LIBRARY 
 
 -ITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 SAN DIEGO ^-> 
 
 Private 
 
 OF 
 
 FRED W. DAVIS. 
 
 NO
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON 
 
 Fate hath no voice but the heart's impulse. 
 
 SCHILLER. 
 
 MATTHEW WHITE, JR. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 FRANK A. MUNSEY 
 1897
 
 COPYRIGHT, l8Q7 
 BY 
 
 FRANK A. MUNSEY
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 TT was a rainy night, and the house was a 
 poor one. But the members of the company 
 extracted some little satisfaction from remind- 
 ing one another that they had told manager 
 Roberts how it would be, when he announced 
 that Beverley would be taken in as a one night 
 stand. 
 
 " I never saw a good show town yet," de- 
 clared the first old gentleman, "that wasn't 
 located on a navigable river." 
 
 He was talking with Marie Myrwin, the 
 leading woman, just before the curtain went 
 up on the second act. She scarcely heard him. 
 She was feeling utterly miserable. The train 
 had been late, and there was barely time for 
 the company to swallow their dinners and get 
 to the theater. As she did not appear in the
 
 2 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 first act, she had had it a little easier than the 
 others; but then she had lost her trunk 
 key, the dressing room was a vile place, and 
 now, by the time she was ready to go on, she 
 had a violent headache. 
 
 " I shall soon lose my good looks at this 
 rate," she said to herself with a sigh, as, stand- 
 ing in front of the cracked mirror, she gave a 
 final touch of the hare's foot to her make up. 
 " Then half my capital will be gone." 
 
 But she had not lost them yet in any degree. 
 Attired in the white evening dress of the ball 
 room scene, the tiara of diamonds in her hair, 
 she was a vision of loveliness as the curtain 
 went up, revealing her to the few citizens of 
 Beverley who had braved the storm to come 
 out and see a play which with another com- 
 pany had made a record of a hundred nights 
 in the metropolis. 
 
 At the first opportunity Marie swept her 
 eyes disdainfully over the rows of empty seats. 
 How humiliating it was ! And what a disap- 
 pointment the whole life had been to her ! 
 
 It seemed as if she had never realized this
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 3 
 
 as she realized it tonight ; and she had been 
 in the profession for five years, ever since 
 she was seventeen. The loneliness of it was 
 its most oppressive feature. That excess of 
 fraternal camaraderie, where everybody called 
 everybody else by his or her first name, put 
 out of the question, to her mind at least, any 
 real sincerity of attachment. 
 
 She was thinking of this as she toyed with 
 her fan and smiled during her by play with 
 the first old gentleman, while the leading man 
 and the soubrette were holding the center of 
 the stage. 
 
 " Why didn't you brace up on a pony, 
 Marie?" Harmon took the opportunity to 
 whisper under cover of a laugh raised by 
 Sophie Waters. 
 
 Marie gave a little shiver. Was it possible 
 that she could allow herself to be spoken to 
 in this way day after day and never resent it ? 
 But pshaw! How silly she was tonight. 
 What could be the cause of it ? 
 
 There was no time to speculate on this now, 
 however. Her cue was coming in an instant.
 
 4 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 She rose and walked toward the footlights, 
 and for a second before she turned for her 
 scene with Harry Vane, she scanned the first 
 two rows of orchestra stalls, curious to see 
 what sort of people this slow little town of 
 Beverley turned out 
 
 " Gilbert Dean !" 
 
 She did not even form the words with her 
 lips, but the shock of the recognition was so 
 great that it seemed to her as if she must have 
 shouted the name. She recognized him in- 
 stantly, in spite of the mustache he had grown 
 since she last saw him, five years before. What 
 a silly quarrel it was that parted them ! How 
 different her life might have been were it not 
 for that ! She had loved Gilbert Dean as she 
 had never loved any one before or since, and 
 now, as she saw him before her in the full 
 glory of attained manhood, she realized that 
 she loved him still. 
 
 " I must have felt his presence in the place," 
 she said to herself, " even though I was not 
 actually conscious of it. That is why the 
 past has come up before me so forcibly
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 5 
 
 tonight, why Harmon's coarse talk grated 
 on me so. What a contrast between all those 
 by whom I am surrounded now and him ! It 
 seems hard to believe I am the woman who 
 developed out of the girl he once knew so 
 well." 
 
 Had he recognized her? She could not 
 tell. He had given no sign, and she dared 
 not trust herself to look again. But even if 
 he had known her, would he show it? It 
 might be that he had not forgiven her, as she 
 had forgiven him long, long ago. What could 
 have brought him to this little Western 
 town? 
 
 Her scene was over now, and she was back 
 in the cramped little dressing room, where 
 her costly robe looked sadly out of place with 
 the rain discolored wall paper and the broken 
 backed chairs. She sat down on one of these, 
 and pressed her hand to her temples. How 
 they throbbed, but it was not with the aching 
 of her head now. Keen excitement, an infinite 
 longing, possessed her. She must speak with 
 him must ask him to forget her pique on
 
 6 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 that night so long ago, must tell him how 
 unsatisfying her present life was. 
 
 But how could she manage this? She 
 might send the doorkeeper with a note around 
 to one of the ushers, asking Dean if he could 
 not come back and see her for a few moments 
 during the next entr'acte. It would be per- 
 haps a strange thing to do, and it might be 
 that he would not come. Then she would 
 feel more wretched than ever. On the whole, 
 she decided that she would not try the ex- 
 periment. 
 
 She tried to think of other things, and took 
 up a novel she had brought to pass away the 
 time while she was off. But she read the 
 words without taking in their meaning. 
 
 " Of course he didn't recognize me," she was 
 saying to herself. " I have grown older ; my 
 make up changes me, and then there is the 
 other name on the bill." 
 
 She dropped the book in her lap, and sat 
 staring out through the open door, at the 
 chaotic confusion of disused scenery stored at 
 the back of the stage. Just then the band
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 7 
 
 struck up a waltz, one of the old favorites, to 
 which she had danced many a time with Dean 
 in bygone days. Every strain sent a fresh 
 recollection pulsating through her brain. 
 
 " Oh, I must make at least an effort to see 
 him," she cried under her breath ; she thought 
 how she would chide herself for missing this 
 opportunity when it was past. 
 
 She hastily tore out a fly leaf of the paper 
 covered book, and wrote with a pencil she 
 borrowed from a stage hand as he went by : 
 
 DEAR GILBERT: 
 
 Do you recognize me in Marie Myrwin? I would 
 like to see you again, in memory of the old days. Can 
 you not come around to my dressing room at the end of 
 this act? Yours, 
 
 Folding this into three cornered shape and 
 pinning it together, she went out to the door- 
 man and asked him if he would not send it to 
 the gentleman in the aisle seat, center block, 
 second row of orchestra stalls. Then she 
 retiirned to her dressing room to wait, more 
 nervous than before, for the answer. 
 
 But now her second call for the stage came,
 
 8 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 and as she went on she saw the usher go 
 down the aisle with her note. During her 
 dialogue with Harmon she managed to watch 
 Dean as he received it. She detected the 
 start with which he turned as he felt the 
 usher's hand on his shoulder, but then she 
 was obliged to cross to a cabinet on the stage 
 and stand with her back to the audience for an 
 instant or two. When she turned around again, 
 Dean was whispering to the lady beside him. 
 
 She was not a particularly pretty woman, 
 Marie noticed with some satisfaction. She 
 wondered a little why Dean had selected her 
 as his companion at the play. The next in- 
 stant she forgot everything else, and almost 
 her lines, in seeing Dean rise and walk out of 
 the theater. 
 
 She hardly knew how she got through the 
 rest of the scene. She felt that he had come 
 at once in response to her request, was even 
 now waiting for her in the wings. How could 
 she thank manager Roberts for playing this 
 despised one night stand ? 
 
 At last the curtain fell. Marie hurried off.
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 9 
 
 Yes, there by the door of her room stood Dean 
 tall, handsomer than ever. 
 
 "Gilbert!" 
 
 She just managed to breathe out the word, 
 as she gave him her hand ; then they were 
 inside the room, his lips had touched hers, his 
 arms were about her, and she was looking up 
 into his face with all the restful confidence in 
 his affection of the old, old days, that had 
 seemed so far away an hour ago. 
 
 " Estelle," he said, holding her off an in- 
 stant for admiring inspection, "how strange 
 I did not know you till I read the note ! I 
 saw the resemblance, but never expected to 
 find you in these surroundings. Ah, dear, how 
 good it is to be with you again !" 
 
