " 
 
 " That was a foul blow of Torrini's, sir," said 
 Stevens, stepping forward, " and I for one come to 
 see fair play." 
 
 " Give us your 'and, mate ! " cried Denyven ; 
 " there 's a pair of us." 
 
 " Thanks," said Richard, softening at once, " but 
 there 's no need. Every man can go to his job. 
 Denyven may stay, if he likes." 
 
 The men lingered a moment, irresolute, and re- 
 turned to the sheds in silence. 
 
 Presently Torrini stretched out one leg, then the 
 other, and slowly rose to his feet, giving a stupid 
 glance at his empty hands as he did so. 
 
 " Here 's your tool," said Richard, stirring the 
 ihisel with the toe. of his boot, " if that 's what 
 you 're looking for."
 
 152 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 Torrini advanced a step as if to pick it up, then 
 appeared to alter his mind, hesitated perhaps a 
 dozen seconds, and turning abruptly on his heel 
 walked down the street without a stagger. 
 
 "I think his legs is shut off from the rest of 
 his body by water-tight compartments," remarked 
 Denyven, regarding Torrini's steady gait with min- 
 gled amusement and envy. " Are you hurt, sir ? " 
 
 " Only a bit of a scratch over the heye," replied 
 Richard, with a laugh. 
 
 " As I hobserved just now to Mr. Stevens, sir, 
 there 's a pair of us ! "
 
 XIII. 
 
 AFTER a turn through the shops to assure him- 
 self that order was restored, Richard withdrew in 
 the direction of his studio. Margaret was standing 
 at the head of the stairs, half hidden by the scarlet 
 creeper which draped that end of the veranda. 
 
 " What are you doing there ? " said Richard 
 looking up with a bright smile. 
 
 " Oh, Richard, I saw it all ! " 
 
 " You did n't see anything worth having white 
 cheeks about." 
 
 " But he struck you . . . with the knife, did he 
 not ? " said Margaret, clinging to his arm anxiously. 
 
 " He did n't have a knife, dear ; only a small 
 chisel, which could n't hurt any one. See for your- 
 self ; it is merely a cat-scratch." 
 
 Margaret satisfied herself that it was nothing 
 more ; but she nevertheless insisted on leading 
 Richard into the workshop, and soothing the slight 
 inflammation with her handkerchief dipped in ar- 
 nica and water. The elusive faint fragrance of 
 Margaret's hair as she busied herself about him 
 would of itself have consoled Richard for a deep
 
 154 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 wound. All this pretty solicitude and ministration 
 was new and sweet to him, and when the arnica 
 turned out to be cologne, and scorched his cheek, 
 Margaret's remorse was so delicious that Richard 
 half wished the mixture had been aquafortis. 
 
 " You should n't have been looking into the 
 yard," he said. " If I had known that you were 
 watching us it would have distracted me. When 
 I am thinking of you I cannot think of anything 
 else, and I had need of my wits for a moment." 
 
 " I happened to be on the veranda, and was too 
 frightened to go away. Why did you quarrel ? " 
 
 In giving Margaret an account of the matter, 
 Richard refrained from any mention of his humil- 
 iating visit to Welch's Court that morning. He 
 could neither speak of it nor reflect upon it with 
 composure. The cloud which shadowed his feat- 
 ures from time to time was attributed by Marga- 
 ret to the affair in the yard. 
 
 " But this is the end of it, is it not?" she asked, 
 with troubled eyes. " You will not have any fur- 
 ther words with him ? " 
 
 " You need n't worry. If Torrini had not been 
 drinking he would never have lifted his hand 
 against me. When he comes out of his present 
 state, he will be heartily ashamed of himself. His 
 tongue is the only malicious part of him. If he
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 155 
 
 had n't a taste for drink and oratory, if he was 
 not ' a born horator,' as Denyven calls him, he 
 would do well enough." 
 
 "No, Richard, he's a dreadful man. I shall 
 never forget his face, it was some wild animal's. 
 And you, Richard," added Margaret softly, " it 
 grieved me to see you look like that." 
 
 " I was wolfish for a moment, I suppose. Things 
 had gone wrong generally. But if you are going 
 to scold me, Margaret, I would rather have some 
 more arnica." 
 
 " I am not going to scold ; but while you stood 
 there, so white and terrible, so unlike yourself, 
 I felt that I did not know you, Richard. Of 
 course you had to defend yourself when the man 
 attacked you, but I thought for an instant you 
 would kill him." 
 
 "Not I," said Richard uneasily, dreading any- 
 thing like a rebuke from Margaret. " I am morti- 
 fied that I gave up to my anger. There was no 
 occasion." 
 
 " If an intoxicated person were to wander into 
 the yard, papa would send for a constable, and 
 have the person removed." 
 
 " Your father is an elderly man," returned 
 Richard, not relishing this oblique criticism of his 
 own simpler method. " What would be proper in
 
 156 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 his case would be considered cowardly in mine. It 
 was my duty to discharge the fellow, and not let 
 him dispute my authority. I ought to have been 
 cooler, of course. But I should have lost caste and 
 influence with the men if I had shown the least 
 personal fear of Torrini, if, for example, I had 
 summoned somebody else to do what I did n't dare 
 do myself. I was brought up in the yard, remem- 
 ber, and to a certahi extent I have to submit to 
 being weighed in the yard's own scales." 
 
 " But a thing cannot be weighed in a scale 
 incapable of containing it," answered Margaret. 
 " The judgment of these rough, uninstructed men 
 is too narrow for such as you. They quarrel and 
 fight among themselves, and have their ideas of 
 daring ; but there is a higher sort of bravery, the 
 bravery of self-control, which I fancy they do not 
 understand very well ; so their opinion of it is not 
 worth considering. However, you know better 
 than I." 
 
 " No, I do not," said Richard. " Your instinct 
 is finer than my reason. But you are scolding me, 
 Margaret." 
 
 ' No, I am loving you," she said softly. " How 
 can I do that more faithfully than by being dis- 
 satisfied with anything but the best in you ? " 
 
 " I was n't at my best a while ago ? "
 
 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 157 
 
 "No, Richard." 
 
 * 4 I can never hope to be worthy of you." 
 
 But Margaret protested against that. Having 
 forced 'him to look at his action through her eyes, 
 she outdid him in humility, and then the conversa- 
 tion drifted off into half-breathed nothings, which, 
 though they were satisfactory enough to these two, 
 would have made a third person yawn. 
 
 The occurrence at Slocum's Yard was hotly dis- 
 cussed that night at the Stillwater hotel. Discus- 
 sions in that long, low bar-room, where the latest 
 village scandal always came to receive the finish- 
 ing gloss, were apt to be hot. In their criticism 
 of outside men and measures, as well as in their 
 mutual vivisections, there was an unflinching di- 
 rectness among Mr. Snelling's guests which is not 
 to be found in more artificial grades of society. 
 The popular verdict on young Shackford's conduct 
 was, as might not have been predicted, strongly in 
 his favor. He had displayed pluck, and pluck of 
 the tougher fibre was a quality held in so high es- 
 teem in Stillwater that any manifestation of it 
 commanded respect. And young Shackford had 
 shown a great deal ; he had made short work of 
 ihe most formidable man in the yard, and given 
 the rest to understand that he was not to be tam- 
 pered with. This had taken many by surprise,
 
 158 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 for hitherto an imperturbable amiability had been 
 
 the leading characteristic of Slocum's manager. 
 
 " I did n't think he had it in him," declared Dex- 
 ter. 
 
 ' Well, ye might," replied Michael Hennessey. 
 " Look at the lad's eye, and the muscles of him. 
 He stands on his two legs like a monumint, so he 
 does." 
 
 " Never saw a monument with two legs, Mike." 
 
 " Did n't ye ? Wait till ye 're layin* at the foot 
 of one. But ye '11 wait many a day, me boy. 
 Ye '11 be lucky if ye 're supploid with a head-stone 
 made out of a dale-board." 
 
 " Could n't get a wooden head-stone short of 
 Ireland, Mike," retorted Dexter, with a laugh. 
 " You 'd have to import it." 
 
 " An' so I will ; but it won't be got over in time, 
 if ye go on interruptin' gintlemen when they 're 
 discoorsin'. What was I sayin', any way, when 
 the blackguard chipped in ? " continued Mr. Hen- 
 nessey, appealing to the company, as he emptied the 
 ashes from his pipe by knocking the bowl on the 
 side of his chair. 
 
 " You was talking of Dick Shackford's muscle," 
 said Durgin, " and you never talked wider of the 
 mark. It does n't take much muscle, or much 
 courage either, to knock a man about when he 's 
 in liquor. The two was n't fairly matched."
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 159 
 
 " You are right there, Durgin," said Stevens, 
 laying down his newspaper. " They were n't fairly 
 matched. Both men have the same pounds and 
 inches, but Torrini had a weapon and that mad 
 strength that comes to some folks with drink. If 
 Shackford had n't taken a neat twist on the neck- 
 cloth, he would n't have got off with a scratch." 
 
 " Shackford had no call to lay hands on him." 
 
 " There you are wrong, Durgin," replied Ste- 
 vens. " Torrini had no call in the yard ; he was 
 making a nuisance of himself. Shackford spoke to 
 him fair, and told him to go, and when he did n't 
 go Shackford put him out; and he put him out 
 handsomely, ' with neatness and dispatch,' as 
 Slocum's prospectuses has it." 
 
 " He was right all the time," said Piggott. " He 
 did n't strike Torrini before or after he was down, 
 and stood at the gate like a gentleman, ready to 
 give Torrini his change if he wanted it." 
 
 " Torrini did n't want it," observed Jemmy ^ 
 Willson. " Ther' is n't nothing mean about Tor- 
 rini." 
 
 " But he 'ad a dozen minds about coming back," 
 said Denyven. 
 
 " We ought to have got him out of the place 
 quietly," said Jeff Stavers ; " that was our end of 
 the mistake. He is not a bad fellow, but he should 
 n't drink."
 
 160 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " He was crazy to come to the yard." 
 
 "When a man 'as a day off," observed Deny- 
 ven, "and the beer is n't narsty, he 'ad better 
 stick to the public 'ouse." 
 
 " Oh, you ! " exclaimed Durgin. * Your opin- 
 ion don't weigh. You took a black eye of him." 
 
 " Yes, I took a black heye, and I can give one, 
 in a hemergency. Yes, I gives and takes." 
 
 " That 's where we differ," returned Durgin. " I 
 do a more genteel business ; I give, and don't 
 take." 
 
 " Unless you 're uncommon careful," said Deny- 
 veu, pulling away at his pipe, " you '11 find your- 
 self some day henlarging your business." 
 
 Durgin pushed back his stool. 
 
 " Gentlemen ! gentlemen ! " interposed Mr. Snell- 
 ing, appearing from behind the bar with a lemon- 
 squeezer in his hand, " we '11 have no black eyes 
 here that was n't born so. I am partial to them 
 myself when nature gives them ; and I propose the 
 health of Miss Molly Hennessey," with a sly glance 
 at Durgin, who colored, " to be drank at the ex- 
 pense of the house. Name your taps, gentlemen." 
 
 " Snelling, me boy, ye 'd win the bird from the 
 bush with yer beguilin' ways. Ye 've brought 
 proud tears to the eyes of an aged parent, and I '11 
 take a sup out of that high-showldered bottle which
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 161 
 
 you kape under the counter for the gentle-folks in 
 the other room." 
 
 A general laugh greeted Mr. Hennessey's selec- 
 tion, and peace was restored ; but the majority of 
 those present were workmen from Slocum's, and the 
 event of the afternoon remained the uppermost 
 theme. 
 
 " Shackford is a different build from Slocum," 
 said Piggott. 
 
 " I guess the yard will find that out when he 
 gets to be proprietor," rejoined Durgin, clicking 
 his spoon against the empty glass to attract Snell- 
 ing's attention. 
 
 " Going to be proprietor, is he ? " 
 
 " Some day or other," answered Dnrgin. " First 
 he '11 step into the business, and then into the fam- 
 ily. He 's had his eye on Slocum's girl these four 
 or five years. Got a cast of her fist up in his 
 workshop. Leave Dick Shackford alone for lining 
 his nest and making it soft all round." 
 
 " Why should n't he ? " asked Stevens. " He 
 deserves a good girl, and there 's none better. If 
 sickness or any sort of trouble conies to a poor 
 man's door, she 's never far off with her kind words 
 and them things the rich have when they are laid 
 up." 
 
 " Oh, the girl is well enough." 
 11
 
 162 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " You could n't say less. Before your mother 
 died," Mrs. Durgin had died the previous au- 
 tumn, "I see that angil going to your house 
 many a day with a little basket of comforts tucked 
 under her wing. But she 's too good to be praised 
 in such a place as this," added Stevens. After a 
 pause he inquired, " What makes you down on 
 Shackford ? He has always been a friend to you." 
 
 " One of those friends who walk over your head," 
 replied Durgin. " I was in the yard two years 
 before him, and see where he is." 
 
 " Lord love you," said Stevens, leaning back in 
 his chair and contemplating Durgin thoughtfully. 
 " there is marble and marble ; some is Carrara mar- 
 ble, and some is n't. The fine grain takes a polish 
 you can't get on to the other." 
 
 " Of course, he is statuary marble, and I'm full 
 of seams and feldspar." 
 
 " You are like the most of us, not the kind 
 that can be worked up into anything very orna- 
 mental." 
 
 " Thank you for nothing," said Durgin, turning 
 away. " I came from as good a quarry as ever 
 Dick Shackford. Where 's Torrini to-night ? " 
 
 " Nobody has seen him since the difficulty," said 
 Dexter, " except Peters. Torrini sent for him after 
 supper."
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 163 
 
 As Dexter spoke, the door opened and Peters 
 entered. He went directly to the group composed 
 chiefly of Slocum's men, and without making any 
 remark began to distribute among them certain 
 small blue tickets, which they pocketed in silence. 
 Glancing carelessly at his piece of card-board, Dur- 
 gin said to Peters, 
 
 " Then it 's decided ? " 
 
 Peters nodded. 
 
 "How's Torrini?" 
 
 " He 's all right." 
 
 " What does he say ? " 
 
 "Nothing in perticular," responded Peters, "and 
 nothing at all about his little skylark with Shack- 
 ford." 
 
 " He 's a cool one ! " exclaimed Durgin. 
 
 Though the slips of blue pasteboard had been 
 delivered and accepted without comment, it was 
 known in a second through the bar-room that a 
 special meeting had been convened for the next 
 night by the officers of the Marble Workers' Asso- 
 ciation.
 
 XIV. 
 
 ON the third morning after Torrini's expulsion 
 from the yard, Mr. S locum walked into the studio 
 with a printed slip in his hand. A similar slip lay 
 crumpled under a work-bench, where Richard had 
 tossed it. Mr. Slocum's kindly visage was full of 
 trouble and perplexity as he raised his eyes from 
 the paper, which he had been re-reading on the 
 way up-stairs. 
 
 " Look at that ! " 
 
 " Yes," remarked Richard, " I have been honored 
 with one of those documents." 
 
 " What does it mean ? " 
 
 " It means business." 
 
 The paper in question contained a series of re- 
 solutions unanimously adopted at a meeting of the 
 Marble Workers' Association of Stillwater, held 
 in Grimsey's Hall the previous night. Dropping 
 the preamble, these resolutions, which were neatly 
 printed with a type-writing machine on a half let- 
 ter sheet, ran as follows : 
 
 Resolved, That on and after the First of June proximo,
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 165 
 
 the pay of carvers in Slocum's Marble Yard shall be 
 $2.75 per day, instead of $2.50 as heretofore. 
 
 Resolved, That on and after the same date, the rubbers 
 and polishers shall have $2.00 per day, instead of $1.75 
 as heretofore. 
 
 Resolved, That on and after the same date the millinen 
 are to have $2.00 per day, instead of $1.75 as hereto- 
 fore. 
 
 Resolved, That during the months of June, July, and 
 August the shops shall knock off work on Saturdays at 
 five P. M., instead of at six p. M. 
 
 Resolved, That a printed copy of these Resolutions be 
 laid before the Proprietor of Slocum's Marble Yard, and 
 that his immediate attention to them be respectfully re- 
 quested. Per order of Committee M. W. A. 
 
 " Torrini is at the bottom of that," said Mr. Slo- 
 cum. 
 
 " I hardly think so. This arrangement, as I told 
 you the other day before I had the trouble with 
 him, has been in contemplation several weeks. Un- 
 doubtedly Torrini used his influence to hasten the 
 movement already planned. The Association has 
 too much shrewdness to espouse the quarrel of an 
 individual." 
 
 " What are we to do ? " 
 
 " If you are in the same mind you were when we 
 talked over the possibility of an unreasonable de- 
 mand like this, there is only one thing to do."
 
 166 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 "Fight it?" 
 
 " Fight it." 
 
 " I have been resolute, and all that sort of thing, 
 in times past," observed Mr. Slocum, glancing out 
 of the tail of his eye at Richard, " and have always 
 come off second best. The Association has drawn 
 up most of my rules for me, and had its own way 
 generally." 
 
 " Since my time you have never been in so strong 
 a position to make a stand. We have got all the 
 larger contracts out of the way. Foreseeing what 
 was likely to come, I have lately fought shy of tak- 
 ing new ones. Here are heavy orders from Rafter 
 & Son, the Builders' Company, and others. We 
 must decline them by to-night's mail." 
 
 "Is it really necessary?" asked Mr. Slocum, 
 knitting his forehead into what would have been 
 a scowl if his mild pinkish eyebrows had permit- 
 ted it. 
 
 " I think so." 
 
 " I hate to do that." 
 
 " Then we are at the mercy of the Association." 
 
 " If we do not come to their terms, you seriously 
 believe they will strike ? " 
 
 " I do," replied Richard, " and we should be in 
 a pretty fix." 
 
 " But these demands are ridiculous."
 
 THE ST1LLWATEB TRAGEDY. 167 
 
 " The men are not aware of our situation ; they 
 imagine we have a lot of important jobs on hand, 
 as usual at this season. Formerly the foreman of a 
 shop had access to the order-book, but for the last 
 year or two I have kept it in the safe here. The 
 other day Dexter came to me and wanted to see 
 what work was set down ahead in the blotter ; but 
 I had an inspiration and did n't let him post him- 
 self." 
 
 "Is not some kind of compromise possible?" sug- 
 gested Mr. Slocum, looking over the slip again. 
 " Now this fourth clause, about closing the yard an 
 hour early on Saturdays, I don't strongly object to 
 that, though with eighty hands it means, every 
 week, eighty hours' work which the yard pays for 
 and does n't get." 
 
 "I should advise granting that request. Such 
 concessions are never wasted. But, Mr. Slocum, 
 this is not going to satisfy them. They have 
 thrown in one reasonable demand merely to flavor 
 the rest. I happen to know that they are deter- 
 mined to stand by their programme to the last let- 
 ter." 
 
 " You know that ? " 
 
 " I have a friend at court. Of course this is not 
 to be breathed, but Denyven, without being at all 
 false to his comrades, talks freely with me. He 
 says they are resolved not to give in an inch."
 
 168 THE STILL WATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " Then we will close the works." 
 
 " That is what I wanted you to say, sir ! " cried 
 Richard. 
 
 "With this new scale of prices and plenty of 
 work, we might probably come out a little ahead 
 the next six months ; but it would n't pay for the 
 trouble and the capital invested. Then when trade 
 slackened, we should be running at a loss, and 
 there 'd be another wrangle over a reduction. We 
 had better lie idle." 
 
 " Stick to that, sir, and may be it will not be 
 necessary." 
 
 " But if they strike" 
 
 " They won't all strike. At least," added Rich- 
 ard, " I hope not. I have indirectly sounded sev- 
 eral of the older hands, and they have half prom- 
 ised to hold on ; only half promised, for every man 
 of them at heart fears the trades-union more than 
 No-bread until No-bread comes." 
 
 " Whom have you spoken with ? " 
 
 " Lumley, Giles, Peterson, and some others, 
 your pensioners, I call them." 
 
 "Yes, they were in the yard in my father's time , 
 they have not been worth their salt these ten years. 
 When the business was turned over to me I did n't 
 discharge any old hand who had given his best days 
 to the yard. Somehow I could n't throw away the
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 169 
 
 squeezed lemons. An employer owes a good work- 
 man something beyond the wages paid." 
 
 " And a workman owes a good employer some- 
 thing beyond the work done. You stood by these 
 men after they outlived their usefulness, and if they 
 do not stand by you now, they 're a shabby set." 
 
 " I fancy they will, Richard." . 
 
 "I think they had better, and I wish they would. 
 We have enough odds and ends to keep them busy 
 awhile, and I should n't like to have the clinking 
 of chisels die out altogether under the old sheds." 
 
 " Nor I," returned Mr. Slocum, with a touch of 
 sadness in his intonation. " It has grown to be a 
 kind of music to me," and he paused to listen to 
 the sounds of ringing steel that floated up from the 
 workshops. 
 
 " Whatever happens, that music shall not cease 
 in the yard except on Sundays, if I have to take 
 mallet and chisel and go at a slab all alone." 
 
 " Slocum's Yard with a single workman in it 
 would be a pleasing spectacle," said Mr. Slocum, 
 smiling ruefully. 
 
 " It would n't be a bad time for that workman to 
 strike," returned Richard with a laugh. 
 
 " He could dictate his own terms," returned Mr. 
 Slocum, soberly. " Well, I suppose you cannot 
 help thinking about Margaret ; but don't think of
 
 170 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 
 
 her now. Tell me what answer you propose to 
 give the Association, how you mean to put it ; 
 for I leave the matter wholly to you. I shall have 
 no hand in it, further than to indorse your action." 
 
 " To-morrow, then," said Richard, " for it is no 
 use to hurry up a crisis, I shall go to the workshops 
 and inform them that their request for short hours 
 on Saturdays is granted, but that the other changes 
 they suggest are not to be considered. There will 
 never be a better opportunity, Mr. Slocum, to settle 
 another question which has been allowed to run too 
 long." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 " The apprentice question." 
 
 " Would it be wise to touch on that at present? " 
 
 " While we are straightening out matters and 
 putting things on a solid basis, it seems to me es- 
 sential to settle that. There was never a greater 
 imposition, or one moi-e short-sighted, than this rule 
 which prevents the training of sufficient workmen. 
 The trades-union will discover their error some day 
 when they have succeeded in forcing manufacturers 
 to import skilled labor by the wholesale. I would 
 like to tell the Marble Workers' Association that 
 Slocum's Yard has resolved to employ as many ap- 
 prentices each year as there is room for." 
 
 " I would n't dare risk it ! "
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 171 
 
 " It will have to be done, sooner or later. It 
 would be a capital flank movement now. They 
 have laid themselves open to an attack on that 
 quarter." 
 
 " I might as well close the gates for good and 
 all." 
 
 " So you will, if it comes to that. You can af- 
 ford to close the gates, and they can't afford to have 
 you. In a week they 'd be back, asking you to 
 open them. Then you could have your pick of the 
 live hands, and drop the dead wood. If Giles or 
 Peterson or Lumley or any of those desert us, they 
 are not to be let on again. I hope you will prom- 
 ise me that, sir." 
 
 " If the occasion offers, you shall reorganize the 
 shops in your own way. I have n't the nerve for 
 this kind of business, though I have seen a great 
 deal of it in the village, first and last. Strikes are 
 terrible mistakes. Even when they succeed, what 
 pays for the lost time and the money squandered 
 over the tavern-bar ? What makes up for the days 
 or weeks when the fire was out on the heaiih and 
 the children had no bread? That is what hap- 
 pens, you know." 
 
 " There is no remedy for such calamities," Rich- 
 ard answered. " Yet I can imagine occasions when 
 it would be better to let the fire go out and the 
 children want for bread."
 
 172 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " You are not advocating strikes ! " exclaimed 
 Mr. Slocum. 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " I thought you were for fighting them." 
 
 " So I am, in this instance ; but the question has 
 two sides. Every man has the right to set a price 
 on his own labor, and to refuse to work for less ; 
 the wisdom of it is another matter. He puts him- 
 self in the wrong only when he menaces the per- 
 son or the property of the man who has an equal 
 right not to employ him. That is the blunder 
 strikers usually make in the end, and one by which 
 , they lose public sympathy even when they are 
 fighting an injustice. Now, sometimes it is an in- 
 justice that is being fought, and then it is right to 
 fight it with the only weapon a poor man has to 
 wield against a power which possesses a hundred 
 weapons, and that 's a strike. For example, the 
 smelters and casters in the Miantowona Iron Works 
 are meanly underpaid." 
 
 " What, have they struck ? " 
 
 " There 's a general strike threatened in the vil- 
 lage ; foundry-men, spinners, and all." 
 
 " So much the worse for everybody ! I did not 
 suppose it was as bad as that. What has become 
 of Torrini?" 
 
 " The day after he left us he was taken on as 
 forgeman at Dana's."
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 173 
 
 " I am glad Dana has got him ! " 
 
 " At the meeting, last night, Torrini gave in his 
 resignation as secretary of the Association ; being 
 no longer a marble worker, he was not qualified to 
 serve." 
 
 " We unhorsed him, then ? " 
 
 " Rather. I am half sorry, too." 
 
 " Richard," said Mr. Slocum, halting in one of 
 his nervous walks up and down the room, " you are 
 the oddest composition of hardness and softness I 
 ever saw." 
 
 " Am I ? " 
 
 " One moment you stand braced like a lion to 
 fight the whole yard, and the next moment you are 
 pitying a miscreant who would have laid your head 
 open without the slightest compunction." 
 
 " Oh, I forgive him," said Richard. " I was a 
 trifle hasty myself. Margaret thinks so too." 
 
 " Much Margaret knows about it ! " 
 
 " I was inconsiderate, to say the least. When a 
 man picks up a tool by the wrong end he must ex- 
 pect to get cut." 
 
 " You did n't have a choice." 
 
 " I should n't have touched Torrini. After dis- 
 charging him and finding him disposed to resist my 
 order to leave the yard, I ought to have called in 
 a constable. Usually it is very hard to anger me ;
 
 174 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 but three or four times in my life I have been car- 
 ried away by a devil of a temper which I could n't 
 control, it seized me so unawares. That was one 
 of the times." 
 
 The mallets and chisels were executing a blithe 
 staccato movement in the yard below, and making 
 the sparks dance. No one walking among the dil- 
 igent gangs, and observing the placid faces of the 
 men as they bent over their tasks, would have sus- 
 pected that they were awaiting the word that 
 meant bread and meat and home to them. 
 
 As Richard passed through the shops, dropping 
 a word to a workman here and there, the man 
 addressed looked up cheerfully and made a fur- 
 tive dab at the brown paper cap, and Richard re- 
 turned the salute smilingly ; but he was sad within. 
 "The foolish fellows," he said to himself, "they 
 are throwing away a full loaf and are likely to 
 get none at all." Giles and two or three of the 
 ancients were squaring a block of marble under a 
 shelter by themselves. Richard made it a point 
 to cross over and speak to them. In past days 
 he had not been exacting with these old boys, and 
 they always had a welcome for him. 
 
 Slocum's Yard seldom presented a serener air of 
 contented industry than it wore that morning ; but 
 in spite of all this smooth outside ifc was a foregone
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 175 
 
 conclusion with most of the men that Slocum, with 
 Shackford behind him, would never submit to the 
 new scale of wages. There were a few who had 
 protested against those resolutions and still disap- 
 proved of them, but were forced to go with the As- 
 'sociation, which had really been dragged into the 
 current by the other trades. 
 
 The Dana Mills and the Miantowona Iron Works 
 were paying lighter wages than similar establish- 
 ments nearer the great city. The managers con- 
 tended that they were paying as high if not higher 
 rates, taking into consideration the cheaper cost 
 of living in Stilhvater. " But you get city prices 
 for your wares," retorted the union ; " you don't 
 pay city rents, and you shall pay city wages." 
 Meetings were held at Grimsey's Hall and the sub- 
 ject was canvassed, at first calmly and then storm- 
 ily. Among the molders, and possibly the sheet- 
 iron workers, there was cause for dissatisfaction ; 
 but the dissatisfaction spread to where no grievance 
 existed ; it seized upon the spinners, and finally 
 tpon the marble workers. Torrini fanned the 
 flame there. Taking for his text the rentage ques- 
 tion, he argued that Slocum was well able to give 
 a trifle more for labor than his city competitors. 
 " The annual rent of a yard like Slocum's would be 
 four thousand or five thousand dollars in the city.
 
 176 THE STILL WATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 It does n't cost Slocum two hundred dollars. It is 
 no more than just that the laborer should have a 
 share he only asks a beggarly share of the 
 prosperity which he has helped to build up." This 
 was specious and taking. Then there came down 
 from the great city a glib person disguised as The 
 Workingman's Friend, no workingman himself, 
 mind you, but a ghoul that lives upon subscriptions 
 and sucks the senses out of innocent human beings, 
 who managed to set the place by the ears. The 
 result of all which was that one May morning every 
 shop, mill, and factory in Still water was served 
 with a notice from the trades-union, and a general 
 strike threatened. 
 
 But our business at present is exclusively with 
 Slocum's Yard.
 
 XV. 
 
 " SINCE we are in for it," said Mr. Slocum the 
 next morning, " put the case to them squarely." 
 
 Mr. Slocum's vertebrae had stiffened over night. 
 
 " Leave that to me, sir," Richard replied. " I 
 have been shaping out in my mind a little speech 
 which I flatter myself will cover the points. They 
 have brought this thing upon themselves, and we 
 are about to have the clearest of understandings. I 
 never saw the men quieter." 
 
 " I don't altogether admire that. It looks as if 
 they had n't any doubt as to the issue." 
 
 " The clearest-headed have no doubt ; they know 
 as well as you and I do the flimsiness of those reso- 
 lutions. But the thick heads are in a fog. Every 
 man naturally likes his pay increased ; if a simple 
 fellow is told five or six hundred times that his 
 wages ought to be raised, the idea is so agreeable 
 and insidious that by and by he begins to believe 
 himself grossly underpaid, though he may be get- 
 ting twice what he is worth. He doesn't reason 
 about it; that 's the last thing he '11 do for you. In 
 this mood he lets himself be blown away by the 
 
 12
 
 178 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 breath of some loud-mouthed demagogue, who has 
 no interest in the matter beyond hearing his own 
 talk and passing round the hat after the meeting 
 is over. That is what has happened to our folks 
 below. But they are behaving handsomely." 
 
 " Yes, and I don't like it." 
 
 Since seven o'clock the most unimpeachable de- 
 corum had reigned in the workshops. It was now 
 nine, and this brief dialogue had occurred between 
 Mr. Slocum and Richard on the veranda, just as 
 the latter was on the point of descending into the 
 yard to have his talk with the men. 
 
 The workshops or rather the shed in which 
 the workshops were, for it was one low structure 
 eighteen or twenty feet wide and open on the west 
 side ran the length of the yard, and with the 
 short extension at the southerly end formed the 
 letter L. There were no partitions, an imaginary 
 line separating the different gangs of workers. A 
 person standing at the head of the building could 
 make himself heard more or less distinctly in the 
 remotest part. 
 
 The grating lisp of the wet saws eating their way 
 into the marble bowlder, and the irregular quick 
 taps of the seventy or eighty mallets were not sus- 
 pended as Richard took his stand beside a tall fu- 
 nereal urn at the head of the principal workshop
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 179 
 
 After a second's faltering he rapped smartly on the 
 lip of the urn with the key of his studio-door. 
 
 Instantly every arm appeared paralyzed, and the 
 men stood motionless, with the tools in their hands. 
 
 Richard began in a clear but not loud voice, 
 though it seemed to ring on the sudden silence : 
 
 " Mr. Slocum has asked me to say a few words to 
 you, this morning, about those resolutions, and one 
 or two other matters that have occurred to him in 
 this connection. I am no speech-maker ; I never 
 learned that trade " 
 
 " Never learned any trade," muttered Durgin, in- 
 audibly. 
 
 " but I think I can manage some plain, honest 
 talk, for straight-forward men." 
 
 Richard's exordium was listened to with painful 
 attention. 
 
 " In the first place," he continued, " I want to 
 remind you, especially the newer men, that Slo- 
 cum's Yard has always given steady work and 
 prompt pay to Stillwater hands. No hand has ever 
 been turned off without sufficient cause, or kept on 
 through mere favoritism. Favors have been shown, 
 but they have been shown to all alike. If anything 
 has gone crooked, it has been straightened out as 
 soon as Mr. Slocum knew of it. That has been the 
 course of the yard in the past, and the Proprietor
 
 180 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 does n't want you to run away with the idea that 
 that course is going to be changed. One change, 
 for the time being, is going to be made at your own 
 suggestion. From now, until the 1st of September, 
 this yard will close gates on Saturdays at five P. M. 
 instead of at six P. M." 
 
 Several voices cried, " Good for Slocum I " 
 " Where 's Slocum ? " " Why don't Slocum speak 
 for himself ? " cried one voice. 
 
 " It is Mr. Slocum's habit," answered Richard, 
 " to give his directions to me, I give them to the 
 foremen, and the foremen to the shops. Mr. Slo- 
 cum follows that custom on this occasion. With 
 regard to the new scale of wages which the Associ- 
 ation has submitted to him, the Proprietor refuses 
 to accept it, or any modification of it." 
 
 A low murmur ran through the workshops. 
 
 " What 's a modificashun, sir ? " asked Jemmy 
 Willson, stepping forward, and scratching his left 
 ear diffidently. 
 
 " A modification," replied Richard, considerably 
 embarrassed to give an instant definition, " is a 
 a" 
 
 " A splitting of the difference, by ! " shouted 
 
 somebody in the third shop. 
 
 " Thank you," said Richard, glancing in the di- 
 rection of his impromptu Webster Unabridged.
 
 THE STILL WATER TRAGEDY. 181 
 
 " Mr. Slocura does not propose to split the differ- 
 ence. The wages in every department are to be 
 just what they are, neither more nor less. If 
 anybody wishes to make a remark," he added, ob- 
 serving a restlessness in several of the men, " I 
 beg he will hold on until I get through. I shall 
 not detain you much longer, as the parson says 
 before he has reached the middle of his sermon. 
 
 " What I say now, I was charged to make par- 
 ticularly clear to you. It is this : In future Mr. 
 Slocum intends to run Slocum's Yard himself. 
 Neither you, nor I, nor the Association will be al- 
 lowed to run it for him. [Sensation.] Until now 
 the Association has tied him down to two ap- 
 prentices a year. From this hour, out, Mr. Slocum 
 will take on, not two, or twenty, but two hundred 
 apprentices if the business warrants it." 
 
 The words were not clearly off Richard's lips 
 when the foreman of the shop in which he was 
 speaking picked up a couple of small drills, and 
 knocked them together with a sharp click. In an 
 instant the men laid aside their aprons, bundled 
 up their tools, and marched out of the shed two 
 by two, in dead silence. That same click was re- 
 peated almost simultaneously in the second shop, 
 and the same evolution took place. Then click, 
 click, click ! went the drills, sounding fainter and
 
 182 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 fainter in the more distant departments ; and in 
 less than three minutes there was not a soul left in 
 Slocum's Yard except the Orator of the Day. 
 
 Richard had anticipated some demonstration, 
 either noisy or violent, perhaps both ; but this sol- 
 emn, orderly desertion dashed him. 
 
 He stepped into the middle of the yard, and 
 glancing up beheld Margaret and Mr. Slocum 
 standing on the veranda. Even at that distance 
 he could perceive the pallor on one face, and the 
 consternation -written all over the other. 
 
 Hanging his head with sadness, Richard crossed 
 the yard, which gave out mournful echoes to his 
 footfalls, and swung to the large gate, nearly catch- 
 ing old Giles by the heel as he did so. Looking 
 through the slats, he saw Lumley and Peterson 
 hobbling arm in arm down the street, after more 
 than twenty-five years of kindly treatment. 
 
 "Move number one," said Richard, lifting the 
 heavy cross-piece into its place and fastening it 
 with a wooden pin. " Now I must go and prop up 
 Mr. Slocum."
 
 XVI. 
 
 THERE is no solitude or silence which comes so 
 near being tangible as that of a vast empty work- 
 shop, crowded a moment since. The busy, intense 
 life that has gone from it mysteriously leaves be- 
 hind enough of itself to make the stillness poignant. 
 One might imagine the invisible ghost of doomed 
 Toil wandering from bench to bench, and noise- 
 lessly fingering the dropped tools, still warm from 
 the workman's palm. Perhaps this impalpable 
 presence is the artisan's anxious thought, stolen 
 back to brood over the uncompleted task. 
 
 Though Mr. Slocum had spoken lightly of Slo- 
 cum's Yard with only one workman in it, when he 
 came to contemplate the actual fact he was struck 
 by the pathos of it, and the resolution with which 
 he awoke that morning began to desert him. 
 
 " The worst is over," exclaimed Richard, join- 
 ing his two friends on the veranda, "and every- 
 thing went smoother than I expected." 
 
 "Everything went, sure enough," said Mr. Slo- 
 cum, gloomily ; " they all went, old Giles, and 
 Lumley, and everybody."
 
 184 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " W<j somewhat expected that, you know." 
 
 "Yes, I expected it, and was n't prepared for it." 
 
 " It was very bad," said Richard, shaking his 
 head. 
 
 The desertion of Giles and his superannuated 
 mates especially touched Mr. Slocum. 
 
 " Bad is no word ; it was damnable." 
 
 " Oh, papa ! " 
 
 " Pardon me, dear ; I could n't help it. When 
 a man's pensioners throw him over, he must be 
 pretty far gone ! " 
 
 "The undertow was too strong for them, sir, and 
 they were swept away with the rest. And they 
 all but promised to stay. They will be the very 
 first to come back." 
 
 " Of course we shall have to take the old fel- 
 lows on again," said Mr. Slocum, relenting charac- 
 teristically. 
 
 " Never ! " cried Richard. 
 
 " I wish I had some of your grit." 
 
 " I have none to spare. To tell the truth, when 
 I stood up there to speak, with every eye working 
 on me, like a half-inch drill, I would have sold 
 myself at a low figure." 
 
 " But you were a perfect what 's-his-name, 
 Demosthenes," said Mr. Slocum, with a faint smile. 
 " We could hear you."
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 185 
 
 " I don't believe Demosthenes ever moved an 
 audience as I did mine ! " cried Richard gayly. " If 
 his orations produced a like effect, I am certain 
 that the Grecian lecture-bureau never sent him 
 twice to the same place." 
 
 " I don't think, Ricliard, I would engage you over 
 again." 
 
 "I am sure Richard spoke very well," inter- 
 rupted Margaret. " His speech was short " 
 
 " Say shortened, Margaret, for I had n't got 
 through when they left." 
 
 " No, I will not jest about it. It is too serious 
 for jesting. What is to become of the families 
 of all these men suddenly thrown out of employ- 
 ment ? " 
 
 " They threw themselves out, Mag," said her 
 father. 
 
 " That does not mend the matter, papa. There 
 will be great destitution and suffering in the vil- 
 lage with every mill closed ; and they are all going 
 to close, Bridget says. Thank Heaven that this 
 did not happen in the winter ! " 
 
 " They always pick their weather," observed Mr. 
 Slocum. 
 
 " It will not be for long," said Richard encour- 
 agingly. " Our own hands and the spinners, who 
 had no ground for complaint, will return to work
 
 186 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 shortly, and the managers of the iron mills will 
 have to yield a point or two. In a week at the 
 outside everything will be running smoothly, and 
 on a sounder foundation than before. I believe 
 the strike will be an actual benefit to everybody in 
 the end." 
 
 By dint of such arguments and his own sanguine 
 temperament, Richard succeeded in reassuring Mr. 
 Slocum for the time being, though Richard did 
 not hide from himself the gravity of the situation. 
 There was a general strike in the village. Eight 
 hundred men were without work. That meant, or 
 would mean in a few days, two or three thousand 
 women and children without bread. It does not 
 take the wolf long to reach a poor man's door when 
 it is left ajar. 
 
 The trades-union had a fund for emergencies of 
 this sort, and some outside aid might be looked for; 
 but such supplies are in their nature precarious and 
 soon exhausted. It is a noticeable feature of strikes 
 that the moment the workman's pay stops his liv- 
 ing expenses increase. Even the more economical 
 becomes improvident. If he has money, the to- 
 bacco shop and the tavern are likely to get more of 
 it than the butcher's cart. The prolonged strain 
 is too great to be endured without stimulant.
 
 XVII. 
 
 DURING the first and second days of the strike, 
 Stillwater presented an animated and even a festive 
 appearance. Throngs of operatives in their Sunday 
 clothes strolled through the streets, or lounged at 
 the corners chatting with other groups ; some wan- 
 dered into the suburbs, and lay in the long grass 
 under the elms. Others again, though these were 
 few, took to the turnpike or the railroad track, and 
 tramped across country. 
 
 It is needless to say that the bar-room of the tav- 
 ern was crowded from early morning down to the 
 hour when the law compelled Mr. Snelling to shut 
 off his gas. After which, John Brown's "soul" 
 could be heard " marching on " in the darkness, 
 through various crooked lanes and alleys, until 
 nearly daybreak. 
 
 Among the earliest to scent trouble in the air 
 was Han-Lin, the Chinaman before mentioned. He 
 kept a small laundry in Mini Lane, where his name 
 was painted perpendicularly on a light of glass in the 
 basement window of a tenement house. Han-Lin 
 intended to be buried some day in a sky-blue coffin
 
 188 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 in his own land, and have a dozen packs of fire- 
 crackers decorously exploded over his remains. In 
 order to reserve himself for this and other ceremo- 
 nies involving the burning of a great quantity of 
 gilt paper, he quietly departed for Boston at the 
 first sign of popular discontent. As Dexter de- 
 scribed it, "Han-Lin coiled up his pig-tail, put 
 forty grains of rice in a yallar bag, enough to 
 last him a month ! and toddled off in his two- 
 story wooden shoes." He could scarcely have done 
 a wiser thing, for poor Han-Lin's laundry was 
 turned wrong side out within thirty-six hours aft- 
 erwards. 
 
 The strike was popular. The spirit of it spread, 
 as fire and fever and all elemental forces spread. 
 The two apprentices in Brackett's bakery had a 
 dozen minds about striking that first morning. 
 The younger lad, Joe Wiggin, plucked up courage 
 to ask Brackett for a day off, and was lucky enough 
 to dodge a piece of dough weighing nearly four 
 pounds. 
 
 Brackett was making bread while the sun shone. 
 He knew that before the week was over there 
 would be no cash customers, and he purposed then 
 to shut up shop. 
 
 On the third and fourth days there was no per- 
 ceptible fall in the barometer. Trade was brisk
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 189 
 
 with Snelling, and a brass band was playing na- 
 tional airs on a staging erected on the green in 
 front of the post-office. Nightly meetings took 
 place at Grimsey's Hall, and the audiences were 
 good-humored and orderly. Torrini advanced some 
 Utopian theories touching a universal distribution 
 of wealth, which were listened to attentively, but 
 failed to produce deep impression. 
 
 " That 's a healthy idea of Torrini's about der- 
 vidin' up property," said Jemmy Willson. " I 've 
 heerd it afore ; but it 's sing'ler I never knowd a 
 feller with any property to have that idea." 
 
 " Ther' 's a great dale in it, I can tell ye," re- 
 plied Michael Hennessey, with a well-blackened 
 Woodstock pipe between his teeth and his hands 
 tucked under his coat-tails. " Is n't ther', Misther 
 Stavens ? " 
 
 When Michael had on his bottle-green swallow- 
 tailed coat with the brass buttons, he invariably as- 
 sumed a certain lofty air of ceremony in addressing 
 his companions. 
 
 " It is sorter pleasant to look at," returned Ste- 
 vens, " but it don't seem to me an idea that would 
 work. Suppose that, after all the property was 
 divided, a fresh ship-load of your friends was to 
 land at New York or Boston ; would there be a 
 new deal ? "
 
 190 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " No, sur ! by no inanes ! " exclaimed Michael 
 excitedly. " The furreners is counted out ! " 
 
 " But you 're a foreigner yourself, Mike." 
 
 " Am I, then ? Bedad, I 'm not ! I 'm a rale 
 American Know Nothing." 
 
 " Well, Mike," said Stevens maliciously, " when 
 it comes to a reg'lar division of lands and green- 
 backs in the United States, I go in for the Chinese 
 having their share." 
 
 "The Chinase ! " shouted Michael. " Oh, mur- 
 ther, Misther Stavens ! Ye would n't be fur divid- 
 in' with thim blatherskites ! " 
 
 " Yes, with them, as well as the rest," re- 
 turned Stevens dryly. 
 
 Meanwhile the directors and stockholders of the 
 various mills took counsel in a room at the rear of 
 the National Bank. Mr. Slocum, following Rich- 
 ard's advice, declined to attend the meeting in per- 
 son, or to allow his name to figure on the list of 
 vice-presidents. 
 
 " Why should we hitch our good cause to their 
 doubtful one ? " reflected Richard. " We have no 
 concessions or proposals to make. When our men 
 are ready to come back to us, they will receive just 
 wages and fair treatment. They know that. We 
 do not want to fight the molders. Let the iron- 
 mills do their own fighting ; " and Richard stolidly
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 191 
 
 employed himself in taking an account of stock, 
 and forwarding by express to their destination the 
 ten or twelve carved mantel-pieces that happily 
 completed the last contract. 
 
 Then his responsibilities shrunk to winding up 
 the office clock and keeping Mr. Slocum firmly on 
 his legs. The latter was by far the more onerous 
 duty, for Mr. Slocum ran down two or three times 
 in the course of every twenty-four hours, while the 
 clock once wound was fixed for the day. 
 
 " If I could only have a good set of Waltham 
 works put into your father," said Richard to Mar- 
 garet, after one of Mr. Slocum's relapses, " he 
 would go better." 
 
 " Poor papa ! he is not a fighter, like you." 
 
 " Your father is what I call a belligerent non- 
 combatant." 
 
 Richard was seeing a great deal of Margaret 
 these days. Mr. Slocum had invited him to sleep 
 in the studio until the excitement was past. Mar- 
 garet was afraid to have him take that long walk 
 between the yard and his lodgings in Lime Street, 
 and then her father was an old man to be with- 
 out any protection in the house in such untoward 
 times. 
 
 So Richard slept in tl/e studio, and had his plate 
 at table, like one of the family. This arrangement
 
 192 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 was favorable to many a stolen five minutes with 
 Margaret, in the hall or on the staircase. In these 
 fortuitous moments he breathed an atmosphere that 
 sustained him in his task of dispelling Mr. Slocum's 
 recurrent fits of despondency. Margaret had her 
 duties, too, at this period, and the forenoons were 
 sacred to them. 
 
 One morning as she passed down the street with 
 a small wicker basket on her arm, Richard said to 
 Mr. Slocuin, 
 
 " Margaret has joined the strikers." 
 
 The time had already come to Stillwater when 
 many a sharp-faced little urchin as dear to the 
 warm, deep bosom that had nursed it as though it 
 were a crown prince would not have had a crust 
 to gnaw if Margaret Slocum had not joined the 
 strikers. Sometimes her heart drooped on the way 
 home from these errands, upon seeing how little of 
 the misery she could ward off. On her rounds there 
 was one cottage in a squalid lane where the chil- 
 dren asked for bread in Italian. She never omit- 
 ted to halt at that door. 
 
 " Is it quite prudent for Margaret to be going 
 about so ? " queried Mr. Slocum. 
 
 " She is perfectly safe," said Richard, u as safe 
 as a Sister of Charity, which she is." 
 
 Indeed, Margaret might then have gone loaded
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 193 
 
 with diamonds through the streets at midnight. 
 There was not a rough man in Stillwater who would 
 not have reached forth an arm to shield her. 
 
 " It is costing me nearly as much as it would to 
 carry on the yard," said Mr. Slocum, " but I never 
 put out any stamps more willingly." 
 
 " You never took a better contract, sir, than when 
 you agreed to keep Margaret's basket filled. It is 
 an investment in real estate hereafter." 
 
 " I hope so," answered Mr. Slocum, "and I know 
 it 's a good thing now." 
 
 Of the morals of Stillwater at this time, or at 
 any time, the less said- the better. But out of the 
 slime and ooze below sprang the white flower of 
 charity. 
 
 The fifth day fell on a Sabbath, and the churches 
 were crowded. The Rev. Arthur Langly selected 
 his text from S. Matthew, chap. xxii. v. 21 : "Ren- 
 der therefore unto Caesar the things which are 
 Csesar's." But as he did not make it quite plain 
 which was Caesar, the trades-union or the Mian- 
 towona Iron Works, the sermon went for noth- 
 ing, unless it could be regarded as a hint to those 
 persons who had stolen a large piece of belting 
 from the Dana Mills. On the other hand, Father 
 O'Meara that morning bravely told his children to 
 conduct themselves in an orderly manner while they 
 
 13
 
 194 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 were out of work, or they would catch it in this 
 
 world and in the next. 
 
 On the sixth day a keen observer might have de- 
 tected a change in the atmosphere. The streets 
 were thronged as usual, and the idlers still wore 
 their Sunday clothes, but the holiday buoyancy of 
 the earlier part of the week had evaporated. A 
 turn-out on the part of one of the trades, though 
 it was accompanied by music and a banner with a 
 lively inscription, failed to arouse general enthusi- 
 asm. A serious and even a sullen face was not rare 
 among the crowds that wandered aimlessly up and 
 down the village. 
 
 On the seventh day it required no penetration to 
 see the change. There was decidedly less good- 
 natured chaffing and more drunkenness, though 
 Snelling had invoked popular contumely and deci- 
 mated his bar-room by refusing to trust for drinks. 
 Brackett had let his ovens cool, and his shutters 
 were up. The treasury of the trades-union was 
 nearly drained, and there were growlings that too 
 much had been fooled away on banners and a brass 
 band for the iron men's parade the previous fore- 
 noon. It was when Brackett's eye sighted the 
 banner with "Bread or Blood" on it, that he had 
 put up his shutters. 
 
 Torrini was now making violent Harangues at
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 195 
 
 Grimsey's Hall to largely augmented listeners, 
 whom bis words irritated without convincing. Shut 
 off from the tavern, the men flocked to hear him 
 and the other speakers, for born orators were just 
 then as thick as unripe whortleberries. There was 
 nowhere else to go. At home were reproaches that 
 maddened, and darkness, for the kerosene had given 
 out. 
 