 " Then you are not sorry I was so bold as to 
 send for you?" she asked, half timidly. " You 
 you have not forgotten how we parted ?" 
 
 "That was when we were boy and girl, 
 Estelle," he answered gravely. "It was a 
 childish sensitiveness that separated us. But 
 tell me about yourself. How did you come to 
 go on the stage ?"
 
 10 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 " Papa lost his money after we went away 
 from Lakefield. Then he died, and I must do 
 something. I was reckless, having lost yon, 
 and craved excitement. One of my school- 
 mates had made a success in light comedy, so I 
 went to a manager and asked him if he couldn't 
 start me. And this is as far as I have got in 
 the five years." 
 
 "Then you don't care for the life?" Dean 
 said eagerly. 
 
 " Care for it ? I hate it. You do not know, 
 none can know but we who have lived it, the 
 miserable substitute for satisfaction that is 
 got out of our profession. To feel that I am 
 the mere puppet to amuse others, that I must 
 put my arms around the neck of men for 
 whom I don't care a fig, must smile and jest 
 when my heart is black with gloom ; and be- 
 yond all to realize that the world, whether 
 rightly or wrongly, holds me without the pale 
 of respectable society, and gives me of its 
 smiles only when the orchestra pit is between 
 us all this is too galling to be offset by the 
 glitter and the glare that the audience sees.
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. II 
 
 But why am I wasting the precious minutes 
 lamenting my lot ? Tell me of yourself, Gil- 
 bert. How came you to be in Beverley ?" 
 
 " Simply traveling, and stopped here over 
 night to break the journey. How fortunate 
 that I did, now that I have met you here ! 
 I never expected to see you again, Estelle." 
 
 " I never meant that you should, Gilbert. 
 Our paths have trended too far apart. You 
 should not be here now, perhaps, and yet 
 when I saw your dear face, islanded like a 
 welcoming oasis in that desert of strangers, I 
 could not resist sending to see if you would 
 come. This little talk will help me much in 
 the days that lie before me." 
 
 " But I shall see you again, Estelle, surely 
 tomorrow. How long do you stay here?" 
 
 " We leave the first thing in the morning, 
 so you see I must say good by now." 
 
 She tried to speak bravely, but though there 
 was a smile on her lips there was almost 
 despair in her eyes. She knew now that Gil- 
 bert Dean was not going to say, as she had 
 hoped for a moment that he would : " Do
 
 12 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 not live this life another day. Throw up your 
 engagement, and be that which you should 
 have been years ago my wife." What if he 
 were already married? The thought now 
 occurred to her for the first time. He had 
 started to reply to the information she gave 
 him, after a brief hesitation, when she ex- 
 claimed, " Gilbert, tell me something." 
 
 " Well ?" he queried, smiling down at her, 
 while she paused for an instant, gaining courage 
 to go on. She was thinking of that plain 
 woman who sat beside him. 
 
 At this moment there was a knock at the 
 door. 
 
 " Miss Myrwin," called out the stage mana- 
 ger, "you must take your cue." 
 
 She flung herself on his breast. " Good by, 
 Gilbert," she half sobbed ; then she sped away 
 into the wings.
 
 n. 
 
 " "T7DU missed quite a good deal of the third 
 act, Gilbert. What detained you so 
 long?" 
 
 " Oh, an old acquaintance happened to spot 
 me, and couldn't rest till he'd had me out for 
 a chat. Funny I should run across him away 
 out here, isn't it ?" 
 
 Dean picked up the opera glasses from his 
 wife's lap, and leveled them at Harry Vane, 
 not because he cared particularly about seeing 
 the leading juvenile at closer range, but be- 
 cause he felt a flush rising to his cheeks, and 
 wished to conceal it in so far as might be pos- 
 sible. He was not accustomed to lying. His 
 nerves still tingled from his interview with the 
 woman he had thought dead in his affections 
 long ago. He was dazed, feeling the ground 
 of respectability slipping out from under his 
 feet. 
 
 13
 
 14 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 She was on the stage now, talking badinage 
 with Vane, a vapid looking fellow with pale 
 blue eyes and a weak voice. How beautiful 
 she looked, and how unhappy she was ! How 
 unhappy Dean was himself ! And yet, fifteen 
 minutes before, he had been passively con- 
 tented. Two years previous he had married a 
 girl he did not love, to please his mother. He 
 had thought it no particular wrong at the 
 time. The girl was very fond of him ; he 
 loved no one else ; it seemed to him that his 
 capacity for loving had been taken away from 
 him when Estelle Osgood went out of his life. 
 
 And yet he had not regarded this attachment 
 as so very serious. He was only nineteen when 
 they quarreled and parted. He simply realized 
 that it seemed impossible for him, as a man, 
 to care for other girls as the boy had cared for 
 Estelle. So he had made two people very 
 happy by proposing to Louise Dartmouth, who 
 brought him a wealth of affection and an open- 
 ing in her father's establishment at Islington 
 that made him looked up to as one of the rich 
 men of the town.
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 15 
 
 He had been he was greatly respected 
 as well. It was the consciousness of this fact 
 that caused his brain to seethe now as he re- 
 called what he had done. And yet, as he 
 watched Estelle Osgood move about the stage, 
 listened to the enchanting tones of her voice, 
 realized that he possessed the power to draw 
 out its tenderest chords he felt that were 
 he once more permitted to decide, he must 
 do just as he had done. 
 
 And yet all the while he recognized the 
 hideous wrong of it. He even took a morbid 
 satisfaction in viewing the affair on all its 
 most abhorrent sides. This for a time ; then 
 he began to justify himself. Surely, he 
 reasoned, a man had a right to go to see an old 
 friend, to kiss her even. He was certain he 
 knew of many respected husbands who kissed 
 women who were neither their wives nor their 
 sisters. How absurd in him to try to deceive 
 Louise about it ! Why had he not frankly 
 shown her the note and told her that this 
 might be his only opportunity to see a friend of 
 his youth? She might even have gone back
 
 1 6 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 with him ; she would have been interested in 
 penetrating that usually forbidden region. 
 
 And at this point the other reaction set in. 
 He knew that he would not have dared ask 
 Louise to go with him ; that he did not want 
 her to see his meeting with Estelle, because, 
 from the first instant that he realized she was 
 before him on the stage, he was conscious that 
 he loved her as he never had loved, never 
 could love, his wife. 
 
 " Why don't you applaud, Gilbert? I can 
 make no sort of noise with these gloves on. 
 That little soubrette is very cute, isn't she ? " 
 
 " Yes oh, yes," he answered mechanically, 
 and began to clap just as the others ceased. 
 
 He wondered why his wife did not see that 
 he was terribly distraught. He was so unused 
 to dissimulating. He recalled Sydney Rollins, 
 his chum at college. What an adept he was 
 in the art ! " The Two Poles," he and Rollins 
 had been called by their classmates, they were 
 so opposed to each other in their tastes and 
 habits. Dean had never been in a "scrape " ; 
 Rollins was scarcely ever out of one. What
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 17 
 
 if Syd knew of this Estelle Osgood incident 
 in Dean's life ? Dean felt that he would almost 
 be willing to tell him for the sake of hear- 
 ing the ejaculation of amazement it would 
 elicit. Rollins was a bachelor still. 
 
 " Too many loves for me ever to settle down 
 with a wife," he would say recklessly, and yet 
 Dean could not imagine him doing what he 
 himself had just done ; and with this thought 
 he began to conceive a horror of himself, to 
 liken himself to the sleek hypocrites in long 
 coats and white ties who bring discredit upon 
 the church whose banner they are supposed 
 to uphold. 
 
 " Am I like these ?" he almost cried out in 
 utter loathing ; and then the curtain fell on 
 the third act, and his wife began to ask him 
 how he enjoyed the play. 
 
 "How do you like Marie Myrwin?" she 
 vent on, luckily not waiting for him to express 
 an opinion. " Rather stagy, don't you think ?" 
 
 As the play drew toward its close, Dean 
 caught himself wondering if the farewell 
 glimpse of Estelle he had as the curtain fell,
 
 1 8 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 would be the last time he would ever see her. 
 At this thought every fiber in his heart rebelled. 
 He could almost feel the impress of her lips 
 upon his own yet. To think that he would 
 never again know the sweet sensation was 
 maddening. He had made no appointment 
 with her ; had never even asked to what town 
 she going next. His brain reeled. He was 
 torn between the conflicting elements of love 
 and self respect. And in the midst of the con- 
 flict the curtain fell, with her eyes fixed on 
 his as she formed the central figure in the 
 final tableau. 
 