 Though all the trades had been swept into the 
 movement, it is not to be understood that every 
 workman was losing his head. There were men 
 who owned their cottages and had small sums laid 
 by in the savings-bank ; who had always sent their 
 children to the district school, and listened them- 
 selves to at least one of Mr. Langly's sermons or 
 one of Father O'Meara's discourses every Sunday. 
 These were anchored to good order ; they neither 
 frequented the bar-room nor attended the conclaves 
 at Grimsey's Hall, but deplored as deeply as any 
 one the spirit that was manifesting itself. They 
 would have returned to work now if they had 
 dared. To this class belonged Stevens. 
 
 " Why don't you come up to the hall, nights ? " 
 asked Durgin, accosting him on the street, one aft- 
 ernoon. " You 'd run a chance of hearing me hold 
 forth some of these evenings." 
 
 " You 've answered your own question, William.
 
 196 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 I shouldn't like to see you making an idiot of 
 yourself." 
 
 " This is a square fight between labor and capi- 
 tal," returned Durgin with dignity, "and every 
 man ought to take a hand in it." 
 
 " William," said Stevens meditatively, " do you 
 know about the Siamese twins ? " 
 
 " What about 'em, they 're dead, ain't they ? " 
 replied Durgin, with surprise. 
 
 " I believe so ; but when they was alive, if you 
 was to pinch one of those fellows, the other fellow 
 would sing out. If you was to black the eye of 
 the left-hand chap, the right-hand chap would n't 
 have been able to see for a week. When either of 
 'em fetched the other a clip, he knocked himself 
 down. Labor and capital is jined just as those 
 two was. When you 've got this fact well into 
 your skull, William, I shall be pleased to listen to 
 your ideas at Grimsey's Hall or anywhere else." 
 
 Such conservatism as Stevens's, however, was 
 necessarily swept out of sight for the moment. The 
 wealthier citizens were in a state bordering on 
 panic, all but Mr. Lemuel Shackford. In his 
 flapping linen duster, for the weather was very sul- 
 try now, Mr. Shackford was seen darting excitedly 
 from street to street and hovering about the fever- 
 ish crowds, like the stormy petrel wheeling on the
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 197 
 
 edges of a gale. Usually as chary of his sym- 
 pathies as of his gold, he astonished every one by 
 evincing an abnormal interest in the strikers. The 
 old man declined to put down anything on the sub- 
 scription paper then circulating ; but he put down 
 his sympathies to any amount. He held no stock 
 in the concerns involved ; he hated Slocum, and he 
 hated the directors of the Miantowona Iron Works. 
 The least he hoped was that Rowland Slocum would 
 be laid out. 
 
 So far the strikers had committed no overt act 
 of note, unless it was the demolition of Han-Lin's 
 laundry. Stubbs, the provision dealer, had been 
 taught the rashness of exposing samples of pota- 
 toes in his door-way, and the " Tonsorial Empo- 
 rium " of Professor Brown, a colored citizen, had 
 been invaded by two humorists, who, after having 
 their hair curled, refused to pay for it, and the pro- 
 lessor had been too agitated to insist. The story 
 transpiring, ten or twelve of the boys had dropped 
 in during the morning, and got shaved on the same 
 terms, " By golly, genTmen ! " expostulated the 
 professor, " ef dis yah thing goes on, dis darkey 
 will be cleaned cl'ar out fo de week 's done." No 
 act of real violence had been perpetrated as yet ; 
 but with bands of lawless men roaming over the 
 village at all hours of the day and night, the situa- 
 tion was critical.
 
 198 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 The wheel of what small social life there was in 
 Stillwater had ceased to revolve. With the single 
 exception of Lemuel Shackford, the more respect- 
 able inhabitants kept in-doors as much as practica- 
 ble. From the first neither Mr. Craggie nor Law- 
 yer Perkins had gone to the hotel to consult the 
 papers in the reading-room, and Mr. Pinkham did 
 not dare to play on his flute of an evening. The 
 Rev. Arthur Langly found it politic to do but little 
 visiting in the parish. His was not the pinion to 
 buffet with a wind like this, and indeed he was not 
 explicitly called upon to do so. He sat sorrowfully 
 in his study day by day, preparing the weekly ser- 
 mon, a gentle, pensive person, inclined in the 
 best of weather to melancholia. If Mr. Langly 
 had gone into arboriculture instead of into the min- 
 istry, he would have planted nothing but weeping- 
 willows. 
 
 In the mean time the mill directors continued 
 their deliberations in the bank building, and had 
 made several abortive attempts to effect an arrange- 
 ment with the leaders of the union. This seemed 
 every hour less possible and more necessary. 
 
 On the afternoon of the seventh day of the strike 
 a crowd gathered in front of the residence of Mr. 
 Alexander, the superintendent of the Miantowona 
 Iron Works, and began groaning and hooting. Mr.
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 199 
 
 Alexander sought out Mr. Craggie, and urged him, 
 as a man of local weight and one accustomed to ad- 
 dressing the populace, to speak a few words to ihe 
 mob. That was setting Mr. Craggie on the horns 
 of a cruel dilemma. He was afraid to disoblige the 
 representative of so powerful a corporation as the 
 Miantowona Iron Works, but he equally dreaded 
 to risk his popularity with seven or eight hundred 
 voters ; so, like the crafty chancellor in Tennyson's 
 poem, he dallied with his golden chain, and, smil- 
 ing, put the question by. 
 
 " Drat the man I " muttered Mr. Craggie, " does 
 he want to blast my whole political career ! /can't 
 pitch into our adopted countrymen." 
 
 There was a blot on the escutcheon of Mr. Crag- 
 gie which he was very anxious not to have uncov- 
 ered by any chance in these latter days, his an- 
 cient affiliation with the deceased native American 
 party. 
 
 The mob dispersed without doing damage, but 
 the fact that it had collected and had shown an 
 ugly temper sent a thrill of apprehension through 
 the village. Mr. Slocum came in a great flurry to 
 Richard. 
 
 " This thing ought to be stopped," said Mr. Slo- 
 cum. 
 
 " I agree to that," replied Richard, bracing him- 
 self not to agree to anything else.
 
 200 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " If we were to drop that stipulation as to the 
 increase of apprentices, no doubt many of the men 
 would give over insisting on an advance." 
 
 " Our only salvation is to stick to our right to 
 train as many workmen as we choose. The ques- 
 tion of wages is of no account compared with that ; 
 the rate of wages will adjust itself/' 
 
 " If we could manage it somehow with the mar- 
 ble workers," suggested Mr. Slocum, " that would 
 demoralize the other trades, and they 'd be obliged 
 to fall in." 
 
 " I don't see that they lack demoralization." 
 
 " If something is n't done, they '11 end by knock- 
 ing in our front doors or burning us all up." 
 
 " Let them." 
 
 " It 's very well to say let them," exclaimed Mr. 
 Slocum, petulantly, " when you have n't any front 
 door to be knocked in ! " 
 
 " But I have you and Margaret to consider, if 
 there were actual danger. When anything like 
 violence threatens, there 's an honest shoulder for 
 every one of the hundred and fifty muskets in the 
 armory." 
 
 " Those muskets might get on the wrong shoul- 
 ders." 
 
 " That is n't likely. You do not seem to know, 
 sir, that there is a strong guard at the armory day 
 and night."
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 201 
 
 " I was not aware of that." 
 
 " It is a fact all the same," said Richard ; and 
 Mr. Slocum went away easier in his mind, and re- 
 mained so two or three hours. 
 
 On the eighth, ninth, and tenth days the clouds 
 lay very black along the horizon. The marble 
 workers, who began to see their mistake, were re- 
 proaching the foundry men with enticing them into 
 the coalition, and the spinners were hot in their de- 
 nunciations of the molders. Ancient personal an- 
 tagonisms that had been slumbering started to their 
 feet. Torrini fell out of favor, and in the midst of 
 one of his finest perorations uncomplimentary mis- 
 siles, selected from the animal kingdom, had been 
 thrown at him. The grand torchlight procession 
 on the night of the ninth culminated in a disturb- 
 ance, in which many men got injured, several bad- 
 ly, and the windows of Brackett's bakery were 
 stove in. A point of light had pierced the dark- 
 ness, the trades were quarreling among them- 
 selves ! 
 
 The selectmen had sworn in special constables 
 imong the citizens, and some of the more retired 
 streets were now patrolled after dark, for there had 
 been threats of incendiarism. 
 
 Bishop's stables burst into flames one midnight, 
 whether fired intentionally or accidentally was
 
 202 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 not known ; but the giant bellows at Dana's Mills 
 was slit and two belts were cut at the Miantowona 
 Iron Works that same night. 
 
 At this juncture a report that out-of-town hands 
 were coming to replace the strikers acted on the 
 public mind like petroleum on fire. A large body 
 of workmen assembled near the railway station, 
 to welcome them. There was another rumor which 
 caused the marble workers to stare at each other 
 aghast. It was to the effect that Mr. Slocum, hav- 
 ing long meditated retiring from business, had now- 
 decided to do so, and was consulting with Wynd- 
 ham, the keeper of the green-house, about removing 
 the division wall and turning the marble yard into 
 a peach garden. This was an unlooked-for solution 
 of the difficulty. Stillwater without any Slocum's 
 Marble Yard was chaos come again. 
 
 " Good Lord, boys ! " cried Piggott, " if Slocum 
 should do that ! " 
 
 Meanwhile, Snelling's bar had been suppressed 
 by the authorities, and a posse of policemen, bor- 
 rowed from South Millville, occupied the premises. 
 Knots of beetle-browed men, no longer in holiday 
 gear, but chiefly in their shirt-sleeves, collected from 
 time to time at the head of the main street, and 
 glowered threateningly at the single policeman pac- 
 ing the porch of the tavern. The Stillwater Grays
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 203 
 
 were under arms in the armory over Dundon's drug- 
 store. The thoroughfares had ceased to be safe for 
 any one, and Margaret's merciful errands were nec- 
 essarily brought to an end. How the poor creat- 
 ures who had depended on her bounty now contin- 
 ued to exist was a sorrowful problem. 
 
 Matters were at this point, when on the morning 
 of the thirteenth day Richard noticed the cadaver- 
 ous face of a man peering into the yard through the 
 slats of the main gate. Richard sauntered down 
 there, with his hands in his pockets. The man was 
 old Giles, and with him stood Lumley and Peterson, 
 gazing thoughtfully at the sign outside, 
 
 NO ADMITTANCE EXCEPT ON BUSINESS. 
 
 The roughly lettered clapboard, which they had 
 heedlessly passed a thousand times, seemed to have 
 taken a novel significance to them. 
 
 Richard. What 's wanted there ? 
 
 Giles. \Ve,ry affably.'] We was lookin' round 
 for a job, Mr. Shackford. 
 
 Richard. We are not taking on any hands at 
 present. 
 
 Giles. Didn't know but you was. Somebody 
 laid you was. 
 
 Richard. Somebody is mistaken.
 
 204 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 Giles. P'rhaps to-morrer, or nex' day ? 
 
 Richard. Rather doubtful, Giles. 
 
 G-iles. [Uneasily.] Mr. Slocum ain't goin' to 
 give up business, is he ? 
 
 Richard. Why should n't he, if it does n't pay ? 
 The business is carried on for his amusement and 
 profit ; when the profit stops it won't be amusing 
 any longer. Mr. Slocum is not going to run the 
 yard for the sake of the Marble Workers' Asso- 
 ciation. He would rather drive a junk-cart. He 
 might be allowed to steer that himself. 
 
 Giles. Oh! 
 
 Richard. Good-morning, Giles. 
 
 Criles. 'Mornin', Mr. Shackford. 
 
 Richard rushed back to Mr. Slocum. 
 
 " The strike is broken, sir ! " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " The thing has collapsed ! The tide is turning, 
 and has washed in a lot of dead wood! " 
 
 " Thank God ! " cried Mr. Slocum. 
 
 An hour or so later a deputation of four, consist- 
 ing of Stevens, Denyven, Durgin, and Piggott, 
 waited upon Mr. Slocum in his private office, and 
 offered, on behalf of all the departments, to resume 
 work at the old rates. 
 
 Mr. Slocum replied that he had not objected to 
 the old rates, but the new, and that he accepted 
 their offer conditionally.
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 205 
 
 44 You have overlooked one point, Mr. Stevens." 
 
 " Which one, sir ? " 
 
 "The apprentices." 
 
 " We thought you might not insist there, sir." 
 
 " I insist on conducting my own business in my 
 own way." 
 
 The voice was the voice of Slocum, but the back- 
 bone was Richard's. 
 
 44 Then, sir, the Association don't object to a 
 reasonable number of apprentices." 
 
 44 How many is that ? " 
 
 44 As many as you want, I expect, sir," said 
 Stevens, shuffling his feet. 
 
 44 Very well, Stevens. Go round to the front, 
 gate and Mr. Shackford will let you in." 
 
 There were two doors to the office, one leading 
 into the yard, and the other, by which the deputa- 
 tion had entered and was now making its exit, 
 opened upon the street. 
 
 Richard heaved a vast sigh of relief as he took 
 down the beam securing the principal entrance. 
 
 44 Good-morning, boys," he chirped, with a smile 
 as bright as newly minted gold. 44 1 hope you en- 
 joyed yourselves." 
 
 The quartet ducked their heads bashfully, and 
 Stevens replied, 44 Can't speak for the others, Mr. 
 Shackford, but I never enjoyed myself worse."
 
 206 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 Piggott lingered a moment behind the rest, and 
 looking back over his shoulder said, " That peach 
 garden was what fetched us ! " 
 
 Richard gave a loud laugh, for the peach garden 
 had been a horticultural invention of his own. 
 
 In the course of the forenoon the majority of the 
 hands presented themselves at the office, dropping 
 into the yard in gangs of five or six, and nearly 
 all were taken on. To dispose definitely of Lum- 
 ley, Giles, and Peterson, they were not taken on 
 at S'ocum's Yard, though they continued to be, 
 directly or indirectly, Slocum's pensioners, even 
 after they were retired to the town farm. 
 
 Once more the chisels sounded merrily under the 
 long shed. That same morning the spinners went 
 back to the mules, but the molders held out until 
 nightfall, when it was signified to them that their 
 demands would be complied with. 
 
 The next day the steam-whistles of the Mian- 
 towona Iron Works and Dana's Mills sent the 
 echoes flying beyond that undulating line of pines 
 and hemlocks which half encircles Stilhvater, and 
 falls away loosely on either side, like an unclasped 
 girdle. 
 
 A calm, as if from out the cloudless blue sky 
 that arched it day after day, seemed to drift down 
 upon the village. Han-Lin, with no more facial
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 207 
 
 expression than an orange, suddenly reappeared on 
 the streets, and went about repairing his laundry, 
 unmolested. The children were playing in the 
 sunny lanes again, unafraid, and mothers sat on 
 doorsteps in the summer twilights, singing softly 
 to the baby in arm. There was meat on the ta- 
 ble, and the tea-kettle hummed comfortably at the 
 back of the stove. The very winds that rustled 
 through the fragrant pines, and wandered fitfully 
 across the vivid green of the salt marshes, breathed 
 peace and repose. 
 
 Then, one morning, this blissful tranquillity was 
 rudely shattered. Old Mr. Lemuel Shackford had 
 been found murdered in his own house in Welch's 
 Court.
 
 XVIII. 
 
 THE general effect on Stilhvater of Mr. Shack- 
 ford's death and the peculiar circumstances attend- 
 ing the tragedy have been set forth in the earlier 
 chapters of this narrative. The influence which 
 that event exerted upon several persons then but 
 imperfectly known to the reader is now to occupy 
 us. 
 
 On the conclusion of the strike, Richard had re- 
 turned, in the highest spirits, to his own rooms in 
 Lime Street; but the quiet week that followed 
 found him singularly depressed. His nerves had 
 been strung to their utmost tension during those 
 thirteen days of suspense ; he had assumed no light 
 responsibility in the matter of closing the yard, 
 and there had been moments when the task of sus- 
 taining Mr. Slocum had appeared almost hopeless. 
 Now that the strain was removed a reaction set 
 in, and Richard felt himself unnerved by the flee- 
 ing shadow of the trouble which had not caused 
 him to flinch so long as it faced him. 
 
 On the morning and at the moment when Mary 
 Hennessey was pushing open the scullery door of
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 209 
 
 the house in Welch's Court, and was about to 
 come upon the body of the forlorn old man lying 
 there in his- night-dress, Richard sat eating his 
 breakfast in a silent and preoccupied mood. He 
 had retired very late the previous night, and his 
 lack-lustre eyes showed the effect of insufficient 
 sleep. His single fellow-boarder, Mr. Pinkham, 
 had not returned from his customary early walk, 
 and only Richard and Mrs. Spooner, the landlady, 
 were at table. The former was in the act of lift- 
 ing the coffee-cup to his lips, when the school- 
 master burst excitedly into the room. 
 
 " Old Mr. Shackford is dead ! " he exclaimed, 
 dropping into a chair near the door. " There 's a 
 report down in the village that he has been mur- 
 dered. I don't know if it is true God for- 
 give my abruptness! I did n't think !" and Mr. 
 Pinkham turned an apologetic face towards Rich- 
 ard, who sat there deathly pale, holding the cup 
 rigidly within an inch or two of his lip, and star- 
 ing blankly into space like a statue. 
 
 "I I ought to have reflected," murmured the 
 school-master, covered with confusion at his mala- 
 droitness. " It was very reprehensible in Craggie 
 to make such an announcement to me so suddenly, 
 on a street corner. I I was quite upset by it." 
 
 Richard pushed back his chair without replying, 
 14
 
 210 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 and passed into the hall, where he encountered a 
 messenger from Mr. Slocum, confirming Mr. Pink- 
 ham's intelligence, but supplementing it with the 
 rumor that Lemuel Shackford had committed sui- 
 cide. 
 
 Richard caught up his hat from a table, and 
 hurried to Welch's Court. Before reaching the 
 house he had somewhat recovered his outward com- 
 posure ; but he was still pale and internally much 
 agitated, for he had received a great shock, as Law- 
 yer Perkins afterwards observed to Mr. Ward in 
 the reading-room of the tavern. Both these gentle- 
 men were present when Richard arrived, as were 
 also several of the immediate neighbors and two 
 constables. The latter were guarding the door 
 against the crowd, which had already begun to col- 
 lect in the front yard. 
 
 A knot of carpenters, with their tool-boxes on 
 their shoulders, had halted at the garden gate on 
 their way to Bishop's new stables, and were glanc- 
 ing curiously at the unpainted faqade of the house, 
 which seemed to have taken on a remote, bewil- 
 dered expression, as if it had an inarticulate sense 
 of the horror within. The men ceased their whis- 
 pered conversation as Richard approached, and re- 
 spectfully moved aside to let him pass. 
 
 Nothing had been changed in the cheerless room
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 211 
 
 on the ground floor, with its veneered mahogany 
 furniture and its yellowish leprous wall-paper, 
 peeling off at the seams here and there. A cane- 
 seated chair, overturned near the table, had been 
 left untouched, and the body was still lying in the 
 position in which the Hennessey girl had discovered 
 it. A strange chill something unlike any at- 
 mospherical sharpness, a chill that seemed to exhale 
 from the thin, pinched nostrils permeated the 
 apartment. The orioles were singing madly out- 
 side, their vermilion bosoms glowing like live coals 
 against the tender green of the foliage, and ap- 
 pearing to break into flame as they took sudden 
 flights hither and thither ; but within all was still. 
 On entering the chamber Richard was smitten by 
 the silence, that silence which shrouds the dead, 
 and is like no other. Lemuel Shackford had not 
 been kind or cousinly ; he had blighted Richard's 
 childhood with harshness and neglect, and had 
 lately heaped cruel insult upon him ; but as he 
 stood there alone, and gazed for a moment at the 
 firmly shut lips, upon which the mysterious white 
 dust of death had already settled, the lips that 
 were never to utter any more bitter things, the 
 tears gathered in Richard's eyes and ran slowly 
 down his cheeks. After all said and done, Lemuel 
 Shackford was his kinsman, and blood is thicker 
 than water !
 
 212 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 Coroner Whidden shortly appeared on the scene, 
 accompanied by a number of persons ; a jury was 
 impaneled, and then began that inquest which re- 
 sulted in shedding so very little light on the catas- 
 trophe. 
 
 The investigation completed, there were endless 
 details to attend to, papers to be hurriedly ex- 
 amined and sealed, and arrangements made for the 
 funeral on the succeeding day. These matters oc- 
 cupied Richard until late in the afternoon, when 
 he retire^ to his lodgings, looking in on Margaret 
 for a few minutes on his way home. 
 
 " This is too dreadful ! " said Margaret, clinging 
 to his hand, with fingers nearly as icy as his own. 
 
 " It is unspeakably sad," answered Richard, 
 " the saddest thing I ever knew." 
 
 " Who who could have been so cruel ? " 
 
 Richard shook his head. 
 
 " No one knows." 
 
 The funeral took place on Thursday, and on Fri- 
 day morning, as has been stated, Mr. Taggett ar- 
 rived in Stillwater, and installed himself in Welch's 
 Court, to the wonder of many in the village, who 
 would not have slept a night in that house, with 
 only a servant in the north gable, for half the uni- 
 verse. Mr. Taggett was a person who did not allow 
 himself to be swayed by his imagination.
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 213 
 
 Here, then, he began his probing of a case which, 
 on the surface, promised to be a very simple one. 
 The man who had been seen driving rapidly along 
 the turnpike sometime near daybreak, on Wednes- 
 day, was presumably the man who could tell him all 
 about it. But it did not prove so. Neither Thomas 
 Bluf ton, nor William. Durgin, nor any of the tramps 
 subsequently obliged to drop into autobiography 
 could be connected with the affair. 
 
 These first failures served to stimulate Mr. Tag-, 
 gett ; it required a complex case to stir his ingenu- 
 ity and sagacity. That the present was not a com- 
 plex case he was still convinced, after four days' 
 futile labor upon it. Mr. Shackford had been 
 killed either with malice prepense or on the spur 
 of the moment for his money. The killing had 
 likely enough not been premeditated ; the old man 
 had probably opposed the robbery. Now, among 
 the exceptionally rough population of the town 
 there were possibly fifty men who would not have 
 hesitated to strike down Mr. Shackford if he had 
 caught them flagrante delicto and resisted them, or 
 attempted to call for succor. That the crime was 
 committed by some one in Stillwater or in the 
 neighborhood Mr. Taggett had never doubted since 
 the day of his arrival. The clumsy manner in 
 which the staple had been wrenched from the scul-
 
 214 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 lery door showed the absence of a professional 
 hand. Then the fact that the deceased was in the 
 habit of keeping money in his bedchamber was a 
 fact well known in the village, and not likely to be 
 known outside of it, though of course it might have 
 been. It was clearly necessary for Mr. Taggett to 
 carry his investigation into the workshops and 
 among the haunts of the class which was indubi- 
 tably to furnish him with the individual he wanted. 
 Above all, it was necessary that the investigation 
 should be secret. An obstacle obtruded itself here : 
 everybody in Stillwater knew everybody, and a 
 stranger appearing on the streets or dropping fre- 
 quently into the tavern would not escape comment. 
 The man with the greatest facility for making 
 the requisite researches would of course be some 
 workman. But a workman was the very agent not 
 to be employed under the circumstances. How 
 many times, and by what strange fatality, had a 
 guilty party been selected to shadow his own move- 
 ments, or those of an accomplice I No, Mr. Tag- 
 gett must rely only on himself, and his plan was 
 forthwith matured. Its execution, however, was 
 delayed several days, the cooperation of Mr. Slo- 
 cum and Mr. Richard Shackford being indispensa- 
 ble. 
 
 At this stage Richard went to New York, where
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 215 
 
 his cousin had made extensive investments in real 
 estate. For a careful man, the late Mr. Shackford 
 had allowed his affairs there to become strangely 
 tangled. The business would detain Richard a 
 fortnight. 
 
 Three days after his departure Mr. Taggett him- 
 self left Stillwater, having apparently given up the 
 case ; a proceeding which was severely criticised, 
 not only in the columns of The Stillwater Gazette, 
 but by the townsfolks at large, who immediately 
 relapsed into a state of apprehension approximat- 
 ing that of the morning when the crime was discov- 
 ered. Mr. Pinkham, who was taking tea that 
 evening at the Danas', threw the family into a 
 panic by asserting his belief that this was merely 
 the first of a series of artistic assassinations in the 
 manner of those Memorable Murders recorded by 
 De Quincey. Mr. Pinkham may have said this to 
 impress the four Dana girls with the variety of his 
 reading, but the recollection of De Quincey 's har- 
 rowing paper had the effect of so unhinging the 
 young school-master that when he found himself, 
 an hour or two afterwards, in the lonely, unlighted 
 street he flitted home like a belated ghost, and was 
 ready to drop at every tree-box. 
 