 As Dean put away the opera glasses, and 
 placed his wife's wrap about her shoulders, it 
 seemed to him as if he were preparing to leave 
 paradise. 
 
 " I've enjoyed it very much, Gilbert," said 
 Louise, as they walked back to their hotel. 
 " It was ever so good of you to bring me. I 
 know you don't care much for this sort of 
 thing." 
 
 Each word was a stab for Dean, and yet 
 before he slept that night he was hoping
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 19 
 
 desperately that the " Borrowed Plumes " 
 company would embark the next morning for 
 Kansas City, their own destination. In fact, 
 when he came to think the matter over, he 
 could not see very well how they could be 
 going anywhere else. He remembered notic- 
 ing the low comedian on their train the day 
 before, so they were not bound westward. 
 
 " I shall see her again !" 
 
 These words repeated themselves over and 
 over in Dean's mind. That he would be able 
 to speak with her he had no hope. He was 
 not sure that he wished to do so ; he was not 
 sure that he could live without doing so.
 
 in. 
 
 Deans were late in reaching the 
 station the next morning, and had barely 
 time to step aboard the train before it started. 
 Dean glanced hurriedly up and down the plat- 
 form, but saw no sign of the players. Very 
 likely Estelle was still in Beverley. They 
 took chairs in the second parlor car, and 
 Louise began to chat about some friends in 
 Kansas City. 
 
 "Do you think we had better telegraph 
 them we are coming, "she said, "or just drop 
 in and surprise them ? " 
 
 " Oh er what is that, Louise ? " 
 Dean was thinking that he was by no 
 means certain that Estelle was not on this 
 train. Nearly every one had been aboard by 
 the time he reached the station. He was 
 wondering what excuse he could make for 
 walking through the cars.
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 21 
 
 Louise repeated her question, and still Dean 
 was helpless. His mind was so filled with 
 Estelle that it was impossible for him to admit 
 any other topic at short notice. 
 
 " I don't know, my dear," he said at length. 
 " I never was good at conundrums." 
 
 "Gilbert," exclaimed Louise, turning on 
 him reproachfully, " what has come over you 
 this morning ?" 
 
 " Haskell, I guess," he replied, trying to 
 laugh it off. " The fellow I was telling you 
 of last night. I think I saw him get on one 
 of the rear cars. I'd like him to know you. 
 I'll go and hunt him up." 
 
 Dean was amazed at himself. How easily 
 he talked of this subterfuge ! He had not seen 
 Haskell ; the idea of using him as an excuse 
 for making a tour of inspection occurred to 
 him in a flash. 
 
 " You will be back directly, Gilbert ?" 
 
 " Yes, dear," and he was gone. He seemed 
 to be as helpless as a straw caught in the eddy 
 of a stream that is sweeping it onward to the 
 rapids.
 
 22 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 "And that is where I am being swept," he 
 muttered, as he passed through the vestibule 
 into the car behind. 
 
 But he did not hesitate ; swiftly he walked 
 down the aisle of the common coach, eagerly 
 scanning the faces on either side. He recog- 
 nized several as belonging to the " Borrowed 
 Plumes " company, but Estelle was not among 
 them. Nor was she in any of the three rear cars. 
 
 " It can't be that she remained behind," he 
 said to himself, as he went back to his own 
 car. "It is very odd." 
 
 " Well, did you find Mr. Haskell ? " asked 
 Louise. 
 
 " No ; I must have been mistaken." 
 
 He tried to think of something else to say, 
 but the words which would come most readily 
 to his tongue were, " What a hypocrite I am ! " 
 And yet, with the full realization of this fact, 
 he could scarcely sit quiet, from the impatience 
 that possessed him to ascertain if Estelle were 
 anywhere else on the train. 
 
 He tried to think that this would satisfy 
 him, that he could then return to his wife, and
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 23 
 
 be at ease for the remainder of the journey. 
 But he knew very well that it would not be 
 so ; knew that if he saw Estelle he could no 
 more refrain from speaking to her than he 
 could still the throbbing of his pulse. 
 
 For a while he tried to chat with Louise 
 about her friends in Kansas City. He caught 
 himself hoping that she would wish to stay 
 there a while. The company would play in a 
 city of that size for three nights at least. 
 
 Finally, he could control his impatience no 
 longer. 
 
 " If you don't mind, my dear," he said, 
 taking a cigar from his pocket, " I shall go 
 forward and smoke for a few minutes. Amuse 
 yourself with this," and he bought a book 
 from the train boy, who had just made his 
 appearance. 
 
 " Don't be long, Gilbert ; " and as Dean noted 
 the glance she sent after him, and realized 
 that as yet it was all of affection and not of 
 suspicion, he despised himself for his weakness. 
 Nevertheless, he kept straight on past the smok- 
 ing compartment and entered the coach ahead.
 
 IV. 
 
 TTE did not see Estelle at first, for the reason 
 that she was so close to him, just at his 
 right in the first chair from the sofa. He sat 
 down on this, and bending slightly forward, 
 said softly, "Estelle!" 
 
 She was too well trained an actress to appear 
 startled. She turned around in her chair, and 
 replied simply: 
 
 " Why, Gilbert, you here ! " 
 
 But Dean could see in her eyes the great 
 joy his coming gave her, and from that 
 moment he knew that he would be reckless 
 of consequences. 
 
 " I was afraid you were not on the train," 
 he began. " I have been looking for you." 
 
 " How comes it you are here ? " she re- 
 joined. 
 
 "It is a happy coincidence. You see we 
 
 are on our way home to " 
 
 24
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 25 
 
 He stopped quickly, realizing from the look 
 in her eyes that he had betrayed himself by 
 that little pronoun " we." 
 
 " Then you are married," she said. " I 
 wanted to ask you last night, but there was 
 no time. You are very happy, I suppose." 
 
 What beautiful eyes she had ! And she 
 fixed them on him now with a wistful ex- 
 pression that went straight to his heart, and 
 made him long to rise up just where he was, 
 clasp her to him, and cry out to all the world : 
 " This woman belongs to me by all the prior 
 rights of love. Who says that we must keep 
 apart ? " For although her words were " You 
 are very happy," he saw that she was think- 
 ing " How happy she must be," and the 
 thought that Estelle was hungering for the 
 devotion he had no right to give her well nigh 
 drove him mad. By a powerful effort he con- 
 trolled himself, and answered: "I am ac- 
 counted a very fortunate man in Islington, 
 where I live." 
 
 For an instant there was silence between 
 them. Just then the train slowed up a little,
 
 26 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 and they had quite a distinct glimpse of a tiny 
 cottage by the track. There was an arch of 
 honeysuckle over the porch, and framed by it 
 now stood a young girl. A sturdy fellow in 
 overalls, and with a tin pail in his hand, 
 stood on the steps beneath her, and an instant 
 before the picture was blotted from the view 
 of those two on the express the girl bent 
 down and kissed him. 
 
 " Love in a cottage is sweet," Dean leaned 
 forward to whisper. The whisper ended in a 
 half sigh. 
 
 " My poor boy," said Estelle, " you are not 
 happy." 
 
 "How can I be happy," he replied pas- 
 sionately, " when I have missed having you 
 to make me so ? " 
 
 " But, Gilbert, you have no right to say 
 that to me." 
 
 " Yes, I have a right," he went on doggedly. 
 " I want you to know, Estelle, that I did not 
 marry for love, but to please my family, and 
 and because I thought I could never really 
 care for any woman again after losing you."
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 27 
 
 "Please, Gilbert! Don't you see don't 
 you realize that you are making it very hard 
 for both of us ? " 
 
 " But it seems so unjust, so cruel," he went 
 on blindly ; " and if we can obtain some little 
 satisfaction out of talking of what might have 
 been, may we not allow ourselves that ? " 
 
 " No, dear ; because you risk too much. For 
 me it does not matter so greatly ; I am only 
 an actress." 
 
 " For the love of heaven, Estelle," he pleaded, 
 " don't speak of yourself in that strain. You 
 will make me rail more fiercely at fate than 
 ever, to think I am not permitted always to 
 be with you, to protect you from the affronts 
 to which you must be exposed. Tell me, 
 when you play in the large cities, who goes 
 with you from the theater to the hotel ? " 
 
 " Oh, sometimes one of the company, some- 
 times another. It depends on what other 
 engagements they have." 
 
 "And I suppose when they all happen to have 
 these engagements you go alone ? " Dean in- 
 terjected, gnawing at the ends of his mustache.
 