 The next forenoon a new hand was taken on at 
 Slocum's Yard. The new hand, who had come on
 
 216 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 foot from South Millville, at which town he had 
 been set down by the seven o'clock express that 
 morning, was placed in the apprentice department, 
 there were five or six apprentices now. Though 
 all this was part of an understood arrangement, Mr. 
 Slocum nearly doubted the fidelity of his own eyes 
 when Mr. Taggett, a smooth-faced young fellow of 
 one and twenty, if so old, with all the traits of an 
 ordinary workingman down to the neglected finger- 
 nails, stepped up to the desk to have the name of 
 Blake entered on the pay-roll. Either by chance 
 or by design, Mr. Taggett had appeared but seldom 
 on the streets of Stillwater ; the few persons who 
 had had anything like familiar intercourse with 
 him in his professional capacity were precisely the 
 persons with whom his present movements were not 
 likely to bring him into juxtaposition, and he ran 
 slight risk of recognition by others. With bis hair 
 closely cropped, and the overhanging brown mus- 
 tache removed, the man was not so much disguised 
 as transformed. " I should n't have known him ! " 
 muttered Mr. Slocum, as he watched Mr. Taggett 
 passing from the office with his hat in his hand. 
 During the ensuing ten or twelve days Mr. Slocum 
 never wholly succeeded in extricating himself from 
 the foggy uncertainty generated by that one brief 
 interview. From the moment Mr. Taggett was as-
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 217 
 
 signed a bench under the sheds, Mr. Slocum saw 
 little or nothing of him. 
 
 Mr. Taggett took lodging in a room in one of the 
 most crowded of the low boarding-houses, a room 
 accommodating two beds besides his own : the first 
 occupied by a brother neophyte in marble-cutting, 
 and the second by a morose middle-aged man with 
 one eyebrow a trifle higher than the other, as if it 
 had been wrenched out of line by the strain of ha- 
 bitual intoxication. This man's name was Wollas- 
 ton, and he worked at Dana's. 
 
 Mr. Taggett's initial move was to make himself 
 popular in the marble yard, and especially at the 
 tavern, where he spent money freely, though not 
 so freely as to excite any remark except that the 
 lad was running through pretty much all his small 
 pay, a recklessness which was charitably con- 
 doned in Snelling's bar-room. He formed multi- 
 farious friendships, and had so many sensible views 
 on the labor problem, advocating the general extin- 
 guishment of capitalists, and so on, that his admit- 
 tance to the Marble Workers' Association resolved 
 itself into merely a question of time. The old prej- 
 udice against apprentices was already wearing oil 
 The quiet, evasive man of few words was now a lo- 
 quacious talker, holding his own with the hardest 
 hitters, and very skillful in giving offense to no one.
 
 218 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " Whoever picks up Blake for a fool," Dexter re- 
 marked one night, " will put him down again." 
 Not a shadow of suspicion followed Mr. Taggett in 
 his various comings and goings. He seemed merely 
 a good-natured, intelligent devil ; perhaps a little 
 less devilish and a trifle more intelligent than the 
 rest, but not otherwise different. Denyven, Peters, 
 Dexter, Willson, and others in and out of the S lo- 
 cum clique were Blake's sworn friends. In brief, 
 Mr. Taggett had the amplest opportunities to pros- 
 ecute his studies. Only for a pained look which 
 sometimes latterly shot into his eyes, as he worked 
 at the bench, or as he walked alone in the street, 
 one would have imagined that he was thoroughly 
 enjoying the half-vagabond existence. 
 
 The supposition would have been erroneous, for 
 in the progress of those fourteen days' apprentice- 
 ship Mr. Taggett had received a wound in the most 
 sensitive part of his nature : he had been forced to 
 give up what no man ever relinquishes without a 
 wrench, his own idea. 
 
 With the exception of an accident in Dana's 
 Mill, by which Torrim's hand had been so badly 
 mangled that amputation was deemed necessary, 
 the two weeks had been eventless outside of Mr. 
 Taggett's personal experience. What that expe- 
 rience was will transpire in its proper place. Mar-
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 219 
 
 garet was getting daily notes from Richard, and 
 Mr. Slocum, overburdened with the secret of Mr. 
 Taggett's presence in the yard, a secret confined 
 exclusively to Mr. Slocum, Richard, and Justice 
 Beemis, was restlessly awaiting developments. 
 
 The developments came that afternoon when Mr. 
 Taggett walked into the office and startled Mr. 
 Slocum, sitting at the desk. The two words which 
 Mr. Taggett then gravely and coldly whispered in 
 Mr. Slocum's ear were, 
 
 " RICHARD SHACKFORD."
 
 XIX. 
 
 MR. SLOCUM, who had partly risen from the 
 chair, sank back into his seat. " Good God ! " he 
 said, turning very pale. " Are you mad ! " 
 
 Mr. Taggett realized the cruel shock which the 
 pronouncing of that name must have caused Mr. 
 Slocum. Mr. Taggett had meditated his line of 
 action, and had decided that the most merciful 
 course was brusquely to charge young Shackford 
 with the crime, and allow Mr. Slocum to sustain 
 himself for a while with the indignant disbelief 
 which would be natural to him, situated as he was. 
 He would then in a manner be prepared for the 
 revelations which, if suddenly presented, would 
 crush him. 
 
 If Mr. Taggett was without imagination, as he 
 claimed, he was not without a certain feminine 
 quickness of sympathy often found in persons en- 
 gaged in professions calculated to blunt the finer 
 sensibilities. In his intercourse with Mr. Slocum 
 at the Shackford house, Mr. Taggett had been 
 won by the singular gentleness and simplicity of 
 the man, and was touched by his misfortune.
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 221 
 
 After his exclamation Mr. Slocum did not speak 
 for a moment or two, but with his elbows resting 
 on the edge of the desk sat motionless, like a per- 
 son stunned. Then he slowly lifted his face, to 
 which the color had returned, and making a move- 
 ment with his right hand as if he were sweeping 
 away cobwebs in front of him rose from the chair. 
 
 " You are simply mad," he said, looking Mr. 
 Taggett squarely and calmly in the eyes. " Are 
 you aware of Mr. Richard Shackford's character 
 and his position here ? " 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 " Do you know that he is to marry my daugh- 
 ter?" 
 
 " I am very sorry for you, sir." 
 
 " You may spare me that. It is quite unneces- 
 sary. You have fallen into some horrible delusion. 
 T hope you will be able to explain it." 
 
 " I am prepared to do so, sir." 
 
 " Are you serious ? " 
 
 " Very serious, Mr. Slocum." 
 
 " You actually imagine that Richard Shackford 
 Pshaw ! It 's simply impossible ! " 
 
 " I am too young a man to wish even to seem 
 wiser than you, but my experience has taught me 
 that nothing is impossible." 
 
 " I begin to believe so myself. I suppose you
 
 222 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 have grounds, or something you consider grounds, 
 for your monstrous suspicion. What are they? I 
 demand to be fully informed of what you have 
 been doing in the yard, before you bring disgrace 
 upon me and my family by inconsiderately acting 
 on some wild theory which perhaps ten words can 
 refute." 
 
 " I should be in the highest degree criminal, Mr. 
 Slocum, if I were to make so fearful an accusation 
 against any man unless I had the most incontest- 
 able evidence in my hands." 
 
 Mr. Taggett spoke with such cold-blooded con- 
 viction that a chill crept over Mr. Slocum, in spite 
 of him. 
 
 " What is the nature of this evidence ? " 
 
 " Up to the present stage, purely circumstan- 
 tial." 
 
 " I can imagine that," said Mr. Slocum, with a 
 slight smile. 
 
 "But so conclusive as to require no collateral 
 evidence. The testimony of an eye-witness of the 
 crime could scarcely add to my knowledge of what 
 occurred that Tuesday night in Lemuel Shackford's 
 house." 
 
 " Indeed, it is all so clear ! But of course a few 
 eye-witnesses will turn up eventually," said Mr. 
 Slocum, whose whiteness about the lips discounted 
 the assurance of his sarcasm.
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 223 
 
 " That is not improbable," returned Mr. Tag- 
 gett gravely. 
 
 " And meanwhile what are the facts ? " 
 
 " They are not easily stated. I have kept a rec- 
 ord of my work day by day, since the morning I 
 entered the yard. The memoranda are necessarily 
 confused, the important and the unimportant being 
 jumbled together; but the record as it stands will 
 answer your question more fully than I could, even 
 if I had the time which I have not to go over 
 the case with you. I can leave these notes in your 
 hands, if you desire it. When I return from New 
 York"- 
 
 " You are going to New York ! " exclaimed Mr. 
 Slocum, with a start. " When ?" 
 
 " This evening." 
 
 " If you lay a finger on Richard Shackford, you 
 will make the mistake of your life, Mr. Taggett I " 
 
 " I have other business there. Mr. Shackford 
 will be in Stillwater to-morrow night. He en- 
 gaged a state-room on the Fall River boat this 
 morning." 
 
 " How can you know that ? " 
 
 " Since last Tuesday none of his movements 
 have been unknown to me." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you have set your 
 miserable spies upon him ? " cried Mr. Slocum.
 
 224 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 
 
 " I should not state the fact in just those words," 
 Mr. Taggett answered. " The fact remains." 
 
 " Pardon me," said Mr. Slocum. " I am not 
 quite myself. Can you wonder at it?" 
 
 " I do not wonder." 
 
 " Give me those papers you speak of, Mr. Tag- 
 gett. I would like to look through them. I see 
 that you are a very obstinate person when you have 
 once got a notion into your head. Perhaps I can 
 help you out of your error before it is irreparable." 
 Then, after hesitating a second, Mr. Slocum added, 
 " I may speak of this to my daughter ? Indeed, 
 I could scarcely keep it from her." 
 
 " Perhaps it is better she should be informed." 
 
 " And Mr. Shackford, when he returns to-mor- 
 row ? " 
 
 " If he broaches the subject of his cousin's death, 
 I advise you to avoid it." 
 
 " Why should I ? " 
 
 " It might save you or Miss Slocum some awk- 
 wardness, but you must use your own discre- 
 tion. As the matter stands it makes no difference 
 whether Mr. Shackford knows his position to-day 
 or to-morrow. It is too late for him to avail him- 
 self of the knowledge. Otherwise, of course, I 
 should not have given myself away in this fash
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 225 
 
 " Very well," said Mr. Slocum, with an impa- 
 tient movement of his shoulders; "neither I nor 
 my daughter will open our lips on this topic. In 
 the mean while you are to take no further steps 
 without advising me. That is understood ? " 
 
 " That is perfectly understood," returned Mr. 
 Taggett, drawing a narrow red note-book from the 
 inner pocket of his workman's blouse,, and produc- 
 ing at the same time a small nickel- plated door- 
 key. " This is the key of Mr. Shackford's private 
 workshop in the extension. I have not been able 
 to replace it on the mantel-shelf of his sitting-room 
 in Lime Street. Will you have the kindness to see 
 that that is done at once ? " 
 
 A moment later Mr. Slocum stood alone in the 
 office, with Mr. Taggett's diary in his hand. It 
 was one of those costly little volumes gilt-edged 
 and bound in fragrant crushed Levant morocco 
 with which city officials are annually supplied by a 
 community of grateful taxpayers. 
 
 The dark crimson of the flexible covers, as soft 
 and slippery to the touch as a snake's skin, was 
 perhaps the fitting symbol of the darker story that 
 lay coiled within. With a gesture of repulsion, as 
 if some such fancy had flitted through his mind, 
 Mr. Slocum tossed the note-book on the desk in 
 tront of him, and stood a few minutes moodily 
 
 15
 
 226 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 watching the reflets of the crinkled leather as the 
 afternoon sunshine struck across it. Beneath his 
 amazement and indignation he had been chilled to 
 the bone by Mr. Taggett's brutal confidence. It 
 was enough to chill one, surely ; and in spite of 
 himself Mr. Slocum began to feel a certain inde- 
 finable dread of that little crimson-bound book. 
 
 Whatever , it contained, the reading of those 
 pages was to be a repellent task to him ; it was a 
 task to which he could not bring himself at the mo- 
 ment ; to-night, in the privacy of his own chamber, 
 he would sift Mr. Taggett's baleful fancies. Thus 
 temporizing, Mr. Slocum dropped the volume into 
 his pocket, locked the office door behind him, and 
 wandered down to Dundon's drug-store to kill the 
 intervening hour before supper-time. Dundon's 
 was the aristocratic lounging place of the village, 
 the place where the only genuine Havana cigars 
 in Stillwater were to be had, and where the favored 
 few, the initiated, could get a dash of hochheimer 
 or cognac with their soda-water. 
 
 At supper, that evening, Mr. Slocum addressed 
 scarcely a word to Margaret, and Margaret was 
 also silent. The days were dragging heavily with 
 her ; she was missing Richard. Her own daring 
 travels had never extended beyond Boston or Provi- 
 dence ; and New York, with Richard in it, seeme 1
 
 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 227 
 
 drearily far away. Mr. Slocum withdrew to his 
 chamber shortly after nine o'clock, and, lighting 
 the pair of candles on the dressing-table, began his 
 examination of Mr. Taggett's memoranda. 
 
 At midnight the watchman on his lonely beat 
 saw those two candles still burning.
 
 XX. 
 
 ME. TAGGETT'S diary was precisely a diary, 
 disjoined, full of curt, obscure phrases and irrel- 
 evant reflections, for which reason it will not be 
 reproduced here. Though Mr. Slocum pondered 
 every syllable, and now and then turned back pain- 
 fully to reconsider some doubtful passage, it is not 
 presumed that the reader will care to do so. An 
 abstract of the journal, with occasional quotation 
 where the writer's words seem to demand it, will 
 be sufficient for the narrative. 
 
 In the opening pages Mr. Taggett described his 
 novel surroundings with a minuteness which con- 
 trasted oddly with the brief, hurried entries further 
 on. He found himself, as he had anticipated, in a 
 society composed of some of the most heterogeneous 
 elements. Stillwater, viewed from a certain point, 
 was a sort of microcosm, a little international rag- 
 fair to which nearly every country on earth had 
 contributed one of its shabby human products. " I 
 am moving," wrote Mr. Taggett, " in an atmos- 
 phere in which any crime is possible. I give my- 
 self seven days at the outside to light upon the
 
 , THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 229 
 
 traces of Shackford's murderer. I feel him in the 
 air." The writer's theory was that the man would 
 bi tray his identity in one of two ways : either by 
 talking unguardedly, or by indulging in expendi- 
 tures not warranted by his means and position. If 
 several persons had been concerned in the crime, 
 nothing was more likely than a disagreement over 
 the spoil, and consequent treachery on the part of 
 one of them. Or, again, some of the confederates 
 might become alarmed, and attempt to save them 
 selves by giving away their comrades. Mr. Tag- 
 gett, however, leaned to the belief that the assassin 
 had had no accomplices. 
 
 The sum taken from Mr. Shackford's safe was a 
 comparatively large one, five hundred dollars in 
 gold and nearly double that amount in bank-notes. 
 Neither the gold nor the paper bore any known 
 mark by which it could be recognized ; the burglar 
 had doubtless assured himself of this, and would 
 not hesitate to disburse the money. That was 
 even a safer course, judiciously worked, than to 
 secrete it. The point was, Would he have suffi- 
 cient self-control to get rid of it by degrees? The 
 chances, Mr. Taggett argued, were ten to one he 
 would not. 
 
 A few pages further on Mr. Taggett compli- 
 ments the Unknown on the adroit manner in which
 
 230 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 he is conducting himself. He has neither let slip 
 a suspicious word, nor made an incautious display 
 of his booty. Snelling's bar was doing an unusu- 
 ally light business. No one appeared to have any 
 money. Many of the men had run deeply into 
 debt during the late strike, and were now drink- 
 ing moderately. In the paragraph which closes the 
 week's record Mr. Taggett's chagrin is evident. 
 He confesses that he is at fault. " My invisible 
 friend does not materialize so successfully as I ex- 
 pected," is Mr. Taggett's comment. 
 
 His faith in the correctness of his theory had 
 not abated ; but he continued his observations in a 
 less sanguine spirit. These observations were not 
 limited to the bar-room or the" workshop ; he in- 
 formed himself of the domestic surroundings of 
 his comrades. Where his own scrutiny could not 
 penetrate, he employed the aid of correspondents. 
 He knew what workmen had money in the local 
 savings-bank, and the amount of each deposit. In 
 the course of his explorations of the shady side 
 of Stillwater life, Mr. Taggett unearthed many 
 amusing and many pathetic histories, but nothing 
 that served his end. Finally, he began to be dis- 
 couraged. 
 
 Returning home from the tavern, one night, in 
 a rather desponding mood, he found the man
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 231 
 
 Wollaston smoking his pipe in bed. Wollaston 
 was a taciturn man generally, but this night he 
 was conversational, and Mr. Taggett, too restless 
 to sleep, fell to chatting with him. Did he know 
 much about the late Mr. Shackford ? Yes, he had 
 known him well enough, in an off way, not to 
 speak to him ; everybody knew him in Stillwater ; 
 he was a sort of miser, hated everybody, and bul- 
 lied everybody. It was a wonder somebody did n't 
 knock the old silvertop on the head years ago. 
 
 Thus Mr. Wollaston grimly, with his pores 
 stopped up with iron-filings, a person to whom 
 it would come quite easy to knock any one on the 
 head for a slight difference of opinion. He amused 
 Mr. Taggett in his present humor. 
 
 No, he was n't aware that Shackford had had 
 trouble with any particular individual ; believed he 
 did have a difficulty once with Slocum, the marble 
 man ; but he was always fetching suits against the 
 town and shying lawyers at the mill directors, 
 a disagreeable old cuss altogether. Adopted his 
 cousin, one time, but made the house so hot for him 
 that the lad ran off to sea, and since then had had 
 nothing to do with the old bilk. 
 
 Indeed ! What sort of fellow was young Shack- 
 ford? Mr. Wollaston could not say of his own 
 knowledge ; thought him a plucky chap ; he had
 
 232 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 put a big Italian named Torrini out of the yard, one 
 day, for talking back. Who was Torrini? The 
 man that got hurt last week in the Dana Mill. Who 
 were Richard Shackford's intimates ? Could n't 
 say ; had seen him with Mr. Pinkham, the school- 
 master, and Mr. Craggie, went with the upper 
 crust generally. Was going to be partner in the 
 marble yard and marry Slocum's daughter. Will 
 Durgin knew him. They lived together one time. 
 He, Wollaston, was going to turn in now. 
 
 Several of these facts were not new to Mr. Tag- 
 gett, but Mr. Wollaston's presentation of them 
 threw Mr. Taggett into a reverie. 
 
 The next evening he got Durgin alone in a 
 corner of the bar-room. With two or three pota- 
 tions Durgin became autobiographical. Was he 
 acquainted with Mr. Shackford outside the yard? 
 Rather. Dick Shackford ! His (Durgin's) mother 
 had kept Dick from starving when he was a baby, 
 and no thanks for it. Went to school with him, 
 and knew all about his running off to sea. Was 
 near going with him. Old man Shackford never 
 liked Dick, who was a proud beggar; they couldn't 
 pull together, down to the last, both of a piece. 
 They had a jolly rumpus a little while before the 
 old man was fixed. 
 
 Mr. Taggett pricked up his ears at this.
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 233 
 
 A rumpus ? How did Durgin know that ? A 
 girl told him. What girl ? A girl he was sweet 
 on. What was her name ? Well, he did n't mind 
 telling her name ; it was Molly Hennessey. She 
 was going through Welch's Court one forenoon, 
 may be it was three days before the strike, and 
 saw Dick Shackford bolt out of the house, swing- 
 ing his arms and swearing to himself at an awful 
 rate. Was Durgin certain that Molly Hennessey 
 had told him this ? Yes, he was ready to take his 
 oath on it. 
 
 Here, at last, was something that looked like a 
 glimmer of daylight. 
 
 It was possible that Durgin or the girl had lied ; 
 but the story had an air of truth to it. If it were 
 a fact that there had recently been a quarrel be- 
 tween these cousins, whose uncousinly attitude to- 
 wards each other was fast becoming clear to Mr. 
 Taggett, then here was a conceivable key to an 
 enigma which had puzzled him. 
 
 The conjecture that Lemuel Shackford had him- 
 self torn up the will if it was a will, for this still 
 remained in dispute had never been satisfactory 
 to Mr. Taggett. He had accepted it because he 
 was unable to imagine an ordinary burglar paus- 
 ing in the midst of his work to destroy a paper in 
 which he could have no concern. But Richard
 
 234 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 Shackford would have the liveliest possible interest 
 in the destruction of a document that placed a vast 
 estate beyond his reach. Here was a motive on a 
 level with the crime. That money had been taken, 
 and that the fragments of the will had been care- 
 lessly thrown into a waste-paper basket, just as if 
 the old man himself had thrown them there, was a 
 stroke of art which Mr. Taggett admired more and 
 more as he reflected upon it. 
 
 He did not, however, allow himself to lay too 
 much stress on these points ; for the paper might 
 turn out to be merely an expired lease, and the girl 
 might have been quizzing Durgin. Mr. Taggett 
 would have given one of his eye-teeth just then for 
 ten minutes with Mary Hennessey. But an inter- 
 view with her at this stage was neither prudent nor 
 easily compassed. 
 
 " If I have not struck a trail," writes Mr. Tag- 
 gett, " I have come upon what strongly resembles 
 one ; the least I can do is to follow it. My first 
 move must be to inspect that private workshop in 
 the rear of Mr. Slocum's house. How shall I ac- 
 complish it? I cannot apply to him for permission, 
 for that would provoke questions which I am not 
 ready to answer. Moreover, I have yet to assure 
 myself that Mr. Slocum is not implicated. There 
 seems to have been also a hostile feeling existing
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 235 
 
 between him and the deceased. Why did n't some 
 one tell me these things at the start! If young 
 Shackford is the person, there is a tangled story 
 to be unraveled. Mem : Young Sbackford is Miss 
 Slocum's lover." 
 
 Mr. Slocum read this passage twice without draw- 
 ing breath, and then laid down the book an instant 
 to wipe the sudden perspiration from his forehead. 
 
 In the note which followed, Mr. Taggett de- 
 scribed the difficulty he met with in procuring a 
 key to fit the wall-door at the rear of the marble 
 yard, and gave an account of his failure to effect 
 an entrance into the studio. He had hoped to find 
 a window unfastened ; but the window, as well as 
 the door opening upon the veranda, was locked, 
 and in the midst of his operations, which were con- 
 ducted at noon-time, the approach of a servant had 
 obliged him to retreat. 
 
 Forced to lay aside, at least temporarily, his de- 
 signs on the workshop, he turned his attention to 
 Richard's lodgings in Lime Street. Here Mr. Tag- 
 gett was more successful. On the pretext that he 
 had been sent for certain drawings which were to 
 be found on the table or in a writing-desk, he was 
 permitted by Mrs. Spooner to ascend to the bed- 
 room, where she obligingly insisted on helping him 
 search for the apocryphal plans, and seriously inter-
 
 236 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 fered with his purpose, which was to find the key 
 of the studio. While Mr. Taggett was turning 
 over the pages of a large dictionary, in order to 
 gain time, and was wondering how he could rid 
 himself of the old lady's importunities, he came 
 upon a half-folded note-sheet, at the bottom of 
 which his eye caught the name of Lemuel Shack- 
 ford. It was in the handwriting of the dead man. 
 Mr. Taggett was very familiar with that handwrit- 
 ing. He secured the paper at a venture, and put it 
 in his pocket without examination. 
 
 A few minutes later, it being impossible to pro- 
 long the pretended quest for the drawings, Mr. 
 Taggett was obliged to follow Mrs. Spooner from 
 the apartment. As he did so he noticed a bright 
 object lying on the corner of the mantel-shelf, a 
 small nickel-plated key. In order to take it he had 
 only to reach out his hand in passing. It was, as 
 Mr. Taggett had instantly surmised, the key of 
 Richard's workshop. 
 
 If it had been gold, instead of brass or iron, that 
 bit of metal would have taken no additional value 
 in Mr. Taggett's eyes. On leaving Mrs. Spooner's 
 lie held it tightly clasped in his fingers until he 
 reached an unfrequented street, where he halted a 
 moment in the shadow of a building to inspect the 
 paper, which he had half forgotten in his satisfac
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 237 
 
 tion at having obtained the key. A stifled cry 
 rose to Mr. Taggett's lips as he glanced over the 
 crumpled note-sheet. 
 
 It contained three lines, hastily scrawled in lead- 
 pencil, requesting Richard Shackford to call at the 
 house in Welch's Court at eight o'clock on a cer- 
 tain Tuesday night. The note had been written, as 
 the date showed, on the day preceding the Tuesday 
 night in question the night of the murder ! 
 
 For a second or two Mr. Taggett stood paralyzed. 
 Ten minutes afterwards a message in cipher was 
 pulsing along the wires to New York, and before 
 the sun went down that evening Richard Shackford 
 was under the surveillance of the police. 
 
 The doubtful, unknown ground upon which Mr. 
 Taggett had been floundering was now firm under 
 his feet, unexpected ground, but solid. Meeting 
 Mary Hennessey in the street, on his way to the 
 marble yard, Mr. Taggett no longer hesitated to 
 accost her, and question her as to the story she 
 had told William Durgin. The girl's story was 
 undoubtedly true, and as a piece of circumstantial 
 evidence was only less important than the elder 
 Shackford's note. The two cousins had been for 
 years on the worst of terms. At every step Mr. 
 Taggett had found corroboration of Wollaston's 
 statement to that ettecc.
 