 28 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 " It has happened that way sometimes," 
 Estelle admitted. 
 
 Dean ground his heel into the carpet. 
 
 "And must I feel that it will happen again," 
 he muttered ; " realize that, much as I care for 
 you, I am powerless to give you the protection 
 you need ? " 
 
 Estelle looked into his eyes ; there were 
 tears in her own. 
 
 " I fear," she murmured, " that just now I 
 stand more in need of protection from you 
 than from any one else." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " he asked quickly. 
 
 " If I had known you were married, Gilbert, 
 I would not have sent for you last night. It 
 was not right for you to come, to to greet 
 me as you did." 
 
 " Heaven help us, Estelle. I could not have 
 done otherwise." 
 
 She raised her hand in protest. 
 
 " Do not make it harder for me than it is, 
 Gilbert. Ever since I have found out that you 
 were bound to another, oh, how earnestly I 
 have wished I had not seen you again ! "
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 29 
 
 He bent forward eagerly, and barely re- 
 strained himself from snatching her hand. 
 
 " Don't say that, dear," he murmured be- 
 seechingly. " Full of torture as our position 
 is, I would not have missed knowing what I 
 know now for life itself. Think, since I have 
 come to man's estate, I have not realized what 
 it is to love till last night. Is that not worth 
 all the pain of loving ? " 
 
 " But you are playing with fire. Every 
 syllable spoken thus is an insult to your wife. 
 There is only one thing for you and me to do ; 
 we must not see each other again." 
 
 " You condemn me to unhappiness, then 
 you, Estelle, who have it in your power to make 
 my life one long Elysium ! " 
 
 " That is not true, Gilbert ; not now, at 
 least. Your wife stands between us. There 
 could be no real happiness for us, however 
 reckless we might be. You will forget me 
 again, as you have forgotten me once, and I 
 I will forget you." 
 
 There was a catch in her voice as she added 
 this last. Dean's heart ached for her. He
 
 $0 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 was about to speak, when she went on again 
 quickly, as if fearing what he might say : 
 " Your wife is with you on this train, then ?" 
 
 " Yes," Dean said. " We merely stopped in 
 Beverley over night. She dreads the sleeping 
 cars." 
 
 "And does she know that you are talking 
 with me ?" Bstelle went on. 
 
 Dean flushed slightly. 
 
 " No," he replied ; " she imagines that I am 
 in the smoking compartment." 
 
 " And you are deceiving her on my account. 
 That is not like the Gilbert of the old days." 
 
 " I am not that Gilbert. He was a purpose- 
 less, thoughtless boy. I am a man, dominated 
 by a passion whose seeds were sown in those 
 halcyon days which we never half appreciated. 
 Am I to sit down calmly to my humdrum ex- 
 istence, and deny my soul a moment's true 
 happiness?" 
 
 " But you made this life your own, did you 
 not?" 
 
 " Yes, but then I did not know that you 
 were so dear to me. I thought that the regard
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 31 
 
 I had for you was a boyish whim, which 
 absence had caused to wither and die. When 
 I think " 
 
 " No," she interposed. " You must not think 
 on this theme. You must not be with me. 
 It is time already that you left me and returned 
 to your wife." 
 
 " Not yet," Dean pleaded. " I may never 
 see you again." 
 
 " It is not ' may ' ; you must not see me 
 again. Good by." She held out her hand, 
 but he did not take it. 
 
 " Not now ; just a little longer," he begged, 
 adding, with a smile, "A cigar would not be 
 half smoked yet." 
 
 The smile was not reflected in her face. 
 
 "That you resorted to such a subterfuge 
 shows me how necessary it is that I should 
 not allow you to see me at all. Did you tell 
 your wife why you left her in the theater last 
 night that you came to pay me a visit?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 "It will be all the harder for you, then, 
 when she learns the truth. If any harm arises
 
 32 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 from that call of yours on me, I shall never 
 forgive myself." 
 
 A weary look came into her eyes. She 
 rested her head against the back of her chair. 
 
 " I can't allow you to blame yourself in this 
 way, Estelle," Dean said. "A thousand to 
 one I should have recognized you before the 
 play was over, and gone back to see you of 
 my own accord. And now I want you to 
 promise me something." 
 
 " Yes, Gilbert. What is it ? " 
 
 She wondered if she could endure the ordeal 
 much longer. Looking down the dreary vista 
 of her life, she was appalled. The only way 
 was not to think of it. But with this man 
 beside her, his very presence reminding her of 
 what might have been, what should have 
 been, the desolation of that which was, which 
 would continue to be, was forced inexorably 
 upon her. 
 
 " Promise me this, Estelle," Dean went on, 
 " that if you are ever in any trouble, if there 
 is anything in the wide world I can do for 
 you promise me, dear, you will let me know.
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 33 
 
 Who has a better right to aid you than your 
 oldest friend ?" 
 
 " He would have the best right," she replied, 
 " if if he were not more than a friend." 
 
 " Never mind about that. Your promise ! " 
 
 " Will you go, then ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then here is my hand on it." 
 
 Dean rose. "God bless you, Kstelle," he 
 murmured under his breath ; and " I promise. 
 Good by, Gilbert," she said. 
 
 Then he hurriedly went out, and crossed 
 back to his own car.
 
 V. 
 
 OEATED in the smoking compartment, Dean 
 tried to restore his nerves to their normal 
 tension before going back to his wife. But it 
 was a difficult task. His interview with Es- 
 telle had convinced him of the fact that she 
 cared deeply for him, so that now to love was 
 added compassion. Over and over in his 
 mind he repeated her every word ; every vary- 
 ing expression of her face was photographed 
 there indelibly. 
 
 " How brave she is ! " he told himself. 
 " May I have the strength to be as heroic a 
 man as she is a woman, and do that which 
 will raise, not lower me in her eyes ! " 
 
 Even while this resolve was forming, it was 
 all Dean could do to remain where he was, 
 when he realized that only a few steps would 
 take him into the next car, were Estelle was 
 sitting alone. Only by reminding himself 
 34
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 35 
 
 that he was doing her will was he enabled to 
 stay and smoke his cigar out. Then, resisting 
 an almost overpowering temptation again to 
 enter the coach ahead, he returned to his wife. 
 
 She was eagerly awaiting him, anxious to 
 talk over a situation in the novel he had 
 bought for her, in which the interest centered 
 on a mariage de convenance. 
 
 " It seems to me," she said, " that they 
 should have separated as soon as they found 
 that it was really misery for them to live 
 together. Don't you think that would be 
 better, Gilbert, than constant bickering ? " 
 
 " But that would be hard for the one who 
 loved," Dean rejoined, his thoughts on an in- 
 stance that was not in a novel. 
 
 " It couldn't be," Louise went on, " for, 
 don't you understand, neither loved the other. 
 They went into the thing with their eyes 
 open, and both soon awoke to the fact that 
 they were equally miserable. And I dare say 
 this fiction finds many a counterpart in fact. 
 It has made me realize what a happy woman 
 I am. Why, do you know, Gilbert, it has
 
 36 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 seemed to me as if our honeymoon had never 
 waned ? " 
 
 " That is what all true marriages should be, 
 my dear," Dean replied : "a perpetual wedding 
 journey." 
 
 He despised his own hypocrisy as he spoke 
 the words, but there was now in his mind a 
 grim determination to be a true husband to 
 Louise, to accept his lot as Estelle would have 
 him do. 
 
 "Sometimes it seems to me," Louise con- 
 tinued, " as if I had too much happiness, more 
 than my share. You know there are so many 
 marriages where love, like riches, takes wings 
 after the first few months, and flies away." 
 
 What tortures Dean was suffering ! Contempt 
 for himself, pity for Louise, anxiety and fear- 
 ful foreboding for Estelle all these emotions 
 were commingled in his heart. He could 
 scarcely command his voice to make reply. 
 
 The day wore on. When the dining car 
 was attached Dean hoped he might see Estelle, 
 even if he were not permitted to speak to her ; 
 but she did not appear. When he went to
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 37 
 
 smoke his after dinner cigar, it called for the 
 mightest effort of his life to refrain from step- 
 ping into the forward coach to inquire how 
 she was. She had grown very pale toward 
 the end of their interview, he recalled. But 
 no ; he must not go. 
 
 He went back to his wife, and they chatted 
 over plans for some alterations in their house, 
 till dusk began to descend. Then a silence 
 fell upon them, and each gazed out over the 
 dreary landscape of flat plains, with only here 
 and there a tree, and scarcely ever a house. 
 
 " As monotonous as my life will be," Dean 
 muttered to himself. 
 
 Would he be able to endure it ? How far 
 could he trust himself ? " Till death us do 
 part." This phrase of the marriage service 
 came to his mind. He must expect no happi- 
 ness out of life, only a passive submission to 
 the inevitable. " May it be short, then," was 
 the half impious wish that formed itself in 
 his breast. 
 
 The train had been running very swiftly ; 
 darkness had just closed in about it ; the lamps
 
 38 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 were lighted, making the interior bright and 
 cheerful. Louise put out her hand to draw 
 the shade and shut out the lonesome prairie 
 a jar, a crash, and instantly they were hurled 
 from their seats. Women shrieked, men were 
 white with fear. A wild stampede was made 
 for the doors. 
 
 Dean seized his wife in his arms, and a 
 moment later they were out on the ground. 
 Shrieks of agony rilled the air ; a car, shattered 
 into almost a shapeless mass, lay before them 
 where it had plunged from the rails. Flames 
 had already started, and it seemed as if none 
 within would escape. And it was the first 
 Pullman coach, the one in which Bstelle 
 rode. 
 
 Dean felt as if he were going mad. Seizing 
 an axe he remembered seeing in his own car, 
 he dashed almost into the very midst of the 
 flames. In a frenzy he worked to cut away 
 the imprisoning timbers, for now he saw her, 
 helpless, but mercifully unconscious, close to 
 him, and yet apparently doomed. It was a 
 race between himself and the conflagration.
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 39 
 
 The man won, by a hair's breadth, and with 
 the only woman he had ever truly loved in his 
 arms, he staggered out from under the breath 
 of the flames that an instant later would have 
 swept over them both. 
 
 His wife was watching for him, and she it 
 was who knelt beside his unconscious burden 
 when he had placed her on the grass. 
 
 " My brave boy," she exclaimed, " you have 
 saved her life ; but she must not stay here. 
 Is there no place where she can be carried and 
 made comfortable? Gilbert, look about and 
 see if you cannot find a house." 
 
 And Dean went off, leaving those two to- 
 gether his wife and the woman he loved. 
 But he thought little of this now. His chief 
 concern was for Estelle's safety, for till she 
 was herself again, till she looked at him with 
 eyes that recognized who was before them, he 
 could not feel that his act of rescue was com- 
 plete. He knew that behind him he left a 
 tragedy, for he had seen more than one dead 
 body carried out of that shattered car ; but 
 one life was all with which he was concerned,
 
 40 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 and he kept on until he found a farm house, 
 whose inmates he startled by his announce- 
 ment of the railroad accident. 
 
 Checking the torrent of questions that were 
 showered upon him, he quickly arranged with 
 the farmer to bring a wagon to the scene of 
 the wreck. There was a physician among the 
 passengers, whom Louise had found out and 
 brought to the side of the woman she had 
 watched over faithfully during her husband's 
 absence. 
 
 " He says that she will be all right, but she 
 needs care and attention, Gilbert," she told 
 him now. " She seems to be all alone. We 
 will go with her to the house, and see that she 
 is made comfortable." 
 
 Dean could as yet scarcely realize that all 
 their plans had been changed so suddenly, and 
 by Estelle, of all people. The thought that 
 he had been permitted to save her life thrilled 
 him, and yet, at the same time, inspired an 
 awful fear. He was sensible that having 
 risked so much for her, she was now more 
 than ever endeared to him. Fate seemed
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 41 
 
 determined to throw them together, to test 
 them to the uttermost. How should he be 
 able to conceal his feelings from his wife ? 
 
 And Estelle herself ? What would she think, 
 she who had counseled so insistently that they 
 two must not see each other again ? Precious 
 as this opportunity of being with her, of being 
 permitted to care for her, would be to him, it 
 must needs be a pleasure much fraught with 
 pain to them both. 
 
 Louise had not recognized in Estelle the 
 actress she had seen the previous evening. 
 She was indefatigable in her attentions, her 
 quick woman's sympathy going out unre- 
 strainedly to this sister who had escaped so nar- 
 rowly from a horrible death, whom her own 
 husband had saved. 
 
 Estelle was unconscious still. Louise held 
 her head against her breast during the drive 
 up to the house, now and then gently stroking 
 the hair back from the temples. It seemed to 
 Dean as if some awful catastrophe were im- 
 pending. To have Estelle so close to him and 
 in trouble, and not be able to take her in his
 
 42 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 arms and claim the right to protect her, 
 would be torture enough ; but to realize that 
 his wife was filling these offices, all unsus- 
 picious of the truth, sent a dagger thrust to 
 his soul, and called out upon his brow the 
 heavy drops of anguish. 
 
 What would Estelle say when conscious- 
 ness returned? How could he steel himself 
 to see and talk with her before Louise as he 
 would to a perfect stranger, which his wife 
 naturally thought her to be ? The tragedy of 
 death they had left behind them, he told him- 
 self, was as nothing to the tragedy of life 
 which might lie before.
 
 VI. 
 
 TTALF an hour later Estelle opened her 
 eyes and looked into the face of the 
 woman who had been with Dean in the 
 theater. She shivered and pressed her hand 
 to her forehead. 
 
 "It is all right," said Louise soothingly. 
 " You are quite safe now." 
 
 Still the look of horror did not fade ; Louise 
 even fancied that there was a shrinking from 
 her touch. But she set this down to the 
 shock of the terrible experience through 
 which the other had passed. 
 
 " You are not in pain, are you? " she asked 
 gently. 
 
 Still Estelle made no reply, but her glance 
 went beyond Louise, and flashed from one side 
 of the room to the other. Here was the wife ; 
 the husband could not be far away. Fate ap- 
 peared determined to test them to the uttermost. 
 
 43
 
 44 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 " What is this place ? Why am I here ? 
 What has become of the rest of the com- 
 pany ? " 
 
 As the last question was put, it came over 
 Louise where she had seen the woman before. 
 An actress ! But Gilbert Dean's wife was 
 broad minded. She took one of the white 
 hands in hers as she replied in her soft toned 
 voice, which was her chiefest charm, " There 
 was an accident on the railroad. You were 
 brought to a farm house near by. Now don't 
 worry about anything. My husband will see 
 that you are kept in communication with your 
 friends. He has gone to talk with some of 
 the railroad people now." 
 
 Although Estelle's eyes were fixed on the 
 speaker, she scarcely heard a word, except 
 "my husband." "An accident," she was 
 thinking, and then the wish came that she 
 had never survived it. She had a horror of 
 suicide ; it was so cowardly ; but then to have 
 been spared the pain of living without resort- 
 ing to that ; to have been eased of this 
 burden of love that must be plucked out of
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 45 
 
 the heart and yet still carried as a dead 
 weight, on the soul it seemed cruel to have 
 come so close to this deliverance only to miss 
 it, and in its place awake to an ordeal more 
 bitter than any she had yet undergone ! 
 
 And this was Dean's wife bending over her ! 
 But she must not see Gilbert again. She 
 was all unstrung. She could not answer for 
 herself now. 
 
 " I must get away," she said, and with the 
 words she fell back on the bed, conscious for 
 the first time of a numbness of body that made 
 her helpless. 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! " Louise entreated. " You 
 must not move. You had a very narrow 
 escape. My husband drew you out of the very 
 midst of the flames." 
 
 " He saved me ! " 
 
 There was a sharp, strange ring of joy to 
 the words. A look of almost radiant happiness 
 flitted into the face of the actress, only to die 
 quickly out, leaving in its place death-like 
 gloom. Louise could not understand it at all. 
 What did the woman mean by speaking, by act-
 
 46 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 ing in this way ? But probably she was still 
 under the influence of the stupor into which 
 the accident had thrown her, and was not 
 accountable for what she said. 
 
 At that instant Louise heard Gilbert's voice. 
 He was talking with the farmer on the porch. 
 She would go and consult him. Going softly 
 out, she touched Dean on the arm and drew 
 him into the hallway. 
 
 " It is Marie Myrwin, the actress," she said. 
 " Did you recognize her ? She has come to, but 
 I think she is wandering in her mind. She 
 acted so strangely when I told her you had 
 taken her out of the burning car. Did you 
 find out whether she had any friends on the 
 train ? " 
 
 " They have gone on. There will be a train 
 that we can take at nine in the morning. 
 What what was it she did that you thought 
 was strange ? " Dean strove to keep the anxiety 
 out of his voice, but his lips were dry. 
 