 238 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY, 
 
 "Where were Coroner Whidden's eyes and ears," 
 wrote Mr. Taggett, the words were dashed down 
 impatiently on the page, as if he had sworn a little 
 internally while writing them, "when he con- 
 ducted that inquest ! In all my experience there 
 was never a thing so stupidly managed." 
 
 A thorough and immediate examination of Rich- 
 ard Shackford's private workshop was now so im- 
 perative that Mr. Taggett resolved to make it even 
 if he had to do so under the authority of a search- 
 warrant. But he desired as yet to avoid publicity. 
 
 A secret visit to the studio seemed equally diffi- 
 cult by day and night. In the former case he was 
 nearly certain to be deranged by the servants, and 
 in the latter a light in the unoccupied room would 
 alarm any one of the household who might chance 
 to awaken. From the watchman no danger was to 
 be apprehended, as the windows of the extension 
 were not visible from the street. 
 
 Mr. Taggett finally decided on the night as the 
 more propitious time for his attempt, a decision 
 which his success justified. A brilliant moon fa- 
 vored the in-door part of the enterprise, though it 
 exposed him to observation in his approach from 
 the marble yard to the veranda. 
 
 With the dense moonlight streaming outside 
 against the window-shades, he could safely have
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 239 
 
 used a candle in the studio instead of the screened 
 lantern which he had provided. Mr. Taggett 
 passed three hours in the workshop, the last 
 hour in waiting for the moon to go down. Then 
 he stole through the marble yard into the silent 
 street, and hurried home, carrying two small arti- 
 cles concealed under his blouse. The first was a 
 chisel with a triangular piece broken out of the 
 centre of the bevel, and the other was a box of 
 safety-matches. The peculiarity of this box of 
 matches was that just one match had been used 
 from it. 
 
 Mr. Taggett's work was done. 
 
 The last seven pages of the diary were devoted 
 to a review of the case, every detail of which was 
 held up in various lights, and examined with the 
 conscientious pains of a lapidary deciding on the 
 value of a rare stone. The concluding entries ran 
 as follows : 
 
 " Tuesday Night. Here the case passes into 
 other hands. I have been fortunate rather than 
 skillful in unmasking the chief actor in one of the 
 most singular crimes that ever came under my inves- 
 tigation. By destroying three objects, very easily 
 destroyed, Richard Shackford would have put him- 
 self beyond the dream of suspicion. He neglected to 
 remove these dumb witnesses, and now the dumb
 
 240 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 witnesses speak ! If it could be shown that he was 
 a hundred miles from Stillwater at the time of the 
 murder, instead of in the village, as he was, he 
 must still be held, in the face of the proofs against 
 him, accessory to the deed. These proofs, roughly 
 summarized, are : 
 
 " First. The fact that he had had an alterca- 
 tion with his cousin a short time previous to the 
 date of the murder, a murder which may be re- 
 garded not as the result of a chance disagreement, 
 but of long years of bitter enmity between the two 
 men. 
 
 "Secondly. The fact that Richard Shackford 
 had had an appointment with his cousin on the 
 night the crime was committed, and had concealed 
 that fact from the authorities at the time of the 
 coroner's inquest. 
 
 " Thirdly. That the broken chisel found in the 
 private workshop of the accused explains the pe- 
 culiar shape of the wound which caused Lemuel 
 Shackford's death, and corresponds in every par- 
 ticular with the plaster impression taken of that 
 wound. 
 
 "Fourthly. That the partially consumed match 
 found on the scullery floor when the body was dis- 
 covered (a style of match not used in the house in 
 Welch's Court) completes the complement of a box
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 241 
 
 of safety-matches belonging to Richard Shackford, 
 and hidden in a closet in his workshop. 
 
 " Whether Shackford had an accomplice or not 
 is yet to be ascertained. There is nothing what- 
 ever to implicate Mr. Rowland Slocum. I make 
 the statement because his intimate association with 
 one party and his deep dislike of the other invited 
 inquiry, and at first raised an unjust suspicion in 
 my mind." 
 
 The little red book slipped from Mr. Slocum's 
 grasp and fell at his feet. As he rose from the 
 chair, the reflection which he caught of himself in 
 the dressing-table mirror was that of a wrinkled, 
 white old man. 
 
 Mr. Slocum did not believe, and no human evi- 
 dence could have convinced him, that Richard had 
 deliberately killed Lemuel Shackford ; but as Mr. 
 Slocum reached the final pages of the diary, a hor- 
 rible probability insinuated itself into his mind. 
 Could Richard have done it accidentally ? Could 
 he in an instant of passion, stung to sudden mad- 
 ness by that venomous old man have struck him 
 involuntarily, and killed him ? A certain speech 
 which Richard had made in Mr. Slocum's presence 
 not long before came back to him now with fearful 
 emphasis : 
 
 " Three or four times in my life I have been car- 
 
 16
 
 242 THE STILLWATEE TRAGEDY. 
 
 ried away by a devil of a temper which I could n't 
 control, it seized me so unawares" 
 
 " It seized me so unawares ! " repeated Mr. Slo- 
 cum, half aloud ; and then with a swift, unconscious 
 gesture, he pressed his hands over his ears, as if to 
 Bhut out the words.
 
 XXI. 
 
 MARGARET must be told. It would be like 
 stabbing her to tell her all this. Mr. Slocura had 
 lain awake long after midnight, appalled by the 
 calamity that was about to engulf them. At mo- 
 ments, as his thought reverted to Margaret's illness 
 early in the spring, he felt that perhaps it would 
 have been a mercy if she had died then. He had 
 left the candles burning ; it was not until the wicks 
 sunk down in the sockets and went softly out that 
 slumber fell upon him. 
 
 He was now sitting at the breakfast-table, ab- 
 sently crumbling bits of bread beside his plate and 
 leaving his coffee untouched. Margaret glanced at 
 him wistfully from time to time, and detected the 
 restless night in the deepened lines of his face. 
 
 The house had not been the same since Lemuel 
 Shackford's death ; he had never crossed its thresh- 
 old ; Margaret had scarcely known him by sight, 
 and Mr. Slocum had not spoken to him for years ; 
 but Richard's connection with the unfortunate old 
 man had brought the tragic event very close to
 
 244 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 Margaret and her father. Mr. Slocum was a per- 
 son easily depressed, but his depression this morn- 
 ing was so greatly in excess of the presumable 
 cause that Margaret began to be troubled. 
 
 " Papa, has anything happened ? " 
 
 " No, nothing new has happened ; but I am 
 dreadfully disturbed by some things which Mr. 
 Taggett has been doing here in the village." 
 
 " I thought Mr. Taggett had gone." 
 
 " He did go ; but he came back very quietly, 
 without anybody's knowledge. I knew it, of course ; 
 but no one else, to speak of." 
 
 " What has he done to disturb you ? " 
 
 " I want you to be a brave girl, Margaret, 
 will you promise that ? " 
 
 "Why, yes," said Margaret, with an anxious 
 look. " You frighten me with your mysterious- 
 ness." 
 
 " I do not mean to be mysterious, but I don't 
 quite know how to tell you about Mr. Taggett. 
 He has been working underground in this matter 
 of poor Shackford's death, boring in the dark 
 like a mole, and thinks he has discovered some 
 strange things." 
 
 " Do you mean he thinks he has found out who 
 killed Mr. Shackf ord ? " 
 
 "He believes he has fallen upon clews which
 
 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 245 
 
 will lead to that. The strange things I alluded 
 to are things which Richard will have to explain." 
 " Richard ? What has he to do with it ? " 
 " Not much, I hope ; but there are several mat- 
 ters which he will be obliged to clear up in order 
 to save himself from very great annoyance. Mr. 
 Taggett seems to think that that " 
 
 " Good Heaven, papa ! What does he think ? " 
 " Margaret, he thinks that Richard knew some- 
 thing about the murder, and has not told it." 
 *' What could he know ? Is that all ? " 
 " No, that is not all. I am keeping the full 
 truth from you, and it is useless to do so. You 
 must face it like a brave girl. Mr. Taggett sus- 
 pects Richard of being concerned, directly or in- 
 directly, with the crime." 
 
 The color went from Margaret's cheek for an 
 instant. The statement was too horrible and sud- 
 den not to startle her, but it was also too absurd 
 to have more than an instant's effect. Her quick 
 recovery of herself reassured Mr. Slocum. Would 
 she meet Mr. Taggett's specific charges with the 
 like fortitude ? Mr. Slocum himself had been pros- 
 trated by them ; he prayed to Heaven that Mar- 
 garet might have more strength than he, as indeed 
 she had. 
 
 " The man has got together a lot of circumstan-
 
 246 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 tial evidence," continued Mr. Slocum cautiously; 
 " some of it amounts to nothing, being mere con- 
 jecture ; but some of it will look badly for Richard, 
 to outsiders." 
 
 " Of course it is all a mistake," said Margaret, 
 in nearly her natural voice. " It ought to be easy 
 to convince Mr. Taggett of that." 
 
 "I have not been able to convince him." 
 
 " But you will. What has possessed him to fall 
 into such a ridiculous error ? " 
 
 " Mr. Taggett has written out everything at 
 length in this memorandum-book, and you must 
 read it for yourself. There are expressions and 
 statements in these pages, Margaret, that will nec- 
 essarily shock you very much ; but you should re- 
 member, as I tried to while reading them, that Mr. 
 Taggett has a heart of steel ; without it he would 
 be unable to do his distressing work. The cold 
 impartiality with which he sifts and heaps up cir- 
 cumstances involving the doom of a fellow-creature 
 appears almost, inhuman ; but it is his business. 
 No, don't look at it here ! " said Mr. Slocum, re- 
 coiling ; he had given the book to Margaret. " Take 
 it into the other room, and read it carefully by 
 yourself. When you have finished, come back and 
 tell me what you think." 
 
 " But, papa, surely you "
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 247 
 
 " I don't believe anything, Margaret ! I don't 
 know the true from the false any more ! I want 
 you to help me out of my confusion, and you can- 
 not do it until you have read that book." 
 
 Margaret made no response, but passed into the 
 parlor and closed the folding-doors behind her. 
 
 After an absence of half an hour she reentered 
 the breakfast room, and laid Mr. Taggett's diary 
 on the table beside her father, who had not moved 
 from his place during the interval. Margaret's 
 manner was collected, but it was evident, by the 
 dark circles under her eyes, and the set, colorless 
 lips, that that half hour had been a cruel thirty 
 minutes to her. In Margaret's self-possession Mr. 
 Slocum recognized, not for the first time, the crop- 
 ping out of an ancestral trait which had somehow 
 managed to avoid him in its wayward descent. 
 
 " Well ? " he questioned, looking earnestly at 
 Margaret, and catching a kind of comfort from her 
 confident bearing. 
 
 "It is Mr. Taggett's trade to find somebody 
 guilty," said Margaret, " and he has been very 
 ingenious and very merciless. He was plainly at 
 his wits' ends to sustain his reputation, and would 
 not have hesitated to sacrifice any one rather than 
 wholly fail." 
 
 " But you have been crying, Margaret."
 
 248 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " How could I see Richard dragged down in the 
 dust in this fashion, and not be mortified and in- 
 dignant ? " 
 
 " You don't believe anything at all of this ? " 
 
 " Do you ? " asked Margaret, looking through 
 and through him. 
 
 " I confess I am troubled." 
 
 " If you doubt Richard for a second," said Mar- 
 garet, with a slight quiver of her lip, " that will 
 be the bitterest part of it to me." 
 
 " I don't give any more credit to Mr. Taggett's 
 general charges than you do, Margaret ; but I un- 
 derstand their gravity better. A perfectly guiltless 
 man, one able with a single word to establish his 
 innocence, is necessarily crushed at first by an accu- 
 sation of this kind. Now, can Richard set these 
 matters right with a single word ? I am afraid he 
 has a world of difficulty before him." 
 
 "When he returns he will explain everything. 
 How can you question it ? " 
 
 " I do not wish to ; but there are two things in 
 Mr. Taggett's story which stagger me. The mo- 
 tive for the destruction of Shackford's papers, 
 that 's not plain ; the box of matches is a puerility 
 unworthy of a clever man like Mr. Taggett, and as 
 to the chisel he found, why, there are a hundred 
 broken chisels in the village, and probably a score
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 249 
 
 of them broken in precisely the same manner ; but, 
 Margaret, did Richard ever breathe a word to you 
 of that quarrel with his cousin?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " He never mentioned it to me either. As mat- 
 ters stood between you and him, nothing was more 
 natural than that he should have spoken of it to 
 you, so natural that his silence is positively 
 strange." 
 
 " He may have considered it too unimportant. 
 Mr. Shackford always abused Richard ; it was noth- 
 ing new. Then, again, Richard is very proud, and 
 perhaps he did not care to come to us just at that 
 time with family grievances. Besides, how do we 
 know they quarreled ? The village is full of gos- 
 sip." 
 
 " I am certain there was a quarrel ; it was only 
 necessary for those two to meet to insure that. I 
 distinctly remember the forenoon when Richard 
 went to Welch's Court ; it was the day he dis- 
 charged Torrini." 
 
 A little cloud passed over Margaret's counte- 
 nance. 
 
 " They undoubtedly had angry words together," 
 continued Mr. Slocum, " and we are forced to ac- 
 cept the Hennessey girl's statement. The reason 
 you suggest for Richard's not saying anything on
 
 250 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 the subject may suffice for us, but it will scarcely 
 satisfy disinterested persons, and does n't at all 
 cover another circumstance which must be taken in 
 the same connection." 
 
 " What circumstance ? " 
 
 " His silence in regard to Lemuel Shackford'a 
 note, a note written the day before the murder, 
 and making an appointment for the very night of 
 it." 
 
 The girl looked steadily at her father. 
 
 " Margaret ! " exclaimed Mr. Slocum, his face il- 
 luminated with a flickering hope as he met her un- 
 troubled gaze, " did Richard tell you ? " 
 
 " No," replied Margaret. 
 
 " Then he told no one," said Mr. Slocum, with 
 the light fading out of his features again. " It was 
 madness in him to conceal the fact. He should not 
 have lost a moment, after the death of his cousin, 
 in making that letter public. It ought instantly to 
 have been placed in Coroner Whidden's hands. 
 Richard's action is inconceivable, unless un- 
 less "- 
 
 " Do not say it ! " cried Margaret. " I should 
 never forgive you ! " 
 
 In recapitulating the points of Mr. Taggett's ac- 
 cusation, Mr. Slocum had treated most of them as 
 trivial ; but he had not been sincere. He knew
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 251 
 
 that that broken chisel had no duplicate in Still- 
 water, and that the finding of it in Richard's closet 
 tvas a black fact. Mr. Slocura had also glossed over 
 the quarrel ; but that letter ! the likelihood that 
 Richard kept the appointment, and his absolute si- 
 lence concerning it, here was a grim thing which 
 no sophistry could dispose of. It would be wrong- 
 ing Margaret to deceive her as to the vital serious- 
 ness of Richard's position. 
 
 " Why, why did he hide it ! " Mr. Slocum per- 
 sisted. 
 
 " I do not see that he really hid it, papa. He 
 shut the note in a book lying openly on the table, 
 a dictionary, to which any one in the household 
 was likely to go. You think Mr. Taggett a person 
 of great acuteness." 
 
 " He is a very intelligent person, Margaret." 
 
 " He appears to me very short-sighted. If Rich- 
 ard were the dreadful man Mr. Taggett supposes, 
 that paper would have been burnt, and not left 
 for the first comer to pick up. I scorn myself 
 for stooping to the suggestion ! " 
 
 " There is something in the idea," said Mr. Slo- 
 cum slowly. " But why did Richard never mention 
 the note, to you, or to me, or to anybody ? " 
 
 " He had a sufficient reason, you may be sure. 
 Oh, papa, how ready you are to believe evil of 
 him!"
 
 252 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " I am not, God knows ! " 
 
 " How you cling to this story of the letter ! Sup- 
 pose it turns out to be some old letter, written two 
 or three years ago ? You could never look Rich- 
 ard in the face again." 
 
 " Unfortunately, Shackford dated it. It is use- 
 less for us to blindfold ourselves, Margaret. Rich- 
 ard has managed in some way to get himself into a 
 very perilous situation, and we cannot help him by 
 shutting our eyes. You misconceive me if you im- 
 agine I think him capable of coolly plotting his 
 cousin's death ; but it is not outside the limits of 
 the possible that what has happened a thousand 
 times may have happened once more. Men less 
 impulsive than Richard " 
 
 " I will not listen to it ! " interrupted Margaret, 
 drawing herself up. " When Richard returns he 
 will explain the matter to you, not to me. If I 
 required a word of denial from him, I should care 
 very little whether he was innocent or not." 
 
 Mr. Slocum threw a terrified glance at his daugh- 
 ter. Her lofty faith sent a chill to his heart. What 
 would be the result of a fall from such a height ? 
 He almost wished Margaret had something less of 
 that ancestral confidence and obstinacy the lack of 
 which in his own composition he had so often de- 
 plored.
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 253 
 
 " We are not to speak of this to Richard," he 
 said, after a protracted pause ; "at least not until 
 Mr. Taggett considers it best. I have pledged my- 
 self to something like that." 
 
 " Has Richard been informed of Mr. Taggett's 
 singular proceeding ? " asked Margaret, freezingly. 
 
 " Not yet ; nothing is to be done until Mr. Tag- 
 gett returns from New York, and then Richard 
 will at once have an opportunity of clearing him- 
 self." 
 
 " It would have spared us all much pain and 
 misunderstanding if he had been sent for in the 
 first instance. Did he know that this person was 
 here in the yard ? " 
 
 " The plan was talked over before Richard left ; 
 the details were arranged afterwards. He heartily 
 approved of the plan." 
 
 A leisurely and not altogether saint-like smile 
 crept into the corners of Margaret's mouth. 
 
 "Yes, he approved of the plan," repeated Mr. 
 Slocum. " Perhaps he " Here Mr. Slocum 
 checked himself, and left the sentence flying at 
 loose ends. Perhaps Richard had looked with favor 
 upon a method of inquiry which was so likely to 
 lead to no result. But Mr. Slocum did not venture 
 to finish the suggestion. He had never seen Mar- 
 garet so imperious and intractable ; it was impos-
 
 254 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 sible to reason or to talk frankly with her. He 
 remained silent, sitting with one arm thrown de- 
 jectedly across the back of the chair. 
 
 Presently his abject attitude and expression be- 
 gan to touch Margaret ; there was something that 
 appealed to her in the thin gray hair falling over 
 his forehead. Her eyes softened as they rested 
 upon him, and a pitying little tremor came to her 
 under lip. 
 
 " Papa," she said, stooping to his side, with a 
 sudden rosy bloom in her cheeks, " I have all the 
 proof I want that Richard knew nothing of this 
 dreadful business." 
 
 " You have proof ! " exclaimed Mr. Slocum, start- 
 ing from his seat. 
 
 " Yes. The morning Richard went to New 
 York " Margaret hesitated. 
 
 " Well ! " 
 
 " He put his arm around me and kissed me." 
 
 " Well ! " 
 
 " Well ? " repeated Margaret. " Could Richard 
 have done that, could he have so much as laid 
 his hand upon me if if " 
 
 Mr. Slocum sunk back in the chair with a kind 
 of groan. 
 
 " Papa, you do not know him ! " 
 
 " Oh, Margaret, I am afraid that that is not the
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 255 
 
 kind of evidence to clear Richard in Mr. Taggett's 
 eyes." 
 
 " Then Richard's word must do it," she said 
 haughtily. "He will be home to-night." 
 
 " Yes, he is to return to-night," said Mr. Slocum, 
 looking away from her.
 
 XXII. 
 
 DUKING the rest of the day the name of Richard 
 Shackford was not mentioned again by either Mar- 
 garet or her father. It was a day of suspense to 
 both, and long before night-fall Margaret's impa- 
 tience for Richard to come had resolved itself into 
 a pain as keen as that with which Mr. Slocum con- 
 templated the coming; for every hour augmented 
 his dread of the events that would necessarily fol- 
 low the reappearance of young Shackford in Still- 
 water. 
 
 On reaching his office, after the conversation 
 with Margaret, Mr. Slocum found Lawyer Perkins 
 waiting for him. Lawyer Perkins, who was as yet 
 in ignorance of the late developments, had brought 
 information of his own. The mutilated document 
 which had so grimly clung to its secret was at last 
 deciphered. It proved to be a recently executed 
 will, in which the greater part of Lemuel Shack- 
 ford's estate, real and personal, was left uncondi- 
 tionally to his cousin. 
 
 " That disposes of one of Mr. Taggett's theo- 
 ries," was Mr. Slocum's unspoken reflection. Cer-
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 257 
 
 tainly Richard had not destroyed the will ; the old 
 man himself had destroyed it, probably in some fit 
 of pique. Yet, after all, the vital question was in 
 no way affected by this fact : the motive for the 
 crime remained, and the fearful evidence against 
 Richard still held. 
 
 After the departure of Lawyer Perkins, who had 
 been struck by the singular perturbation of his old 
 friend, Mr. Slocum drew forth Mr. Taggett's jour- 
 nal, and re-read it from beginning to end. Mar- 
 garet's unquestioning faith in Richard, her prompt 
 and indignant rejection of the whole story, had 
 shaken her father at moments that morning; but 
 now his paralyzing doubts returned. This second 
 perusal of the diary impressed him even more 
 strongly than the first. Richard had killed Lemuel 
 Shackford, in self-defense, may be, or perhaps 
 accidentally ; but he had killed him ! As Mr. Slo- 
 cum passed from page to page, following the dark 
 thread of narrative that darkened at each remove, 
 he lapsed into that illogical frame of mind when 
 one looks half expectantly for some providential 
 interposition to avert the calamity against which 
 human means are impotent. If Richard were to 
 drop dead in the street ! If he were to fall over- 
 board off Point Judith in the night ! If only any- 
 thing would happen to prevent his coming back ! 
 17
 
 258 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 Thus the ultimate disgrace might be spared them. 
 But the ill thing is the sure thing ; the letter with 
 the black seal never miscarries, and Richard was 
 bound to come ! " There is no escape for him or 
 for us," murmured Mr. Slocum, closing his finger 
 in the book. 
 
 It was in a different mood that Margaret said 
 to herself, " It is nearly four o'clock ; he will be 
 here at eight ! " As she stood at the parlor win- 
 dow and watched the waning afternoon light mak- 
 ing its farewells to the flower-beds in the little 
 square front-gardens of the houses opposite, Mar- 
 garet's heart was filled with the tenderness of the 
 greeting she intended to give Richard. She had 
 never been cold or shy in her demeanor with him, 
 nor had she ever been quite demonstrative ; but 
 now she meant to put her arms around his neck in 
 a wifely fashion, and recompense him so far as she 
 could for all the injustice he was to suffer. When 
 he came to learn of the hateful slander that had 
 lifted its head during his absence, he should already 
 be in possession of the assurance of her faith. 
 
 In the mean while the hands in Slocum's Yard 
 were much exercised over the unaccountable disap- 
 pearance of Blake. Stevens reported the matter to 
 Mr. Slocum. 
 
 " Ah, yes," said Mr. Slocum, who had not pro-
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 259 
 
 vided himself with an explanation, and was puzzled 
 to improvise one. " I discharged him, that is to 
 say, I let him go. I forgot to mention it. He 
 did n't take to the trade." 
 
 " But he showed a good fist for a beginner," said 
 Stevens. " He was head and shoulders the best of 
 the new lot. Shall I put Stebbins in his place? " 
 
 " You need n't do anything until Mr. Shackford 
 gets back." 
 
 " When will that be, sir ? " 
 
 " To-night, probably." 
 
 The unceremonious departure of Blake formed 
 the theme of endless speculation at the tavern that 
 evening, and for the moment obscured the general 
 interest in old Shackford's murder. 
 
 ** Never to let on he was goin' ! " said one. 
 
 " Did n't say good-by to nobody," remarked a 
 second. 
 
 "It was devilish uncivil," added a third. 
 
 " It is kind of mysterious," said Mr. Peters. 
 
 " Some girl," suggested Mr. Willson, with an air 
 of tender sentiment, which he attempted further to 
 emphasize by a capacious wink. 
 
 " No," observed Dexter. " When a man van- 
 ishes in that sudden way his body is generally found 
 in a clump of blackberry bushes, months afterwards, 
 or left somewhere on the flats by an ebb tide."
 
 260 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " Two murders in Stillwater in one month would 
 be rather crowding it, would n't it ? " inquired Pig- 
 gott. 
 
 ", Bosh ! " said Durgin. " There was always 
 something shady about Blake. We didn't know 
 where he hailed from, and we don't know where 
 he's gone to. He'll take care of himself; that 
 kind of fellow never lets anybody play any points 
 on him." With this Durgin threw away the stump 
 of his cigar, and lounged out at the street door. 
 
 " I could n't get anything out of the proprietor," 
 said Stevens ; " but he never talks. Maybe Shack- 
 ford when he " Stevens stopped short to listen 
 to a low, rumbling sound like distant thunder, fol- 
 lowed almost instantly by two quick faint whistles. 
 " He 's aboard the train to-night." 
 
 Mr. Peters quietly rose from his seat and left the 
 bar-room. 
 