 " ' Did he save me ? ' she exclaimed ; just as 
 though it made any difference whether it was 
 you or some other stranger. But then I sup-
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 47 
 
 pose the poor thing scarcely knows what she 
 is saying. If you have seen her friends, you 
 had better come in and tell her about them. 
 She was asking for them." 
 
 Dean was grateful for the dimness of the 
 lights in this prairie home. There was less 
 chance of his wife noticing how tightly his 
 hands were clenched, with the nails burying 
 themselves in the palms. To listen to Louise 
 talk of Estelle in this way, was torture, con- 
 vincing him, as it did, of the actress' distracted 
 state of mind. What if, when he entered the 
 room, she should stretch out her arms to him 
 and cry " Gilbert " ? 
 
 " Coward ! " he muttered, apostrophizing 
 himself, and with his wife, went into the 
 presence of the woman he loved. 
 
 She was looking toward the door as though 
 watching for him, but she did not speak as he 
 came up to the side of the couch and looked 
 down into her face. 
 
 "This is my husband," Louise said. " He 
 has seen some of your friends." 
 
 " Yes," Dean went on, his voice having a
 
 48 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 parched sound, as though it came from a great 
 distance; " they have gone around by Midbury 
 Junction. You can go on with us in the morn- 
 ing and join them in Kansas City." 
 
 Estelle was looking steadily up into his 
 face. Hers was pale as death, and yet she 
 had never seemed more beautiful to him. 
 
 " You are very kind," she murmured faintly. 
 
 A tender light came into her eyes. Dean 
 dared not trust himself within range of its 
 magnetism. Muttering something about hav- 
 ing to see the farmer in regard to accommoda- 
 tions for the night, he hurriedly left the room. 
 Louise followed him presently, and found him 
 smoking as he paced up and down the scraggly 
 path to the gate. She thrust her arm through 
 his, and after they had walked the length of 
 the path together, she said musingly : 
 
 " I have found another thing to be grateful 
 for, Gilbert : that I am not an actress. So 
 much simulation of emotions that one does not 
 feel, causes one to lose the capacity for thor- 
 ough appreciation of anything that befalls one 
 personally, whether it be joy or sorrow. That
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 49 
 
 woman in yonder, for instance, seems like a 
 stone, utterly indifferent ; and yet for this very 
 cause, I don't know when my sympathy has 
 been so warmly excited." 
 
 Dean was already anticipating the morrow ; 
 that all day ride with Estelle, with his wife 
 in the party. And yet beneath the dread, was 
 a fierce undercurrent of joy over the fact that 
 he was not yet to be separated from her, 
 would still be permitted to look into those 
 eyes in whose forbidden depths he saw the only 
 happiness life held for him. 
 
 At this moment the farmer's wife came run- 
 ing out excitedly. 
 
 " Oh, ma'am," she exclaimed, " the lady's 
 took with a bad turn." 
 
 " I should not have left her," said Louise 
 contritely, and hastened into the house. 
 
 It was all Dean could do to restrain himself 
 from following her. But he knew that if he 
 should see Estelle suffering he would lose all 
 sense of caution. 
 
 " For Louise's sake," he told himself, " I 
 must be the hypocrite still."
 
 50 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 And then a new fear beset him. What if 
 Estelle should become delirious and say 
 things that would reveal all ? The mere men- 
 tion of his name would be fatal. Why had 
 he not told his wife that he had discovered 
 they were old friends? It was too late now. 
 The mask had been assumed, and it must be 
 worn until destiny should snatch it away. 
 
 " Gilbert ! " 
 
 Louise had come to the door, and was calling 
 him softly. Dean's heart stood still. Her 
 tone seemed to have that awe in it which we 
 employ when speaking of the dead. He was 
 instantly at his wife's side. 
 
 " What is it?" he asked in a voice so husky 
 that it was scarcely audible. 
 
 " Stay here by the open door and watch," 
 Louise said. " I must see the woman in the 
 kitchen. The poor thing in there is quieter now 
 considerably. If she calls out again let me 
 know at once. You don't mind, dear, do you ? 
 Think how grateful you would be for friends 
 to be raised up for me if I was placed as this 
 poor woman is."
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 51 
 
 Each word was a fresh stab for Dean, who 
 already despised himself utterly. But " Go on," 
 he said. " I will watch." 
 
 The next instant he was alone with Estelle, 
 only the width of the room between them. 
 But he dared not speak to her. His wife 
 might return any instant. Still he knew that 
 Estelle was looking at him, was longing for 
 him, and yet fearing that he would come. It 
 seemed heartless for him to stand here and 
 utter not one word of sympathy. He remained 
 in the doorway, looking out over the dreary 
 prairie, yet seeing nothing but that on which 
 he dared not rest his eyes. He thought of 
 the tortures of Tantalus, and then, with a 
 mighty effort, he sought to force his mind en- 
 tirely away from this incident of a pleasure 
 trip and put it on business. This detention 
 would make them a day late in reaching 
 home. He ought to telegraph to the factory. 
 He wished Louise would hurry back. What 
 an anomalous position it was for him, one of 
 the principal business men in Islington, to 
 be playing attendant on an actress he was
 
 52 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 supposed never to have seen till the night be- 
 fore ! 
 
 This was the line in which he compelled 
 his thoughts to travel, but at this point they 
 forsook his leadership and branched off in a 
 direction that caused his breath to come in 
 quicker gasps. Why must he stay here in 
 the doorway? He had saved this woman's 
 life, and strangers though they were supposed 
 to be, it was not necessary that he should 
 always keep the whole width of a room be- 
 tween them. Indeed, was he not giving rise 
 to suspicion by this very excess of caution ? 
 Arguing thus, and with the wish mothering 
 the act, it was not many seconds before Dean 
 had left the doorway, and was moving softly 
 across the floor toward the sofa. 
 
 He was within a foot of it, Estelle had 
 just opened her eyes as though instinc- 
 tively feeling his approach, when Louise's 
 voice sounded in the hall. 
 
 "Gilbert, you haven't deserted your post, 
 have you ? " 
 
 Then, as she saw where he was, she hurried
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 53 
 
 forward with the cry, "Oh, has she fainted 
 again ? " 
 
 The flush of conscious guilt overspread 
 Dean's face. 
 
 " No," he replied lamely. " I wanted to 
 see if she was sleeping." 
 
 But Louise's mind was too much absorbed 
 in her patient to have room for surmises on a 
 matter that would seem so incomprehensible 
 to her as the possibility of her husband's 
 defection. 
 
 " Yes, and you probably waked her up with 
 your efforts to tread cautiously," she returned, 
 with a frown at him and a smile for Estelle. 
 " These men are all alike. Now go out and 
 smoke your cigar, dear." 
 
 This last was accompanied by a little push 
 against his arm, which was in reality a caress. 
 Dean felt it there long after he was out under 
 the stars ; the sensation seemed to linger with 
 the persistency of some poisonous sting. He 
 no longer had any confidence in himself. The 
 only refuge for him was flight, and yet how 
 could he flee when his own wife had taken
 
 54 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 possession of the woman who had come be- 
 tween them? 
 
 Suddenly the gate latch clicked and a man 
 came up the path. He stopped Dean with 
 the remark : " I beg your pardon, but is this 
 the house where Miss Myrwin was taken ? " 
 
 Dean stopped short in his walk, and a jealous 
 frown wrinkled his brow. 
 
 " Yes," he said briefly. 
 
 " Is she seriously injured ? " went on the other. 
 
 " No ; not seriously, but " 
 
 They had been walking toward the house, 
 and just then Craddock, the farmer, who had 
 heard a team drive up, opened the door, letting 
 a flood of light out into the yard, and in that 
 glare the two men walking up the path recog- 
 nized each other. Dean knew his companion 
 to be the leading juvenile of the " Borrowed 
 Plumes" company, while the latter exclaimed : 
 " By Jove, her gallant rescuer ! " Then he 
 added : " You are a hero, sir. Bravest thing 
 I ever saw done. I was in a terrible funk 
 myself. Never thought of lending a hand to a 
 soul. I suppose I can see Marie ! "
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 55 
 
 Dean felt like knocking the fellow down at 
 hearing him speak of Estelle in this familiar 
 strain. 
 
 " I don't know," he answered. " I will call 
 my wife." 
 
 The other gave a low whistle, which escaped 
 Dean's attention. A fierce, unreasoning jeal- 
 ousy was burning within him. 
 
 " Who shall I say it is ?" he asked. 
 