 The evening express, due at eight, was only a 
 few seconds behind time. As the screech of the 
 approaching engine rung out from the dark wood- 
 land, Margaret and her father exchanged rapid 
 glances. It would take Richard ten minutes to 
 walk from the railway station to the house, for 
 of course he would come there directly after send- 
 ing his valise to Lime Street. 
 
 The ten minutes went by, and then twenty. Mar-
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 261 
 
 garet bent steadily over her work, listening with 
 covert intentness for the click of the street gate. 
 Likely enough Richard had been unable to find any 
 one to take charge of his hand-luggage. Presently 
 Mr. Slocum could not resist the impulse to look at 
 his watch. It was half past eight. He nervously 
 unfolded The Stillwater Gazette, and sat with his 
 eyes fastened on the paper. 
 
 After a seemingly interminable period the heavy 
 bell of the South Church sounded nine, and then 
 tolled for a few minutes, as the dismal custom is in 
 New England country towns. 
 
 A long silence followed, unrelieved by any word 
 between father and daughter, a silence so pro- 
 found that the heart of the old-fashioned time-piece, 
 throbbing monotonously in its dusky case at the 
 foot of the stairs, made itself audible through the 
 room. Mr. Slocum's gaze continued fixed on the 
 newspaper which he was not reading. Margaret's 
 hands lay crossed over the work on her lap. 
 
 Ten o'clock. 
 
 " What can have kept him ? " murmured Mar- 
 garet. 
 
 " There was only that way out of it," reflected 
 Mr. Slocum, pursuing his own line of thought. 
 
 Margaret's cheeks were flushed and hot, and her 
 eyes dulled with disappointment, as she rose from
 
 262 THE STILL WATEE TRAGEDY. 
 
 the low rocking-chair and crossed over to kiss her 
 father good-night. Mr. Slocura drew the girl gently 
 towards him, and held her for a moment in silence. 
 But Margaret, detecting the subtile commiseration 
 in his manner, resented it, and released herself 
 coldly. 
 
 " He has been detained, papa." 
 
 " Yes, something must have detained him I "
 
 XXIII. 
 
 WHEN the down express arrived at Stillwater, 
 that night, two passengers stepped from the rear 
 car to the platform: one was Richard Shackford, 
 and the other a commercial traveler, whose ac- 
 quaintance Richard had made the previous even- 
 ing on the Fall River boat. 
 
 There were no hacks in waiting at the station, 
 and Ricbard found his politeness put to a severe 
 test when he saw himself obliged to pilot his com- 
 panion part of the way to the hotel, which lay it 
 seemed almost maliciously in a section of the 
 town remote from the Slocums'. Curbing his im- 
 patience, Richard led the stranger through several 
 crooked, unlighted streets, and finally left him at 
 the corner of the main thoroughfare, within pistol- 
 shot of the red glass lantern which hung over the 
 door of the tavern. This cost Richard ten good 
 minutes. As he hurriedly turned into a cross-street 
 on the left, he fancied that he heard his name 
 called several times from somewhere in the dark- 
 ness. A man came running towards him. It was 
 Mr. Peters.
 
 264 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " Can I say a word to you, Mr. Shackford ? " 
 
 " If it is n't a long one. I am rather pressed." 
 
 " It is about Torrini, sir." 
 
 " What of him ? " 
 
 " He 's mighty bad, sir." 
 
 " Oh, I can't stop to hear that," and Richard 
 quickened his pace. 
 
 " The doctor took off his hand last Wednesday," 
 said Peters, keeping alongside, " and he 's been 
 getting worse and worse." 
 
 Richard halted. " Took off his hand ? " 
 
 "Didn't you know he was caught in the roll- 
 ing-machine at Dana's? Well, it was after you 
 went away." 
 
 " This is the first I Ve heard of it." 
 
 "It was hard lines for him, sir, with the woman 
 and the two children, and nothing to eat in the 
 house. The boys in the yard have done what they 
 could, but with the things from the drug-store, and 
 so on, we could n't hold up our end. Mr. Dana 
 paid the doctor's bill, but if it had n't been for 
 Miss Slocum I don't know what would have hap- 
 pened. I thought may be if I spoke to you, and 
 told you how it was " 
 
 " Did Torrini send you ?" 
 
 " Lord, no ! He 's too proud to send to anybody. 
 He 's been so proud since they took off his hand
 
 THE S1ILLWATER TRAGEDY. 265 
 
 that there has been no doing anything with him. 
 If they was to take off his leg, he would turn into 
 one mass of pride. No, Mr. Shackford, I came of 
 myself." 
 
 " Where does Torrini live, now ? " 
 
 " In Mitchell's Alley." 
 
 " I will go along with you," said Richard, with 
 a dogged air. It seemed as if the fates were de- 
 termined to keep him from seeing Margaret that 
 night. Peters reached out a hand to take Richard's 
 leather bag. " No, thank you, I can carry it very 
 well." In a small morocco case in one of the 
 pockets was a heavy plain gold ring for Margaret, 
 and not for anything in the world would Richard 
 have allowed any one else to carry the bag. 
 
 After a brisk five minutes' walk the two 
 emerged upon a broad street crossing their path at 
 right angles. All the shops were closed except 
 Stubbs the provision dealer's and Dundon's drug- 
 store. In the window of the apothecary a great 
 purple jar, with a spray of gas jets behind it, was 
 flaring on the darkness like a Bengal light. Rich- 
 ard stopped at the provision store and made some 
 purchases ; a little further on he halted at a fruit 
 stand, kept by an old crone, who had supplemented 
 the feeble flicker of the corner street lamp with a 
 pitch-pine torch, which cast a yellow bloom over
 
 266 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 her apples and turned them all into oranges. She 
 had real oranges, however, and Richard selected 
 half a dozen, with a confused idea of providing the 
 little Italians with some national fruit, though both 
 children had been born in Stillwater. 
 
 Then the pair resumed their way, Peters acting 
 as pioneer. They soon passed beyond the region 
 of sidewalks and curbstones, and began picking 
 their steps through a narrow, humid lane, where 
 the water lay in slimy pools, and the tenement 
 houses on each side blotted out the faint starlight. 
 The night was sultry, and door and casement stood 
 wide, making pits of darkness. Few lights were 
 visible, but a continuous hum of voices issued from 
 the human hives, and now and then a transient 
 red glow at an upper window showed that some one 
 was smoking a pipe. This was Mitchell's Alley. 
 
 The shadows closed behind the two men as they 
 moved forward, and neither was aware of the figure 
 which had been discreetly following them for the 
 last ten minutes. If Richard had suddenly wheeled 
 and gone back a dozen paces, he would have come 
 face to face with the commercial traveler. 
 
 Mr. Peters paused in front of one of the tene- 
 ment houses, and motioned with his thumb over 
 his shoulder for Richard to follow him through a 
 yawning doorway. The hall was as dark as a cave,
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 267 
 
 and full of stale, moldy odors. Peters shuffled cau- 
 tiously along the bare boards until he kicked his 
 toe against the first step of the staircase. 
 
 " Keep close to the wall, Mr. Shackford, and 
 feel your way up. They 've used the banisters for 
 kindling, and the landlord says he shan't put in 
 any more. I went over here the other night," add- 
 ed Mr. Peters reminiscentially. 
 
 After fumbling several seconds for the latch, 
 Mr. Peters pushed open a door, and ushered Rich- 
 ard into a large, gloomy rear room. A kerosene 
 lamp was burning dimly on the mantel-shelf, over 
 which hung a coarsely-colored lithograph of the 
 Virgin in a pine frame. Under the picture stood 
 a small black crucifix. There was little furniture, 
 a cooking-stove, two or three stools, a broken 
 table, and a chest of drawers. On an iron bed- 
 stead in the corner lay Torrini, muffled to the chin 
 in a blanket, despite the hot midsummer night. 
 His right arm, as if it were wholly disconnected 
 with his body, rested in a splint on the outside of 
 the covering. As the visitors entered, a tall dusky 
 woman with blurred eyes rose from a low bench at 
 the foot of the bed. 
 
 " Is he awake ? " asked Peters. 
 
 The woman, comprehending the glance which 
 accompanied the words, though not the words 
 themselves, nodded yes.
 
 268 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 
 
 * Here is Mr. Shackford come to see you, Tor- 
 rini," Peters said. 
 
 The man slowly unclosed his eyes ; they were 
 unnaturally brilliant and dilated, and seemed to ab- 
 sorb the rest of his features. 
 
 " I did n't want him." 
 
 " Let by-gones be by-gones, Torrini," said Rich- 
 ard, approaching the bedside. " I am sorry about 
 this." 
 
 " You are very good ; I don't understand. I ask 
 nothing of Slocum ; but the signorina comes every 
 day, and I cannot help it. What would you have ? 
 T 'm a dead man," and he turned away his face. 
 
 " It is not so bad as that," said Richard. 
 
 Torrini looked up with a ghastly smile. " They 
 nave cut off the hand that struck you, Mr. Shack- 
 ford." 
 
 " I suppose it was necessary. I am very sorry, 
 [n a little while you will be on your feet again." 
 
 " It is too late. They might have saved me by 
 taking the arm, but I would not allow them. I may 
 last three or four days. The doctor says it." 
 
 Peters, standing in the shadow, jerked his head 
 affirmatively. 
 
 " I do not care for myself," the man continued, 
 " but she and the little ones That is what 
 maddens me. They will starve."
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 269 
 
 " They will not be let starve in Stillwater," said 
 Richard. 
 
 Torrini turned his eyes upon him wistfully and 
 doubtfully. " You will help them ? " 
 
 " Yes, I and others." 
 
 " If they could be got to Italy," said Torrini, 
 after meditating, " it would be well. Her father," 
 giving a side look at the woman, " is a fisherman 
 of Capri." At the word Capri the woman lifted 
 her head quickly. " He is not rich, but he 's not 
 poor ; he would take her." 
 
 " You would wish her sent to Naples ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " If you do not pull through, she and the chil- 
 dren shall go there." 
 
 " Brigida ! " called Torrini ; then he said some- 
 thing rapidly in Italian to the woman, who buried 
 her face in both hands, and did not reply. 
 
 " She has no words to thank you. See, she is 
 tired to death, with the children all day and me all 
 .tight, these many nights." 
 
 " Tell her to go to bed in the other room," said 
 Richard. " There 's another room, is n't there ? 
 I '11 sit with you." 
 
 "You?" 
 
 " Your wife is fagged out, that is plain. Send 
 her to bed, and don't talk any more. Peters, I
 
 270 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 wish you 'd run and get a piece of ice somewhere ; 
 there 's no drinking-water here. Come, now, Tor- 
 rim, I can't speak Italian. Oh, I don't mind your 
 scowling; I intend to stay." 
 
 Torrini slowly unknitted his brows, and an ir- 
 resolute expression stole across his face ; then he 
 called Brigida, and bade her go in with the chil- 
 dren. She bowed her head submissively, and fixing 
 her melting eyes on Eichard for an instant passed 
 into the adjoining chamber. 
 
 Peters shortly reappeared with the ice, and after 
 setting a jug of water on the table departed. Rich- 
 ard turned up the wick of the kerosene lamp, which 
 was sending forth a disagreeable odor, and pinned 
 an old newspaper around the chimney to screen the 
 flame. He had, by an odd chance, made his lamp- 
 shade out of a copy of The Stillwater Gazette con- 
 taining the announcement of his cousin's death. 
 Richard gave a quick start as his eye caught the il- 
 luminated head-lines, Mysterious Murder of Lem- 
 lel Shackford ! Perhaps a slight exclamation es- 
 caped Richard's lips at the same time, for Torrini 
 turned and asked what was the matter. "Nothing 
 at all," said Richard, removing the paper, and plac- 
 ing another in its stead. Then he threw open the 
 blinds of the window looking on the back yard, and 
 set his hand-bag against the door to prevent it
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 271 
 
 being blown to by the draught. Torrini, without 
 altering the rigid position of his head on the pillow, 
 followed every movement with a look of curious in- 
 sistence, like that of the eyes in a portrait. His 
 preparations completed for the night, Richard seat- 
 ed himself on a stool at the foot of the bed. 
 
 The obscurity and stillness of the room had their 
 effect upon the sick man, who presently dropped 
 into a light sleep. Richard sat thinking of Mar- 
 garet, and began to be troubled because he had 
 neglected to send her word of his detention, which 
 he might have done by Peters. It was now too 
 late. The town clock struck ten in the midst of his 
 self-reproaches. At the first clang of the bell, Tor- 
 rini awoke with a start, and asked for water. 
 
 " If anybody comes," he said, glancing in a be- 
 wildered, anxious way at the shadows huddled 
 about the door, " you are not to leave me alone 
 with him." 
 
 " Him ? Whom ? Are you expecting any one ? " 
 
 " No ; but who knows ? one might come. Then, 
 you are not to go ; you are not to leave me a sec- 
 ond." 
 
 " I 've no thought of it," replied Richard ; " you 
 
 may rest easy He 's a trifle light in the 
 
 head," was Richard's reflection. 
 
 After that Torrini dozed rather than slumbered,
 
 272 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 rousing at brief intervals ; and whenever he awoke 
 the feverish activity of his brain incited him to 
 talk, now of Italy, and now of matters connect- 
 ed with his experiences in this country. 
 
 " Naples is a pleasant place ! " he broke out in 
 the hush of the midnight, just as Richard was drop- 
 ping off. " The band plays every afternoon on the 
 Chiaia. And then the festas, every third day a 
 festa. The devil was in my body when I left there 
 and dragged little Brigida into all this misery. We 
 used to walk of an evening along the Marinella, 
 that 's a strip of beach just beyond the Molo Pic- 
 colo. You were never in Naples ? " 
 
 "Not I," said Richard. "Here, wet your lips, 
 and try to go to sleep again." 
 
 " No, I can't sleep for thinking. When the sig- 
 norina came to see me, the other day, her heart was 
 pierced with pity. Like the blessed Madonna's, her 
 bosom bleeds for all ! You will let her come to- 
 morrow ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes ! If you will only keep quiet, Mar- 
 garet shall come." 
 
 " Margherita, we say. You are to wed her, is 
 it not so ? " 
 
 Richard turned down the wick of the lamp, which 
 was blazing and spluttering, and did not answer. 
 Then Torrini lay silent a long while, apparently list-
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 273 
 
 ening to the hum of the telegraph wires attached 
 to one end of the roof. At odd intervals the fresh- 
 ening breeze swept these wires, and awoke a low 
 aeolian murmur. The moon rose in the mean time, 
 and painted on the uncarpeted floor the shape of 
 the cherry bough that stretched across the window. 
 It was two o'clock ; Richard sat with his head bent 
 forward, in a drowse. 
 
 " Now the cousin is dead, you are as rich as a 
 prince, are you not ? " inquired Torrini, who had 
 lain for the last half hour with his eyes wide open 
 in the moonlight. 
 
 Richard straightened himself with a jerk. 
 
 " Torrini, I positively forbid you to talk any 
 more ! " 
 
 " I remember you said that one day, somewhere. 
 Where was it ? Ah, in the yard I * You can't be 
 allowed to speak here, you know.' And then I 
 struck at you, with that hand they've taken 
 away ! See how I remember it I " 
 
 '* Why do you bother your mind with such 
 things? Think of just nothing at all, and rest. 
 Perhaps a wet cloth on your forehead will refresh 
 you. I wish you had a little of my genius for not 
 keeping awake." 
 
 " You are tired, you ? " 
 
 " I have had two broken nights, traveling." 
 
 18
 
 274 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " And I give you no peace ? " 
 
 " Well, no," returned Richard bluntly, hoping 
 the admission would induce Torrini to tranquillize 
 himself, " you don't give me much." 
 
 " Has any one been here ? " demanded Torrini 
 abruptly. 
 
 " Not a soul. Good Heaven, man, do you know 
 what time it is ? " 
 
 " I know, I know. It 's very late. I ought 
 to keep quiet ; but, the devil ! with this fever in 
 my brain ! . . . . Mr. Shackford ! " and Torrini, in 
 spite of his imprisoned limb, suddenly half raised 
 himself from the mattress. "I I " 
 
 Richard sprung to his feet. " What is it, 
 what do you want ?" 
 
 " Nothing," said Torrini, falling back on the pil- 
 low. 
 
 Richard brought him a glass of water, which he 
 refused. He lay motionless, with his eyes shut, as 
 if composing himself, and Richard returned on tip- 
 toe to his bench. A moment or two afterwards 
 Torrini stirred the blanket with his foot. 
 
 " Mr. Shackford ! " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " I am as grateful as a dog." 
 
 Torrini did not speak again. This expression of 
 his gratitude appeared to ease him. His respira-
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 275 
 
 blon grew lighter and more regular, and by and by 
 he fell into a profound sleep. Richard watched 
 awhile expectantly, with his head resting against 
 the rail of the bedstead ; then his eyelids drooped, 
 and he too slumbered. But once or twice, before 
 he quite lost himself, he was conscious of Brigida's 
 thin face thrust like a silver wedge through the 
 half-open door of the hall bedroom. It was the 
 last thing he remembered, that sharp, pale face 
 peering out from the blackness of the inner cham- 
 ber just as his grasp loosened on the world and he 
 drifted off on the tide of a dream. A narrow white 
 hand, like a child's, seemed to be laid against his 
 breast. It was not Margaret's hand, and yet it 
 was hers. No, it was the plaster model he had 
 made that idle summer afternoon, years and years 
 before he had ever thought of loving her. Strange 
 for it to be there ! Then Richard began wonder- 
 ing how the gold ring would look on the slender 
 forefinger. He unfastened the leather bag and 
 took out the ring. He was vainly trying to pass it 
 over the first joint of the dead white finger, when 
 the cast slipped from his hold and fell with a crash 
 to the floor. Richard gave a shudder, and opened 
 his eyes. Brigida was noiselessly approaching Tor- 
 rini's bedside. Torrini still slept. It was broad 
 day. Through the uncurtained window Richard 
 aw the blue sky barred with crimson.
 
 xxrv. 
 
 " RICHARD did come home last night, after all," 
 said Mr. Slocum, with a flustered air, seating him- 
 self at the breakfast table. 
 
 Margaret looked up quickly. 
 
 " I just met Peters on the street, and he told 
 me," added Mr. Slocum. 
 
 " Richard returned last night, and did not come 
 to us ! " 
 
 " It seems that he watched with Torrini, the 
 man is going to die." 
 
 " Oh," said Margaret, cooling instantly. " That 
 was like Richard ; he never thinks of himself first. 
 I would not have had him do differently. Last 
 evening you were filled with I don't know what 
 horrible suspicions, yet see how simply everything 
 explains itself." 
 
 " If I could speak candidly, Margaret, if I could 
 express myself without putting you into a passion, 
 I would tell you that Richard's passing the niglit 
 with that man has given nie two or three ugly 
 ideas." 
 
 " Positively, papa, you are worse than Mr. Tag- 
 gett."-
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 277 
 
 " I shall not say another word," replied Mr. Slo- 
 cum. Then he unfolded the newspaper lying be- 
 side him, and constructed a barrier against further 
 colloquy. 
 
 An hour afterwards, when Richard threw open 
 the door of his private workshop, Margaret was 
 standing in the middle of the room waiting for him. 
 She turned with a little cry of pleasure, and al- 
 lowed Richard to take her in his arms, and kept to 
 the spirit and the letter of the promise she had 
 made to herself. If there was an unwonted gravity 
 in Margaret's manner, young Shackford was not 
 keen enough to perceive it. All that morning, 
 wherever he went, he carried with him a sense of 
 Margaret's face resting for a moment against his 
 shoulder, and the happiness of it rendered him 
 wholly oblivious to the constrained and chilly de- 
 meanor of her father when they met. The inter- 
 view was purposely cut short by Mr. Slocum, who 
 avoided Richard the rest of the day with a persist- 
 ency that must have ended in forcing itself upon 
 his notice, hud he not been so engrossed by the 
 work which had accumulated during his absence. 
 
 Mr. Slocum had let the correspondence go to the 
 winds, and a formidable collection of unanswered 
 letters lay on Shackford's desk. The forenoon \vas 
 consumed in reducing the pile and settling the ques-
 
 278 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 tions that had risen in the shops, for Mr. Slocum 
 had neglected everything. Richard was speedily 
 advised of Blake's dismissal from the yard, but, 
 not knowing what explanation had been offered, 
 was unable to satisfy Stevens's curiosity on the sub- 
 ject. " I must see Slocum about that at once," 
 reflected Richard ; but the opportunity did not oc- 
 cur, and he was too much pressed to make a spe- 
 cial business of it. 
 
 Mr. Slocum, meanwhile, was in a wretched state 
 of suspense and apprehension. Justice Beeinis's 
 clerk had served some sort of legal paper pre- 
 sumably a subpoena on Richard, who had coolly 
 read it in the yard under the gaze of all, and given 
 no sign of discomposure beyond a momentary lift- 
 ing of the eyebrows. Then he had carelessly thrust 
 the paper into one of his pockets and continued his 
 directions to the men. Clearly he had as yet no 
 suspicion of the mine that was ready to be sprung 
 under his feet. 
 
 Shortly after this little incident, which Mr. Slo- 
 cum had witnessed from the window of the count- 
 ing-room, Richard spoke a word or two to Stevens, 
 and quitted the yard. Mr. Slocum dropped into 
 the carving department. 
 
 " Where is Mr. Shackford, Stevens ? " 
 
 "He has gone to Mitchell's Alley, sir. Said
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 279 
 
 he 'd be away an hour. Am I to say he was 
 wanted ? " 
 
 " No," replied Mr. Slocum, hastily ; " any time 
 will do. You need n't mention that I inquired for 
 him," and Mr. Slocum returned to the counting- 
 room. 
 
 Before the hour expired he again distinguished 
 Richard's voice in the workshops, and the cheery 
 tone of it was a positive affront to Mr. Slocum. 
 Looking back to the week prior to the tragedy in 
 Welch's Court, he recollected Richard's unaccount- 
 able dejection ; he had had the air of a person 
 meditating some momentous step, the pallor, the 
 set face, and the introspective eye. Then came the 
 murder, and Richard's complete prostration. Mr. 
 Slocum in his own excitement had noted it superfi- 
 cially at the time, but now he recalled the young 
 man's inordinate sorrow, and it seemed rather like 
 remorse. Was his present immobile serenity the 
 natural expression of an untroubled conscience, or 
 the manner of a man whose heart had suddenly os- 
 sified, and was no longer capable of throbbing with 
 its guilt ? Richard Shackford was rapidly becom- 
 ing an awful problem to Mr. Slocum. 
 
 Since the death of his cousin, Richard had not 
 been so much like his former self. He appeared to 
 have taken up his cheerfulness at the point where
 
 280 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 he had dropped it three weeks before. If there 
 were any weight resting on his mind, he bore it 
 lightly, with a kind of careless defiance. 
 
 In his visit that forenoon to Mitchell's Alley 
 he had arranged for Mrs. Morganson, his cousin's 
 old housekeeper, to watch with Torrini the ensu- 
 ing night. This left Richard at liberty to spend 
 the evening with Margaret, and finish his corre- 
 spondence. Directly after tea he repaired to the 
 studio, and, lighting the German student-lamp, fell 
 to work on the letters. Margaret came in shortly 
 with a magazine, and seated herself near the round 
 table at which he was writing. She had dreaded 
 this evening ; it could scarcely pass without some 
 mention of Mr. Taggett, and she had resolved not 
 to speak of him. If Richard questioned her it 
 would be very distressing. How could she tell 
 Richard that Mr. Taggett accused him of the mur- 
 der of his cousin, and that her own father half be- 
 lieved the accusation ? No, she could never ac- 
 knowledge that. 
 
 For nearly an hour the silence of the room was 
 interrupted only by the scratching of Richard's 
 pen and the rustling of the magazine as Margaret 
 turned the leaf. Now and then he looked up and 
 caught her eye, and smiled, and went on with his 
 task. It was a veritable return of the old times
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 281 
 
 Margaret became absorbed in the story she was 
 reading, and forgot her uneasiness. Her left hand 
 rested on the pile of answered letters, to which 
 Richard added one at intervals, she mechanically 
 lifting her palm and replacing it on the fresh man- 
 uscript. Presently Richard observed this move- 
 ment and smiled in secret at the slim white hand 
 unconsciously making a paper-weight of itself. He 
 regarded it covertly for a moment, and then his 
 disastrous dream occurred to him. There should 
 be no mistake this time. He drew the small mo- 
 rocco case from his pocket, and leaning across the 
 table slipped the ring on Margaret's finger. 
 
 Margaret gave a bewildered start, and then see- 
 ing what Richard had done held out her hand to 
 him with a gracious, impetuous little gesture. 
 
 " I meant to give it you this morning," he said, 
 pressing his lip to the ring, " but the daylight did 
 not seem fine enough for it." 
 
 " I thought you had forgotten," said Margaret, 
 slowly turning the band on her finger. 
 
 " The first thing I did in New York was to go 
 to a jeweler's for this ring, and since then I have 
 guarded it day and night as dragonishly as if it had 
 been the Koh-i-noor diamond, or some inestimable 
 gem which hundreds of envious persons were lying 
 in wait to wrest from me. Walking the streets
 
 282 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 with this trinket in my possession, I have actually 
 had a sense of personal insecurity. I seemed to in- 
 vite general assault. That was being very senti- 
 mental, was it not ? " 
 
 " Yes, perhaps." 
 