 " Tell her Harry has come to inquire after 
 her." 
 
 Dean hurried inside. He dared not trust 
 himself long with this fellow. 
 
 " Louise," he called, at door of the " best 
 room." 
 
 She came to him at once, and he announced 
 his errand. 
 
 " Well," she exclaimed, " I'm glad some of 
 them had the grace to think of her. Miss 
 Myrwin," she added, turning toward the sofa, 
 " some one from the company is here inquir- 
 ing for you." 
 
 " Let him come in," said Estelle eagerly. 
 " Tell him I will see him at once."
 
 56 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 Louise accompanied her husband outside 
 when he bore this message. The caller passed 
 into the room they had left, carrying his 
 cigarette with him. The windows were open, 
 for the evening was warm, and it was impos- 
 sible not to overhear his side of the conver- 
 sation. 
 
 " Take you away ? " were the first words 
 that came to Dean's ears. " Cert. That's what 
 Roberts wanted me to do, if you were able to 
 go. But I understood you were all broken up. 
 Steady, there. Guess you're not as strong as 
 you thought you were, Marie." 
 
 " Gilbert," exclaimed Louise, " he is trying 
 to get the poor girl away ! She is not fit to be 
 moved. Why, she can't hold her head up. Go 
 in and tell him so." 
 
 Dean waited for no second suggestion. 
 While he knew well enough why Estelle was 
 so anxious to get away from the farmhouse, it 
 maddened him to think of her going with a 
 fellow like this actor. Besides, as Louise 
 said, she really was not fit. But when he 
 entered the room he saw immediately that
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 57 
 
 his interference was not necessary. Estelle 
 had sunk back on the sofa, inert and almost 
 lifeless. 
 
 " Hard luck, isn't it? " said the actor, turn- 
 ing to Dean. " She hasn't the strength to 
 move. Well, I'll go back and report to 
 Roberts. I think she has fainted again. Per- 
 haps your wife had better take a look at her. 
 Awfully kind in you to take so much in- 
 terest." 
 
 This was added as the fellow paused on the 
 porch to light a fresh cigarette, after Louise 
 had gone inside. 
 
 Dean made no reply. 
 
 " By the way," the other went on, stopping 
 suddenly as he was about to start toward his 
 buggy, " haven't I seen you somewhere be- 
 fore?" 
 
 Dean's thoughts at once leaped to the wings 
 of that Beverley theater, and instinctively he 
 turned his head to see if Louise were within 
 hearing. 
 
 " My wife and I occupied front seats at the 
 performance last night," he said. " Very pos-
 
 58 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 sibly you saw me there from the stage. I re- 
 member you very well." 
 
 " No ; it couldn't have been there, because 
 it was something in your walk, as I came out 
 behind you just now, that seemed familiar. 
 Ah, I have it ; you were behind last night. 
 I saw you as I came off. You were just leav- 
 ing Miss Myrwin's dressing room. Of course 
 it is all plain now, and very natural that you 
 should be so kind to her." 
 
 Dean gasped, as he stood there in the shadow, 
 listening to words which were quite loud 
 enough to penetrate to his wife's ear were she 
 paying any attention to them. And yet he 
 could not beg the other to speak lower, nor 
 could he deny that he was the man. The 
 perspiration broke out on his forehead. He 
 fancied that there was an undercurrent of mean- 
 ing to the player's last sentence. Dean resented 
 this as an impertinence, and yet was not the 
 imputation true ? Had he not concealed from 
 his wife the real reason of his leaving her at 
 the theater ? Was she not still in ignorance 
 that he was an old friend of the woman for
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 59 
 
 whom she was now so assiduously caring? 
 Dean knew not what reply to make, so made 
 none. 
 
 " Well, so long," added the actor. "Is'pose 
 we'll see you before long. " With which parting 
 shot he climbed into his buggy, and vanished 
 in the darkness.
 
 VII. 
 
 T OUISE insisted on passing the night with 
 ** Estelle. 
 
 " She is feverish, and horribly restless," she 
 told Dean. " She seems to have something 
 on her mind that is worrying her, entirely 
 apart from the accident." 
 
 Dean himself slept little. Hour after hour 
 he lay on the sofa where Estelle had been, 
 thinking, planning, regretting, hoping. His 
 brain a wild chaos of contradictory emotions, it 
 was small wonder there was no opportunity for 
 that calm to prevail which must precede 
 repose. One instant he was abusing himself 
 before his conscience as the master hypocrite, 
 recalling his subterfuge for gaining that inter- 
 view with Estelle on the train ; at another his 
 head swam with a delirium of joy as vivid 
 memory summoned forth that moment in the 
 
 theater dressing room when he held Estelle in his 
 60
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 6 1 
 
 arms and kissed her. What conventionalities, 
 what sacred ties even, would he not trample 
 under foot to obtain such another moment of 
 bliss ? 
 
 Then the picture would change swiftly. He 
 would see himself back in Islington, serving 
 perhaps, as he often had, on a committee of 
 citizens to preserve law and order in the town. 
 Or, it might be, he was sitting at the head of 
 their pew at St Michael's ; or passing the 
 plate. " Hypocrite " was emblazoned on his 
 forehead as he moved up and down the aisles, 
 and women drew their skirts aside from pos- 
 sible contact with him. 
 
 But once again the memory of that inter- 
 view in the dressing room would soothe away 
 the conscience pangs, and at last he fell 
 asleep, to dream of those old days in New 
 England when Estelle was the queen of his 
 boyish heart, and it was no stain on his honor 
 to do her homage. All too brief, though, was 
 this vision. It was succeeded by one in which 
 unseen forces seemed to be dragging him to a 
 doom whose nature he did not know, but
 
 62 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 whose full horror was so borne in upon him 
 that he awoke in terror. 
 
 Dawn was straggling in at the window. 
 He looked about him at the unaccustomed 
 surroundings mystified. Then, as recollec- 
 tion asserted itself, and he realized that 
 Estelle had spent the night in the same room 
 with Louise, a deadly fear took possession of 
 him. 
 
 " Why did I permit such a thing ?" he 
 asked himself. " Estelle is not herself. 
 There is no knowing what she may have said 
 in her delirium. And if Louise should 
 discover ! " 
 
 He recalled scenes on the stage where the 
 wife had denounced her husband to his face. 
 His fancy even went further, and conjured 
 up an item in the newspaper, made timely by 
 its connection with the railway disaster, in 
 which Craddock, the farmer, should tell how 
 all the parties in the scandal had sought refuge 
 at his house. But Dean forcibly put these 
 thoughts away from him. 
 
 "It is only my guilty conscience summons
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 63 
 
 such specters forth," he told himself. " Estelle 
 will be in our company but a day longer. 
 Then I may suffer, but Louise need never 
 know." 
 
 "Gilbert!" 
 
 Dean started guiltily as his wife's voice 
 fell on his ear. But there was a smile of 
 morning greeting for him and a kiss as he 
 went up to her. He was respited yet a 
 while. 
 
 " How is the how is Miss Myrwin?" he 
 inquired. 
 
 " She is better, I am sure, and able to 
 travel, but she acts so strangely. She is so 
 quiet and sad, and lies there and looks at me 
 in such an odd way. Really, Gilbert, it quite 
 made me creep. At what time must we 
 leave?" 
 
 " At eight Craddock is to have the wagon 
 ready for us. Is not Miss Myrwin coming 
 out to breakfast ? " 
 
 " Yes; presently." 
 
 When Estelle appeared at the table, what a 
 farce it seemed the formal " Good morning "
 
 64 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 which she and Dean exchanged. Then " I 
 trust you are feeling fully recovered," he went 
 on perfunctorily, and "Yes, thank you," she 
 replied. . Only for the briefest intervals did 
 their eyes meet, and most of the talking dur- 
 ing the drive to the junction was done by 
 Louise. 
 
 " Do you know," she said, " I never met an 
 actress before. Have you been on the stage 
 long, Miss Myrwin ? " 
 
 " Just five years," Estelle replied, and Dean, 
 on the front seat with Craddock, knew the 
 ordeal she was undergoing. 
 
 " And were your people professionals, too ? " 
 continued Louise, not out of curiosity, but be- 
 cause she felt that the other might think she 
 disapproved of her if she did not talk. And 
 Gilbert remained so obstinately silent. 
 
 " Oh, no. How dreary it is out here, is it 
 not ? " At the risk of seeming rude, Estelle 
 felt impelled to change the subject. She 
 could not talk of herself to Gilbert's wife. At 
 the best, each moment was torture to her. 
 There, in front of her, sat the man she loved,
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 65 
 
 who had risked his life only yesterday to save 
 hers, and yet she dared not bestow one affec- 
 tionate look on him. 
 