 "That small piece of gold meant so much to me." 
 
 "And to me," said Margaret. "Have you 
 finished your letters ? " 
 
 " Not yet. I shall be through in ten minutes, 
 and then we '11 have the evening to ourselves." 
 
 Richard hurriedly resumed his writing and 
 Margaret turned to her novel again ; but the inter- 
 est had faded out of it ; the figures had grown 
 threadbare and indistinct, like the figures in a piece 
 of old tapestry, :ind after a moment or two the 
 magazine glided with an unnoticed flutter into the 
 girl's lap. She sat absently twirling the gold loop 
 on her finger. 
 
 Richard added the address to the final envelope, 
 dried it with the blotter, and abruptly shut down 
 the lid of the inkstand with an air of as great 
 satisfaction as if he had been the fisherman in the 
 Arabian story corking up the wicked afrite. With 
 his finger still pressing the leaden cover, as though 
 he were afraid the imp of toil would get out again, 
 he was suddenly impressed by the fact that he had 
 seen very little of Mr. Slocum that day.
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 283 
 
 " I have hardly spoken to him," he reflected. 
 " Where is your father, to-night ? " 
 
 ** He has a headache," said Margare^ " He 
 went to his room immediately after supper." 
 
 " It is nothing serious, of course." 
 
 " I fancy not ; papa is easily excited, and he has 
 had a great deal to trouble him lately, the strike, 
 and all that." 
 
 " I wonder if Taggett has been bothering him." 
 
 " I dare say Mr. Taggett has bothered him." 
 
 " You knew of his being in the yard ? " 
 
 " Not while he was here. Papa told me yester- 
 day. I think Mr. Taggett was scarcely the per- 
 son to render much assistance." 
 
 " Then he has found out nothing whatever ? " 
 
 " Nothing important." 
 
 " But anything ? Trifles are of importance in a 
 matter like this. Your father never wrote me a 
 word about- Taggett." 
 
 " Mr. Taggett has made a failure of it, Richard." 
 
 " If nothing new has transpired, then I do not 
 understand the summons I received to-day." 
 
 " A summons ! " 
 
 " I 've the paper somewhere. No, it is in the 
 pocket of my other coat. I take it there is to be a 
 consultation of some kind at Justice Beemis's office 
 to-morrow."
 
 284 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " I am very glad," said Margaret, with her face 
 brightening. To-morrow would lift the cloud 
 which %d spread itself over them all, and was 
 pressing down so heavily on one unconscious head. 
 To-morrow Richard's innocence should shine forth 
 and confound Mr. Taggett. A vague bitterness 
 rose in Margaret's heart as she thought of her fa- 
 ther. " Let us talk of something else," she said, 
 brusquely breaking her pause; "let us talk of 
 something pleasant." 
 
 " Of ourselves, then," suggested Richard, ban- 
 ishing the shadow which had gathered in his eyes 
 at his first mention of Mr. Taggett's name. 
 
 " Of ourselves," repeated Margaret gayly. 
 
 " Then you must give me your hand," stipulated 
 Richard, drawing his chair closer to hers. 
 
 "There!" said Margaret. 
 
 While this was passing, Mr. Slocum, in the soli- 
 tude of his chamber, was vainly attempting to 
 solve the question whether he had not disregarded 
 all the dictates of duty and common sense in allow- 
 ing Margaret to spend the evening alone with 
 Richard Shackford. Mr. Slocum saw one thing 
 with painful distinctness that he could not help 
 himself.
 
 XXV. 
 
 THE next morning Mr. Slocum did not make his 
 appearance in the marble yard. His half-simulated 
 indisposition of the previous night had turned into 
 a genuine headache, of which he perhaps willingly 
 availed himself to remain in his room, for he had 
 no desire to see Richard Shackford that day. 
 
 It was an hour before noon. Up to that moment 
 Richard had been engaged in reading and replying 
 to the letters received by the morning's mail, a 
 duty which usually fell to Mr. Slocum. As Richard 
 stepped from the office into the yard a small boy 
 thrust a note into his hand, and then stood off a 
 short distance tranquilly boring with one toe in the 
 loose gravel, and apparently waiting for an answer. 
 Shackford hastily ran his eye over the paper, and 
 turning towards the boy said, a little impatiently : 
 
 " Tell him I will come at once." 
 
 There was another person in Stillwater that fore- 
 noon whose agitation was scarcely less than Mr. 
 Slocum's, though it greatly differed from it in qual- 
 ity. Mr. Slocum was alive to his finger-tips with 
 dismay ; Lawyer Perkins was boiling over with in-
 
 286 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 
 
 dignation. It was a complex indignation, in "which 
 astonishment and incredulity were nicely blended 
 with a cordial detestation of Mr. Taggett and vague 
 promptings to inflict some physical injury on Jus- 
 tice Beemis. That he, Melanchthon Perkins, the 
 confidential legal adviser and personal friend of the 
 late Lemuel Shackford, should have been kept for 
 two weeks in profound ignorance of proceedings so 
 nearly touching his lamented client I The explosion 
 of the old lawyer's wrath was so unexpected that 
 Justice Beemis, who had dropped in to make the 
 disclosures and talk the matter over informally, 
 clutched at his broad-brimmed Panama hat and pre- 
 cipitately retreated from the office. Mr. Perkins 
 walked up and down the worn green drugget of his 
 private room for half an hour afterwards, collecting 
 himself, and then dispatched a hurried note to Rich- 
 ard Shackford, requesting an instant interview with 
 him at his, Lawyer Perkins's, chambers. 
 
 When, some ten minutes subsequently, Richard 
 entered the low-studded square room, darkened with 
 faded moreen curtains and filled with a stale odor 
 of law-calf, Mr. Perkins was seated at his desk and 
 engaged in transferring certain imposing red-sealed 
 documents to a green baize satchel which he held 
 between his knees. He had regained his equanim- 
 ity ; his features wore their usual expression of ju-
 
 THE STILLWATER TBAGEDY. 287 
 
 dicial severity ; nothing denoted bis recent discom- 
 posure, except perhaps an additional wantonness in 
 the stringy black hair falling over the high fore- 
 head, that pallid high forehead which always 
 wore the look of being covered with cold perspira- 
 tion. 
 
 " Mr. Shackford," said Lawyer Perkins, suspend- 
 ing his operations a second, as he saluted the young 
 man, " 1 suppose I have done an irregular thing in 
 sending for you, but I did not see any other course 
 open to me. I have been your cousin's attorney for 
 over twenty-five years, and I 've a great regard for 
 you personally. That must justify the step I am 
 taking." 
 
 " The regard is mutual, I am sure," returned 
 Richard, rather surprised by this friendly overture, 
 for his acquaintance with the lawyer had been of 
 the slightest, though it had extended over many 
 years. " My cousin had very few old friends, and I 
 earnestly desire to have them mine. If I were in 
 any trouble, there is no one to whom I would come 
 so unhesitatingly as to you." 
 
 " But you are in trouble." 
 
 " Yes, my cousin's death was very distressing." 
 
 "I do not mean that." Mr. Perkins paused a 
 full moment. " The district attorney has suddenly 
 taken a deep interest in the case, and there is to be
 
 288 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 a* rigorous overhauling of the facts. I ain afraid it 
 is going to be very unpleasant for you, Mr. Shack- 
 ford." 
 
 " How could it be otherwise ? " asked Richard, 
 tranquilly. 
 
 Lawyer Perkins fixed his black eyes on him. 
 " Then you fully understand the situation, and can 
 explain everything ? " 
 
 " I wish I could. Unfortunately, I can explain 
 nothing. I don't clearly see why I have been sum- 
 moned to attend as a witness at the investigation 
 to be held to-day in Justice Beemis's office." 
 
 " You are unacquainted with any special reason 
 why your testimony is wanted ? " 
 
 " I cannot conceive why it should be required. 
 I gave my evidence at the time of the inquest, and 
 have nothing to add to it. Strictly speaking, I 
 have had of late years no relations with my cousin. 
 During the last eighteen months we have spoken 
 together but once." 
 
 " Have you had any conversation on this subject 
 with Mr. Slocum since your return from New 
 York?" 
 
 " No, I have had no opportunity. I was busy all 
 day yesterday ; he was ill in the evening, and is 
 still confined to his room." 
 
 Mr. Perkins was manifestly embarrassed.
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 289 
 
 " That is unfortunate," he said, laying the bag 
 on the desk. " I wish you had talked with Mr. 
 Slocum. Of course you were taken into the se- 
 cret of Taggett's presence in the marble yard ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; that was all arranged before I left 
 home." 
 
 " You don't know the results of that manoeu- 
 vre ? " 
 
 " There were no results." 
 
 " On the contrary, Taggett claims to have made 
 very important discoveries." 
 
 " Indeed ! Why was I not told ! " 
 
 " I can't quite comprehend Mr. Slocum's silence." 
 
 k What has Taggett discovered ? " 
 
 " Several things, upon which he builds the grav- 
 est suspicions." 
 
 " Against whom ? " 
 
 " Against you." 
 
 " Against me ! " cried Richard, recoiling. The 
 action was one altogether of natural amazement, and 
 convinced Mr. Perkins, who had keenly watched 
 ther effect of his announcement, that young Shack- 
 ford was being very hardly used. 
 
 Justice Beemis had given Mr. Perkins only a 
 brief outline of the facts, and had barely touched 
 on details when the old lawyer's anger had put an 
 end to the conversation. His disgust at having been 
 
 19
 
 290 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 left out in the cold, though he was in no profes- 
 sional way concerned in the task of discovering the 
 murderer of Lemuel Shackford, had caused Lawyer 
 Perkins instantly to repudiate Mr. Taggett's action. 
 " Taggett is a low, intriguing fellow," he had said 
 to Justice Beeinis ; " Taggett is a fraud." Young 
 Shackford's ingenuous manner now confirmed Mr. 
 Perkins in that belief. 
 
 Richard recovered himself in a second or two. 
 " Why did not Mr. Slocum mention these suspi- 
 cions to me ? " he demanded. 
 
 " Perhaps he found it difficult to do so." 
 
 " Why should he find it difficult ? " 
 
 " Suppose he believed them." 
 
 " But he could not believe them, whatever they 
 are." 
 
 " Well, then, suppose he was not at liberty to 
 speak." 
 
 " It seems that you are, Mr. Perkins, and you 
 owe it to me to be explicit. What does Taggett sus- 
 pect?" 
 
 Lawyer Perkins brooded a while before replying. 
 His practice was of a miscellaneous sort, con lined 
 in the main to what is technically termed office 
 practice. Though he was frequently engaged in 
 small cases of assault and battery, he could 
 scarcely escape that in Still water, he had never
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 291 
 
 conducted an important criminal case ; but when 
 Lawyer Perkins looked up from his brief reverie, 
 he had fully resolved to undertake the defense of 
 Richard Shackford. 
 
 " I will tell you what Taggett suspects," he said 
 slowly, " if you will allow me to tell you in my own 
 way. I must ask you a number of questions." 
 
 Richard gave a half-impatient nod of assent. 
 
 " Where were you on the night of the murder? " 
 inquired Lawyer Perkins, after a slight pause. 
 
 " I spent the evening at the Slocums', until ten 
 o'clock ; then I went home, but not directly. 
 It was moonlight, and I walked about, perhaps for 
 an hour." 
 
 " Did you meet any one ? " 
 
 " Not that I recollect. I walked out of town, on 
 the turnpike." 
 
 "When you returned to your boarding-house, 
 did you meet any one ? " 
 
 " No, I let myself in with a pass-key. The family 
 had retired, with the exception of Mr. Pinkham." 
 
 " Then you saw him ? " 
 
 " No, but I heard him ; he was playing on the 
 llute at his chamber window, or near it. He al- 
 ways plays on the flute when he can't sleep." 
 
 " What o'clock was that ? " 
 
 " It must have been after eleven."
 
 292 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " Your stroll was confined to the end of the town 
 most remote from Welch's Court ? " 
 
 " Yes, I just cruised around on the outskirts." 
 
 "I wish you had spoken with somebody that 
 night." 
 
 " The streets were deserted. I was n't likely to 
 meet persons on the turnpike." 
 
 " However, some one may have seen you without 
 your knowing it ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Richard curtly. He was growing 
 restive under these interrogations, the drift of which 
 was plain enough to be disagreeable. Moreover, 
 Mr. Perkins had insensibly assumed the tone and 
 air of a counsel cross-examining a witness on the 
 other side. This nocturnal cruise, whose direction 
 and duration were known only to young Shackford, 
 struck Lawyer Perkins unpleasantly. He medi- 
 tated a moment before putting the next question. 
 
 " Were you on good terms I mean fairly good 
 terms with your cousin ? " 
 
 " No," said Richard ; " but the fault was not 
 mine. He never liked me. As a child I annoyed 
 him, I suppose, and when I grew up I offended 
 him by running away to sea. My mortal offense, 
 however, was accepting a situation in Slocum's 
 Yard. I have been in my cousin's house only twice 
 in three years."
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 293 
 
 " When was the last time ? " 
 
 " A day or two previous to the strike." 
 
 " As you were not in the habit of visiting the 
 house, you must have had some purpose in going 
 there. What was the occasion ? " 
 
 Richard hung his head thoughtfully. " I went 
 there to talk over family matters, to inform him 
 of my intended marriage with Margaret Slocum. I 
 wanted his good-will and support. Mr. Slocum 
 had offered to take me into the business. I thought 
 that perhaps my cousin Lemuel, seeing how pros- 
 perous I was, would be more friendly to me." 
 
 " Did you wish him to lend you capital ? " 
 
 " I did n't expect or wish him to ; but there was 
 some question of that." 
 
 " And he refused ? " 
 
 " Rather brutally, if I may say so now." 
 
 " Was there a quarrel ? " 
 
 Richard hesitated. 
 
 " Of course I don't press you," said Mr. Perkins, 
 with some stiffness. " You are not on the witness 
 stand." 
 
 "I began to think I was in the prisoner's 
 dock," answered Richard, smiling ruefully. " How- 
 ever, I have nothing to conceal. I hesitated to re- 
 ply to you because it was painful for me to reflect 
 that the last time I saw my cousin we parted in
 
 294 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 anger. He charged me with attempting to over- 
 reach him, and I left the house in indignation." 
 
 " That was the last time you saw him ? " 
 
 " The last time I saw him alive." 
 
 " Was there any communication between you 
 two after that ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 '* None whatever ? " 
 
 " None." 
 
 " Are you quite positive ? " 
 
 " As positive as I can be that I live and have my 
 senses." 
 
 Lawyer Perkins pulled a black strand of hair 
 over his forehead, and remained silent for nearly a 
 minute. 
 
 " Mr. Shackford, are you sure that your cousin 
 did not write a note to you on the Monday preced- 
 ing the night of his death ? " 
 
 " He may have written a dozen, for all I know. 
 I only know that I never received a note or a letter 
 from him in the whole course of my life." 
 
 " Then how do you account for the letter which 
 IIAS been found in your rooms in Lime Street, 
 a letter addressed to you by Lemuel Shackford, and 
 requesting you to call at his house on that fatal 
 Tuesday night ? " 
 
 "I I know nothing about it," stammered Rich- 
 ard. s ' There is no such paper ! "
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 295 
 
 " It was in this office less than one hour ago," 
 said Lawyer Perkins sternly. "It was brought here 
 for me to identify Lemuel Shackford's handwriting. 
 Justice Beemis has that paper ! " 
 
 " Justice Beerais has it ! " exclaimed Richard. 
 
 " I have nothing more to say," observed Lawyer 
 Perkins, reaching out his hand towards the green 
 bag, as a sign that the interview was ended. 
 " There were other points I wished to have some 
 light thrown on ; but I have gone far enough to see 
 that it is useless." 
 
 " What more is there ? " demanded Richard in a 
 voice that seemed to come through a fog. " I in- 
 sist on knowing ! You suspect me of my cousin's 
 murder? " 
 
 " Mr. Taggett does." 
 
 " And you ? " 
 
 " I am speaking of Mr. Taggett." 
 
 " Well, go on, speak of him," said Richard des- 
 perately. " What else has he discovered ? " 
 
 Mr. Perkins wheeled his chair round until he 
 faced the young man. 
 
 " He has discovered in your workshop a chisel 
 with a peculiar break in the edge, a deep notch 
 in the middle of the bevel. With that chisel Lem- 
 uel Shackford was killed." 
 
 Richard gave a perceptible start, and put his
 
 296 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 hand to his head, as if a sudden confused memory 
 had set the temples throbbing. 
 
 44 A full box of safety matches," continued Mr. 
 Perkins, in a cold, measured voice, as though he 
 were demonstrating a mathematical problem, " con- 
 tains one hundred matches. Mr. Taggett has dis- 
 covered a box that contains only ninety-nine. The 
 missing match was used that night in Welch's 
 Court." 
 
 Richard stared at him blankly. " What can I 
 say ? " he gasped- 
 
 44 Say nothing to me," returned Lawyer Perkins, 
 hastily thrusting a handful of loose papers into the 
 open throat of the green bag, which he garroted an 
 instant afterwards with a thick black cord. Then 
 he rose flurriedly from the chair. 44 1 shall have to 
 leave you," he said ; 44 1 've an appointment at the 
 surrogate's." 
 
 And Lawyer Perkins passed stiffly from the 
 apartment. 
 
 Richard lingered a moment alone in the room 
 with his chin restirsr on his breast.
 
 XXVI. 
 
 THERE was a fire in Richard's temples as he 
 reeled out of Lawyer Perkins's office. It was now 
 twelve o'clock, and the streets were thronged with 
 the motley population disgorged by the various 
 mills and workshops. Richard felt that every eye 
 was upon him ; he was conscious of something wild 
 in his aspect that must needs attract the attention 
 of the passers-by. At each step he half expected 
 the leveling of some accusing finger. The pitiless 
 sunshine seemed to single him. out and stream upon 
 him like a calcium light. It was intolerable. He 
 must get away from this jostling crowd, this babel 
 of voices. What should he do, where should he 
 go ? To return to the yard and face the workmen 
 was not to be thought of ; if he went to his lodg- 
 ings he would be called to dinner, and have to 
 listen to the inane prattle of the school- in aster. 
 That would be even more intolerable than this gar- 
 ish daylight, and these careless squads of men and 
 women who paused in the midst of their laugh to 
 turn and stare. Was there no spot in Stillwater 
 where a broken man could hide himself long enough 
 to collect his senses?
 
 298 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 With his hands thrust convulsively into the pock- 
 ets of his sack-coat, Richard turned down a narrow 
 passage-way fringing the rear of some warehouses. 
 As he hurried along aimlessly his fingers encount- 
 ered something in one of his pockets. It was the 
 key of a new lock which had been put on the scul- 
 lery door of the house in Welch's Court. Richard's 
 heart gave a quick throb. There at least was a 
 temporary refuge ; he would go there and wait until 
 it was time for him to surrender himself to the offi- 
 cers. 
 
 It appeared to Richard that he was nearly a year 
 reaching the little back yard of the lonely house. 
 He slipped into the scullery and locked the door, 
 wondering if his movements had been observed 
 since he quitted the main street. Here he drew a 
 long breath and looked around him ; then he began 
 wandering restlessly through the rooms, of which 
 there were five or six on the ground-floor. The 
 furniture, the carpets, and all the sordid fixtures of 
 the house were just as Richard had known them in 
 his childhood. Everything' was unchanged, even 
 to the faded peacock-feather stuck over the parlor 
 looking-glass. As he regarded the familiar objects 
 and breathed the snuffy atmosphere peculiar to the 
 place, the past rose so vividly before him that lie 
 would scarcely have been startled if a lean, gray
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. ' 299 
 
 old man had suddenly appeared in one of the door- 
 ways. On a peg in the front hall hung his cousin's 
 napless beaver hat, satirically ready to be. put on ; 
 in the kitchen closet a pair of ancient shoes, worn 
 down at the heel and with taps on the toe, had all 
 the air of intending to step forth. The shoes had 
 been carefully blacked, but a thin skin of mould 
 . had gathered over them. They looked like Lemuel 
 Shackford. They had taken a position habitual 
 with him. Richard was struck by the subtile irony 
 which lay in these inanimate things. That a man's 
 hat should outlast the man, and have a jaunty ex- 
 pression of triumph ! That a dead man's shoes 
 should mimic him ! 
 
 The tall eight-day clock on the landing had run 
 down. It had stopped at twelve, and it now stood 
 with solemnly uplifted finger, as if imposing si- 
 lence on those small, unconsidered noises which 
 commonly creep out, like mice, only at midnight. 
 The house was full of such stealthy sounds. The 
 stairs creaked at intervals, mysteriously, as if un- 
 der the weight of some heavy person ascending. 
 Now and then the woodwork stretched itself with a 
 snap, as though it had grown stiff in the joints with 
 remaining so long in one position. At times there 
 were muffled reverberations of footfalls on the floor- 
 ing overhead. Richard had a curious consciousness
 
 300 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 of not being alone, but of moving in the midst of an 
 invisible throng of persons who elbowed him softly 
 and breathed in his face, and vaguely impressed 
 themselves upon him as being former occupants of 
 the premises. This populous solitude, this silence 
 with its busy interruptions, grew insupportable as 
 he passed from room to room. 
 
 One chamber he did not enter, the chamber 
 in which his cousin's body was found that Wednes- 
 day morning. In Richard's imagination it waa 
 still lying there, white and piteous, by the hearth. 
 He paused at the threshold and glanced in ; then 
 turned abruptly and mounted the staircase. 
 
 On gaining his old apartment in the gable, Rich- 
 ard seated himself on the edge of the cot-bed. His 
 shoulders sagged down and a stupefied expression 
 settled upon his face, but his brain was in a tumult. 
 His own identity was become a matter of doubt 
 to him. Was he the same Richard Shackford 
 who had found life so sweet when he awoke that 
 morning ? It must have been some other person 
 who had sat by a window in the sunrise thinking 
 of Margaret Sloeum's love, some Richard Shack- 
 ford with unstained hands ! This one was accused 
 of murdering his kinsman ; the weapon with which 
 he had done it, the very match he had used to light 
 him in the deed, were known ! The victim him
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 301 
 
 self had written out the accusation in black and 
 white. Richard's brain reeled as he tried to fix 
 his thought on Lemuel Shackford's letter. That 
 letter ! where had it been all this while, and how 
 did it come into Taggett's possession ? Only one 
 thing was clear to Richard in his inextricable con- 
 fusion, he was not going to be able to prove his 
 innocence ; he was a doomed man, and within the 
 hour his shame would be published to the world. 
 Rowland Slocum and Lawyer Perkins had already 
 condemned him, and Margaret would condemn him 
 when she knew all ; for it was evident that up to 
 last evening she had not been told. How did it 
 happen that these overwhelming proofs had rolled 
 themselves up against him ? What malign influ- 
 ences were these at work, hurrying him on to de- 
 struction, and not leaving a single loophole of es- 
 cape? Who would believe the story of his inno- 
 cent ramble on the turnpike that Tuesday night ? 
 Who could doubt that he had gone directly from 
 the Slocums' to Welch's Court, and then crept 
 home red-handed through the deserted streets ? 
 
 Richard heard the steam-whistles recalling the 
 operatives to work, and dimly understood it was one 
 o'clock ; but after that he paid no attention to the 
 lapse of time. It was an hour later, perhaps two 
 hours, Richard could not tell, when he roused
 
 302 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 himself from his stupor, and descending the stairs 
 passed through the kitchen into the scullery. 
 There he halted and leaned against the sink, irres- 
 olute, as though his purpose, if he had had a pur- 
 pose, were escaping him. He stood with his eyes 
 resting listlessly on a barrel in the further corner 
 of the apartment. It was a heavy-hooped wine- 
 cask, in which Lemuel Shackford had been wont to 
 keep his winter's supply of salted meat. Suddenly 
 Richard started forward with an inarticulate cry, 
 and at the same instant there came a loud knock- 
 ing at the door behind him. The sound reverber- 
 ated through the empty house, filling the place 
 with awful echoes, like those knocks at the gate 
 of Macbeth's castle the night of Duncan's mur- 
 der. Richard stood petrified for a second ; then he 
 hastily turned the key in the lock, and Mr. Taggett 
 stepped into the scullery. 
 
 The two men exchanged swift glances. The be- 
 wildered air of a moment before *had passed from 
 Richard ; the dullness had faded out of his eyes, 
 leaving them the clear, alert expression they ordi- 
 narily wore. He was self-possessed, but the effort 
 his self-possession cost him was obvious. There 
 was a something in his face a dilation of the 
 nostril, a curve of the under lip which put Mr. 
 Taggett very much on his guard. Mr. Taggett 
 was the first to speak.
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 303 
 
 " I 've a disagreeable mission here," he said 
 slowly, with his hand remaining on the latch of 
 the door, which he had closed on entering. " I 
 have a warrant for your arrest, Mr. Shackford." 
 
 " Stop a moment ! " said Richard, with a glow 
 in his eyes. " I have something to say." 
 
 " I advise you not to make any statement." 
 
 " I understand my position perfectly, Mr. Tag- 
 gett, and I shall disregard the advice. After you 
 have answered me one or two questions, I shall be 
 quite at your service." 
 
 " If you insist, then." 
 
 " You were present at the examination of Thomas 
 Blufton and William Durgin, were you not ? " 
 
 " I was." 
 
 "You recollect William Durgin's testimony?" 
 
 " Most distinctly." 
 
 " He stated that the stainsxm his clothes were 
 from a certain barrel, the head of which had been 
 freshly painted red." 
 
 " I remember." 
 
 " Mr. Taggett, the head of that barrel was painted 
 Hue!"
 
 XXVII. 
 
 MB. TAGGETT, in spite of the excellent subjec 
 tion under which he held his nerves, caught his 
 breath at these words, and a transient pallor over- 
 spread his face as he followed the pointing of Rich- 
 ard's finger. If William Durgin had testified falsely 
 on that point, if he had swerved a hair's-breadth 
 from the truth in that matter, then there was but 
 one conclusion to be drawn from his perjury. A 
 flash of lightning is not swifter than was Mr. Tag- 
 gett's thought in grasping the situation. In an 
 instant he saw all his carefully articulated case fall 
 to pieces on his hands. Richard crossed the nar- 
 row room, and stood in front of him. 
 
 " Mr. Taggett, do you know why William Dur- 
 gin lied ? He lied because it was life or death with 
 him ! In a moment* of confusion he had committed 
 one of those simple, fatal blunders which men in 
 his circumstances always commit. He had obliter- 
 ated the spots on his clothes with red paint, when 
 he ought to have used blue ! " 
 
 " That is a very grave supposition." 
 
 " It is not a supposition," cried Richard. " The 
 daylight is not a plainer fact."
 
 THK STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 305 
 
 " You are assuming too much, Mr. Shackford." 
 
 " I am assuming nothing. Durgin has convicted 
 himself ; he has fallen into a trap of his own devis- 
 ing. I charge him with the murder of Lemuel 
 Shackford ; I charge him with taking the chisel and 
 the matches from my workshop, to which he had 
 free access ; and I charge him with replacing those 
 articles in order to divert suspicion upon me. My 
 unfortunate relations with my cousin gave color to 
 this suspicion. The plan was an adroit plan, and 
 has succeeded, it seems." 
 
 Mr. Taggett did not reply at once, and then very 
 coldly : " You will pardon me for suggesting it, but 
 it will be necessary to ascertain if this is the cask 
 which Durgin hooped, and also if the head has not 
 been repainted since." 
 
 " I understand what your doubt implies. It is 
 your duty to assure yourself of these facts, and 
 nothing can be easier. The person who packed the 
 meat it was probably a provision dealer named 
 Stubbs will of course be able to recognize his 
 own work. The other question you can settle with 
 a scratch of your penknife. You see. There has 
 been only one thin coat of paint laid on, the 
 grain of the wood is nearly distinguishable through 
 it. The head is evidently new ; but the cask itself 
 is an old one. It has stood here these ten years."
 
 306 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 Mr. Taggett bent a penetrating look on Richard. 
 " Why did you refuse to answer the subpoena, Mr. 
 Shackford ? " 
 
 "But I haven't refused. I was on my way to 
 Justice Beemis's when you knocked. Perhaps I 
 am a trifle late," added Richard, catching Mr. Tag- 
 gett's distrustful glance. 
 
 " The summons said two o'clock," remarked Mr. 
 Taggett, pressing the spring of his watch. " It is 
 now after three." 
 
 " After three ! " 
 
 " How eould you neglect it, with evidence of 
 such presumable importance in your hands ? " 
 
 "It was only a moment ago that I discovered 
 this. I had come here from Mr. Perkins's office. 
 Mr. Perkins had informed me of the horrible 
 charge which was to be laid at my door. The in- 
 telligence fell upon me like a thunder-clap. I think 
 it unsettled my reason for a while. I was unable to 
 put two ideas together. At first he did n't believe 
 I had killed my cousin, and presently he seemed to 
 believe it. When I got out in the street the side- 
 walk lurched under my feet like the deck of a ship ; 
 everything swam before me. I don't know how I 
 managed to reach this house, and I don't know how 
 long I had been sitting in a room up-stairs when the 
 recollection of the subpoena occurred to me. I was
 
 THE STILLWATE.R TRAGEDY. 807 
 
 standing here dazed with despair; I saw that I was 
 somehow caught in the toils, and that it was going 
 to be impossible to prove my innocence. If an- 
 other man had been in my position, I should have 
 believed him guilty. I stood looking at the cask in 
 the corner there, scarcely conscious of it ; then I 
 noticed the blue paint on the head, and then Will- 
 iam Durgin's testimony flashed across my mind. 
 Where is he ? " cried Richard, turning swiftly. 
 "That man should be arrested ! " 
 
 " I am afraid he is gone," said Mr. Taggett, bit- 
 ing his lip. 
 
 " Do you mean he has fled ? " 
 " If you are correct he has fled. He failed to 
 answer the summons to-day, and the constable sent 
 to look him up has been unable to find him. Dur- 
 gin was in the bar-room of the tavern at eight 
 o'clock last night ; he has not been seen since." 
 
 " He was not in the yard this morning. You 
 have let him slip through your fingers ! " 
 " So it appears, for the moment." 
 " You still doubt me, Mr. Taggett?" 
 " I don't let persons slip through my fingers." 
 Ricbard curbed an impatient rejoinder, and said 
 quietly, " William Durgin had an accomplice." 
 
 Mr. Taggett flushed, as if Richard had read his 
 secret thought. Durgin's flight, if he really had
 
 308 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 fled, had suggested a fresh possibility to Mr. Tag- 
 1 gett. What if Durgin were merely the pliant in- 
 strument of the cleverer man who was now using 
 him as a shield ? This reflection was precisely in 
 Mr. Taggett's line. In absconding Durgin had not 
 only secured his own personal safety, but had exon- 
 erated his accomplice. It was a desperate step to 
 take, but it was a skillful one. 
 
 "He had an accomplice?" repeated Mr. Tag- 
 gett, after a moment. " Who was it ? " 
 
 "Torrini! " 
 
 " The man who was hurt the other day ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You have grounds for your assertion ? " 
 
 " He and Durgin were intimate, and have been 
 much together lately. I sat up with Torrini the 
 night before last ; he acted and talked very 
 strangely ; the man was out of his head part of the 
 time, but now, as I think it over, I am convinced 
 that he had this matter on his mind, and was hint- 
 ing at it. I believe he would have made disclos- 
 ures if I had urged him a little. He was evidently 
 in great dread of a visit from some person, and that 
 person was Durgin. Torrini ought to be questioned 
 without delay ; he is very low, and may die at any 
 moment. He is lying in a house at the further end 
 of the town. If it is not imperative that I should
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 309 
 
 report myself to Justice Beemis, we bad better go 
 there at once." 
 
 Mr. Taggett, who had been standing with his 
 head half bowed, lifted it quickly as he asked the 
 question, " Why did you withhold Lemuel Shack- 
 ford's letter ?" 
 
 " It was never in my possession, Mr. Taggett," 
 said Richard, starting. "That paper is something 
 I cannot explain at present. I can hardly believe 
 in its existence, though Mr. Perkins declares that 
 he has had it in his hands, and it would be impos- 
 sible for him to make a mistake in my cousin's 
 writing." 
 
 " The letter was found in your lodgings." 
 
 " So I was told. I don't understand it." 
 
 " That explanation will not satisfy the prosecut- 
 ing attorney." 
 
 " I have only one theory about it," said Richard 
 slowly. 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 " I prefer not to state it now. I wish to stop at 
 my boarding-house on the way to Torrini's ; it will 
 not be out of our course." 
 
 Mr. Taggett gave silent acquiescence to this. 
 Richard opened the scullery door, and the two 
 passed into the court. Neither spoke until they 
 reached Lime Street. Mrs. Spooner herselT an-
 
 310 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 swered Richard's ring, for he had purposely dis- 
 pensed with the use of his pass-key. 
 
 " I wanted to see you a moment, Mrs. Spooner," 
 said Richard, making no motion to enter the hall. 
 " Thanks, we will not come in. I merely desire to 
 ask you a question. Were you at home all day on 
 that Monday immediately preceding my cousin's 
 death ? " 
 
 " No," replied Mrs. Spooner wonderingly, with 
 her hand still resting on the knob. "I wasn't at 
 home at all. I spent the day and part of the night 
 with my daughter Maria Ann at South Millville. 
 It was a boy," added Mrs. Spooner, quite irrele- 
 vantly, smoothing her ample apron with the disen- 
 gaged hand. 
 
 " Then Janet was at home," said Richard. " Call 
 Janet." 
 
 A trim, intelligent-looking Nova Scotia girl was 
 summoned from the basement kitchen. 
 
 " Janet," said Richard, " do you remember the 
 day, about three weeks ago, that Mrs. Spooner was 
 absent at South Millville ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied the girl, without hesitation. " It 
 was the day before " and then she stopped. 
 
 " Exactly ; it was the day before my cousin was 
 killed. Now I want you to recollect whether any 
 letter or note or written message of any description 
 was left for me at this house on that day."
 
 THE STILL WATER TRAGEDY. 311 
 
 Janet reflected. " I think there was, Mr. Rich- 
 ard, a bit of paper like." 
 
 Mr. Taggett riveted his eyes on the girl. 
 
 " Who brought that paper ? " demanded Rich- 
 ard. 
 
 " It was one of the Murphy boys, I think." 
 
 " Did you hand it to me ? " 
 
 " No, Mr. Richard, you had gone out. It was 
 just after breakfast." 
 
 " You gave- it to me when I came home to din- 
 ner, then ? " 
 
 " No," returned Janet, becoming confused with a 
 dim perception that something had gone wrong and 
 she was committing herself. 
 
 "I remember, I did n't come home. I dined at 
 the Slocums'. What did you do with that paper ? " 
 
 " I put it on the table in your room up-stairs." 
 
 Mr. Taggett's eyes gleamed a little at this. 
 
 " And that is all you can say about it ? " in- 
 quired Richard, with a fallen countenance. 
 
 Janet reflected. She reflected a long while this 
 time. " No, Mr. Richard : an hour or so after- 
 wards, when I went up to do the chamber-work, I 
 saw that the wind had blown the paper off of the 
 table. I picked up the note and put it back ; but 
 the wind blew it off again." 
 
 " What then ? "
 
 312 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 "Then I shut up the note in one of the big 
 books, meaning to tell you of it, and and I for- 
 got it ! Oh, Mr. Richard, have I done something 
 dreadful ? " 
 
 " Dreadful ! " cried Richard. "Janet, I could hug 
 you ! " 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Richard," said Janet with a little co- 
 quettish movement natural to every feminine thing, 
 bird, flower, or human being, " you 've always such 
 a pleasant way with you." 
 
 Then there was a moment of dead silence. Mrs. 
 Spooner saw that the matter, whatever it was, was 
 settled. 
 
 " You need n't wait, Janet ! " she said, with a se- 
 vere, mystified air. 
 
 " We are greatly obliged to you, Mrs. Spooner, 
 not to mention Janet," said Richard ; " and if Mr. 
 Taggett has no questions to ask we will not detain 
 you." 
 
 Mrs. Spooner turned her small amiable orbs on 
 Richard's companion. That silent little man Mr. 
 Taggett! "He doesn't look like much," was the 
 landlady's unuttered reflection ; and indeed he did 
 not present a spirited appearance. Nevertheless 
 Mrs. Spooner followed him down the street with 
 her curious gaze until he and Richard passed out of 
 sight.
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 313 
 
 Neither Richard nor Mr. Taggett was disposed 
 to converse as they wended their way to Mitchell's 
 Alley. Richard's ire was slowly kindling at the 
 shameful light in which he had been placed by Mr. 
 Taggett, and Mr. Taggett was striving with only 
 partial success to reconcile himself to the idea of 
 young Shackford's innocence. Young Shackford's 
 innocence was a very awkward thing for Mr. Tag- 
 gett, for he had irretrievably committed himself at 
 head-quarters. With Richard's latent ire was min- 
 gled a feeling of profound gratitude. 
 
 " The Lord was on my side," he said presently. 
 
 " He was on your side, as you remark ; and when 
 the Lord is on a man's side a detective necessarily 
 comes out second best." 
 
 "Really, Mr. Taggett," said Richard, smiling, 
 " that is a handsome admission on your part." 
 
 " I mean, sir," replied the latter, slightly nettled, 
 " that it sometimes seems as if the Lord himself 
 took charge of a case." 
 
 " Certainly you are entitled to the credit of go- 
 ing to the bottom of this one." 
 
 " I have skillfully and laboriously damaged my 
 reputation, Mr. Shackford." 
 
 Mr. Taggett said this with so heavy an air that 
 Richard felt a stir of sympathy in his bosom. 
 
 " I am very sorry," he said good-naturedly.
 
 314 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " No, I beg of you ! " exclaimed Mr. Taggett. 
 "Any expression of friendliness from you would 
 finish me ! For nearly ten days I have looked upon 
 you as a most cruel and consummate villain." 
 
 " I know," said Richard. " I must be quite a 
 disappointment to you, in a small way." 
 
 Mr. Taggett laughed in spite of himself. " I 
 hope I don't take a morbid view of it," he said. A 
 few steps further on he relaxed his gait. "We 
 have taken the Hennessey girl into custody. Do 
 you imagine she was concerned ? " 
 
 " Have you questioned her ? " 
 
 " Yes ; she denies everything, except that she 
 told Durgin you had quarreled with the old gentle- 
 man." 
 
 " I think Mary Hennessey an honest girl. She 's 
 little more than a child. I doubt if she knew any- 
 thing whatever. Durgin was much too shrewd to 
 trust her, I fancy." 
 
 As the speakers struck into the principal street, 
 through the lower and busier end of which they 
 were obliged to pass, Mr. Taggett caused a sensa- 
 tion. The drivers of carts and the pedestrians on 
 both sidewalks stopped and looked at him. The 
 part he had played in Slocum's Yard was now an 
 open secret, and had produced an excitement that 
 was not confined to the clientele of Snelling's bar-
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 315 
 
 room. It was known that William Durgin had dis- 
 appeared, and that the constables were searching 
 for him. The air was thick with flying conjectures, 
 but none of them precisely hit the mark. One 
 rumor there was which seemed almost like a piece 
 of poetical justice, a whisper to the effect that 
 Rowland Slocum was suspected of being in some 
 way mixed up with the murder. The fact that 
 Lawyer Perkins, with his green bag streaming in 
 the wind, so to speak, had been seen darting into 
 Mr. Slocum's private residence at two o'clock that 
 afternoon was sufficient to give birth to the horri- 
 ble legend. 
 
 " Mitchell's Alley," said Mr. Taggett, thrusting 
 his arm through Richard's, and hurrying on to 
 escape the Stillwater gaze. " You went there di- 
 rectly from the station the night you got home." 
 
 " How did you know that ? " 
 
 " I was told by a fellow-traveler of yours, - and 
 a friend of mine." 
 
 " By Jove ! Did it ever strike you, Mr. Taggett, 
 that there is such a thing as being too clever? " 
 
 " It has occurred to me recently." 
 
 " Here is the house." 
 
 Two sallow-skinned children, with wide, wistful 
 black eyes, who were sitting on the stone step, 
 shyly crowded themselves together against the door
 
 316 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 jamb to make passage-way for Richard and Mr. 
 Taggett. Then the two pairs of eyes veered round 
 inquiringly, and followed the strangers up the 
 broken staircase and saw one of them knock at the 
 door which faced the landing. 
 
 Richard's hasty tap bringing no response, he lifted 
 the latch without further ceremony and stepped into 
 the chamber, Mr. Taggett a pace or two behind 
 him. The figure of Father O'Meara slowly rising 
 from a kneeling posture at the bedside was the 
 first object that met their eyes ; the second was 
 Torrini's placid face, turned a little on the pillow ; 
 the third was Brigida sitting at the foot of the 
 bed, motionless, with her arms wrapped in her 
 apron. 
 
 *' He is dead," said the priest softly, advancing a 
 step towards Richard. "You are too late. He 
 wanted to see you, Mr. Shackford, but you were 
 not to be found." 
 
 Richard sent a swift glance over the priest's 
 shoulder. " He wanted to tell me what part he 
 had played in my cousin's murder? " said Richard. 
 
 " God forbid ! the wretched man had many a sin 
 on his soul, but not that." 
 
 " Not that I " 
 
 " No ; he had no hand it, no more than you 
 or I. His fault was that he concealed his knowl-
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 317 
 
 edge of the deed after it was done. He did not 
 even suspect who committed the crime until two 
 days afterwards, when William Durgin " 
 
 Richard's eyes lighted up as they encountered 
 Mr. Taggett's. The priest mistook the significance 
 of the glances. 
 
 " No," said Father O'Meara, indicating Brigida 
 with a quick motion of his hand, " the poor soul 
 does not understand a word. But even if she did, 
 I should have to speak of these matters here and 
 now, while they are fresh in my mind. I am 
 obeying the solemn injunctions of the dead. Two 
 days after the murder William Durgin came to 
 Torrini and confessed the deed, offering to share 
 with him a large sum in gold and notes if he would 
 hide the money temporarily. Torrini agreed to do 
 so. Later Durgin confided to him his plan of turn- 
 ing suspicion upon you, Mr. Shackford ; indeed, of 
 directly charging you with the murder, if the worst 
 came to the worst. Torrini agreed to that also, be- 
 cause of some real or fancied injury at your hands. 
 It seems that the implement which Durgin had 
 employed in forcing the scullery door the imple- 
 ment which he afterwards used so mercilessly 
 had been stolen from your workshop. The next 
 morning Durgin put the tool back in its place, not 
 knowing what other disposition to make of it, and
 
 318 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 it was then that the idea of shouldering the crime 
 upon you entered his wicked heart. According to 
 Torrini, Durgin did not intend to harm the old 
 gentleman, but simply to rob him. The unfortu- 
 nate man was awakened by the noise Durgin made 
 in breaking open the safe, and rushed in to his 
 doom. Having then no fear of interruption, Dur- 
 gin leisurely ransacked the house. How he came 
 across the will, and destroyed it with the idea that 
 he was putting the estate out of your possession 
 this and other details I shall give you by and by." 
 Father O'Meara paused a moment. " After the 
 accident at the mill and the conviction that he 
 was not to recover, Torrini's conscience began to 
 prick him. When he reflected on Miss Slocum's 
 kindness to his family during the strike, when he 
 now saw her saving his wife and children from ab- 
 sdiiite starvation, he was nearly ready to break the 
 oath with which he had bound himself to William 
 Durgin. Curiously enough, this man, so reckless 
 in many things, held his pledged word sacred. 
 Meanwhile his wavering condition became appar- 
 ent to- Durgin, who grew alarmed, and demanded 
 the stolen property. Torrini refused to give it up ; 
 even his own bitter necessities had not tempted 
 him to touch a penny of it. For the last three 
 days he was in deadly terror lest Durgin should
 
 THE STILLWATEB TRAGEDY. 319 
 
 wrest the money from him by force. The poor 
 woman, here, knew nothing of all this. It was her 
 presence, however, which probably prevented Dur- 
 gin from proceeding to extremities with Torrini, 
 who took care never to be left alone." 
 
 " I recollect," said Richard, " the night I watched 
 with him he was constantly expecting some one. I 
 supposed him wandering in his mind." 
 
 " He was expecting Durgin, though Torrini had 
 every reason for believing that he had fled." 
 
 Mr. Taggett leaned forward, and asked, " When 
 did he go, and where ? " 
 
 "He was too cunning to confide his plans to 
 Torrini. Three nights ago Durgin came here and 
 begged for a portion of the bank-notes; previously 
 he had reclaimed the whole sum ; he said the place 
 was growing too warm for him, and that he had 
 made up his mind to leave. But Torrini he ! on 
 to the money, having resolved that it should be re- 
 stored intact to you. He promised Durgin, how- 
 ever, to keep his flight secret for three or four days, 
 at the end of which time Torrini meant to reveal 
 all to me at confession. The night you sat with 
 him, Mr. Shackford, he was near breaking his prom- 
 ise ; your kindness was coals of fire on his head. 
 His agony, lest he should die or lose his senses 
 before he could make known the full depth of Dur-
 
 320 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 gin's villainy, must have been something terrible. 
 This is the substance of what the poor creature 
 begged me to say to you with his dying regrets. 
 The money is hidden somewhere under the mat- 
 tress, I believe. A better man than Torrini would 
 have spent some of it," added Father O'Meara, 
 waving a sort of benediction in the direction of 
 the bed. 
 
 Richard did not speak for a moment or two. 
 The wretchedness and grimness of it all smote him 
 to the heart. When he looked up Mr. Taggett was 
 gone, and the priest was gently drawing the cover- 
 let over Torrini's face. 
 
 Richard approached Father O'Meara and said : 
 " When the money is found, please take charge 
 of it, and see that every decent arrangement is 
 made. I mean, spare nothing. I am a Protestant, 
 but I believe in any man's prayers when they are 
 not addressed to a heathen image. I promised Tor- 
 rini to send his wife and children to Italy. This 
 pitiful, miserable gold, which cost so dear and is 
 worth so little, shall be made to do that much good, 
 at least." 
 
 As Richard was speaking, a light footfall sounded 
 on the staircase outside ; then the door, which stood 
 ajar, was softly pushed open, and Margaret paused 
 on the threshold. At the rustle of her dress Rich 
 ard turned, and hastened towards her.
 
 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 321 
 
 " It is all over," he said softly, laying his finger 
 on his lip. Father OlMeara was again kneeling by 
 the bedside. 
 
 " Let us go now," whispered Richard to Mar- 
 garet. It seemed fit that they should leave the 
 living and the dead to the murmured prayers and 
 solemn ministration of the kindly priest. Such 
 later services as Margaret could render to the be- 
 reaved woman were not to be wanting. 
 
 At the foot of the stairs Richard Shackford 
 halted abruptly, and, oblivious of the two children 
 who were softly chattering together in the door- 
 way, caught Margaret's hand in his. 
 
 " Margaret, Torrini has made a confession that 
 sets at rest all question of my cousin's death." 
 
 " Do you mean that he " Margaret faltered, 
 and left the sentence unfinished. 
 
 " No; it was William Durgin, God forgive him! " 
 
 " William Durgin ! " The young girl's fingers 
 closed nervously on Richard's as she echoed the 
 name, and she began trembling. " That that is 
 stranger yet ! " 
 
 " I will tell you everything when we get home ; 
 this is no time or place ; but one thing I must ask 
 you now and here. When you sat with me last 
 night were you aware that Mr. Taggett firmly be- 
 lieved it was I who had killed Lemuel Shackford? " 
 
 21
 
 322 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 " Yes," said Margaret. 
 
 "That is all I care to know!" cried Richard; 
 "that consoles me!" and the two pairs of great 
 inquisitive eyes looking up from the stone step 
 saw the signorina standing quite mute and color- 
 less with the strange gentleman's arms around 
 her. And the siguorina was smiling I
 
 xxvm. 
 
 ONE June morning, precisely a year from that 
 morning when the reader first saw the daylight 
 breaking upon Stillwater, several workmen with 
 ladders and hammers were putting up a freshly 
 painted sign over the gate of the marble yard. Mr. 
 Slocum and Richard stood on the opposite curb- 
 stone, to which they had retired in order to take in 
 the general effect. The new sign read, Slocum 
 & Shackford. Richard had protested against the 
 displacement of its weather-stained predecessor; it 
 seemed to him an act little short of vandalism ; but 
 Mr. Slocum was obstinate, and would have it done. 
 He was secretly atoning for a deep injustice, into 
 which Richard had been at once too sensitive and 
 too wise closely to inquire. If Mr. Slocum had 
 harbored a temporary doubt of him Richard did 
 not care to know it ; it was quite enough to suspect 
 the fact. His sufficient recompense was that Mar- 
 garet had not doubted. They had now been mar- 
 ried six months. The shadow of the tragedy in 
 Welch's Court had long ceased to oppress them ; it 
 had vanished with the hasty departure of Mr. Tag-
 
 324 THE STILLWATER TRAGEDY. 
 
 gett. Neither he nor William Durgin was ever seen 
 again in the flesh in Stillwater ; but they both still 
 led, and will probably continue for years to lead, a 
 sort of phantasmal, legendary life in Snelling's bar- 
 room. Durgin in his flight had left no traces. 
 From time to time, as the months rolled on, a 
 misty rumor was blown to the town of his having 
 been seen in some remote foreign city, now in 
 one place, and now in another, always on the point 
 of departing, self-pursued like the Wandering Jew ; 
 but nothing authentic. His after-fate was to be a 
 sealed book to Stillwater. 
 
 " I really wish you had let the old sign stand," 
 said Richard, as the carpenters removed the lad- 
 ders. " The yard can never be anything but 
 Slocum's Yard." 
 
 " It looks remarkably well up there," replied 
 Mr. Slocurn, shading his eyes critically with one 
 hand. " You object to the change, but for my 
 part I don't object to changes. I trust I may live 
 to see the day when even this sign will have to be 
 altered to Slocum, Shackford & Son. How would 
 you like that ? " 
 
 " I can't say," returned Richard laughing, as they 
 passed into the yard together. " I should first have 
 to talk it over with the son ! "
 
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