 There was but little else said during the 
 remainder of the drive. And matters were not 
 improved when they boarded the train, for all 
 sitting in the one section, as was natural, 
 Dean and Estelle were brought face to face. 
 In proportion to the joy Gilbert would have 
 experienced in studying every lineament of 
 that dear countenance under other circum- 
 stances, so great was the pain to look thereon 
 now, and yet repress every thrill of emotion 
 the sight awakened. And yet, with the in- 
 consistency of mortals, Dean begrudged every 
 mile that was covered, bringing them nearer 
 to the end of that journey which would mean 
 that he would see Estelle no more. But he 
 could not part from her thus, he told himself. 
 There were a hundred things he must say to 
 her, many facts to be explained. After they 
 reached their present destination, he would 
 surely be able to contrive some way of seeing 
 her alone.
 
 66 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 Buoyed up by this hope, he was more talk- 
 ative during the dinner which they ate to- 
 gether in the dining car. 
 
 " How long do you remain in Kansas City, 
 Miss Myrwin?" he asked. 
 
 " Three nights," she replied. 
 
 " And shall you play ' Borrowed Plumes ' 
 all that time? " interjected Louise. " I should 
 like to see you in something else. We are 
 going to stay over a day or two." 
 
 " We play the ' Plumes ' all the time," an- 
 swered Estelle, adding, with a faint smile, 
 " That's what the people come to see, because 
 stars made a hit in it last season. They don't 
 care a fig for us." 
 
 After they returned to their car Louise fell 
 asleep, with her head pillowed on Dean's 
 shoulder. If the morning had been a time of 
 trial, the afternoon had been turned into a 
 regular court of inquisition. One instant 
 Dean felt himself to be a monster, realizing 
 how fully his love was trusted by the woman 
 at his side. The next he was glancing at the 
 opposite seat, wishing Estelle would look up
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 67 
 
 from her book that they might exchange one 
 glance of mutual comprehension. But she 
 would not do this, and at last he ventured to 
 speak. 
 
 "That must be a very interesting story?" 
 he said. 
 
 "Not particularly," Bstelle replied, still 
 keeping her eyes on the page. 
 
 " The other passengers will think we have 
 quarreled," Dean went on, "if we remain so 
 studiously indifferent to each other." 
 
 Estelle shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " What they think is nothing to me," she 
 answered. " Besides, our talking may disturb 
 your wife." 
 
 " You are cruel, Es " 
 
 He checked himself as she flashed at him a 
 warning glance that thrilled him through and 
 through. After an instant of silence he began 
 again. 
 
 " Who was that fellow, calling himself 
 ' Harry,' who came to the farmhouse last night? 
 He seemed to know you very well. Have you 
 been playing together long?"
 
 68 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 " Only this season. He is really a very con- 
 venient boy to have at hand." Estelle 
 closed her book, and began looking out of the 
 window. 
 
 "Ah," said Dean. " I suppose he accom- 
 panies you home from the theater more often 
 than the others?" 
 
 Bstelle gave a little laugh, which Dean knew 
 at once was a forced one, such as she would 
 use on the stage. 
 
 " As often as his wife will let him," she 
 answered. " She is half a dozen years older 
 than he, and plays the first old lady." 
 
 Dean divined at once that Estelle was trying 
 to disgust him with her by assuming the tone 
 of a certain class of her profession from whom 
 she was by nature removed an infinite distance. 
 The effort it cost her to do this was apparent 
 in the tone of the voice, in the sudden drop- 
 ping of the eyes in her whole attitude. A 
 fairly good actress on the stage, she was a 
 poor one when it came to deceiving the man 
 she loved. So Dean smiled and shook his 
 head, and said " Poorly played, mademoiselle,"
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 69 
 
 with as near an approach to lightness of heart 
 as he had experienced for the past forty eight 
 hours. 
 
 The halting of the train woke Louise, and 
 for the rest of the journey the conversation 
 was general, pertaining mostly to the country 
 through which they were passing. It was 
 dark when they arrived at Kansas City, and 
 Estelle said she would be obliged to go at 
 once to the theater, when Dean asked her at 
 what hotel she wished to be set down. Louise 
 had insisted that she take a seat in the carriage 
 from the station. 
 
 The driver knew where the theater was 
 located, and when he drew up at the stage 
 door Estelle held out her hand to Louise. 
 
 " You have been very kind indeed to me," 
 she said. " I cannot thank you ; can only try 
 to do so, but believe me, I am grateful." 
 
 Dean was already on the sidewalk. 
 
 " I am coming for you after the performance 
 tonight," he whispered, as he walked the few 
 paces between the curb and the doorway with 
 her.
 
 70 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 " You must not," she told him, giving him 
 her hand. " Good by." 
 
 " I must see you alone once more," he per- 
 sisted, " so it is au revoir" 
 
 And he was gone before she could again 
 forbid him.
 
 VIII. 
 
 TTALF past ten that same night. The 
 Deans' friends had made them royally 
 welcome, but Louise pleaded fatigue as an ex- 
 cuse for retiring early. " Come, Gilbert," she 
 said ; " you must be worn out, too. You 
 could have had no adequate rest on that sofa 
 last night." 
 
 " I am not tired, dear," replied Dean, already 
 perplexed as to the manner in which he could 
 keep his appointment with Estelle. There 
 was no parleying with conscience now ; for 
 the nonce that appendage of his moral nature 
 appeared to have retired from the field. The 
 only thing that worried him was the difficulty 
 in the way of leaving the Fords' and getting 
 back again. It would look odd to ask for a 
 latchkey. Yet he had determined on taking 
 Estelle to supper, and it would be too late to 
 ring the bell when he returned.
 
 72 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 He went with his wife to their room, feeling 
 that it would be a simpler matter to get away 
 from her than to give reasons to Ford and his 
 wife in addition. He seated himself in a 
 chair by the window, and looked down into 
 the street. 
 
 " I believe I will go out and take a walk," 
 he said suddenly, pausing in the act of winding 
 his watch. 
 
 " Why, Gilbert ! " exclaimed Louise. " How 
 absurd, at this hour ? " 
 
 " It is not late," he responded. " Only 
 half past ten. I haven't had any sort of exer- 
 cise today. I am certain I could not sleep 
 without it." 
 
 Louise came over and put her arms about 
 his neck. 
 
 " My poor boy," she said, " you have not 
 been quite yourself since you went into that 
 burning car. You know better than I what 
 is best for you. Go and take your walk, 
 but wait let me go to Jessie and get a 
 latchkey, that you need not ring when you 
 come back."
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 73 
 
 Dean's conscience did stir uneasily when 
 Louise sped away on this errand, but he stifled 
 it by assuring himself that it was the last 
 time ; tomorrow they would start for Isling- 
 ton, and it was not likely he should ever see 
 Estelle again. But he must bid her good by ; 
 have a few parting words which only they two 
 should hear. 
 
 Louise came back with a relieved look. 
 
 " Tom says he will go with you," she an- 
 nounced. " He has been troubled some with 
 insomnia, and thinks, with you, that a little 
 stroll may help him. Now be sure you two men 
 don't get into any mischief, and be back soon." 
 
 She helped him on with his coat, gave him 
 a kiss, and then held him close for an instant. 
 And he he was scarcely conscious of any of 
 those things. His mind was all astir planning 
 means of getting rid of Tom Ford. Why had 
 he allowed Louise to ask for that key ? But 
 he determined not to be balked of his design. 
 He would find some way of giving Tom the 
 slip. The latter was waiting for him in the 
 lower hall.
 
 74 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 "Glad you thought of this scheme, Dean?" 
 he said. " We'll take a brisk turn of twenty 
 minutes, then perhaps I can sleep. Let me 
 see, which way shall we go ? " 
 
 " Down town," replied Dean promptly. 
 "I'd like to see a little of your city's night life 
 at the heart of it. And come to think," he 
 added, " I want to stop in at one of your 
 prominent hotels and look over the register. 
 There may be a man I know stopping there." 
 
 They started off. Ford talked volubly of the 
 growth of his city, and pointed out various 
 structures of interest as they passed them. 
 But Dean paid little heed. He took note only 
 of the fleeting minutes, realizing that if he 
 reached the theater after Estelle had left it 
 he would not know where to find her, as she 
 was ignorant at which hotel the company 
 would stay. He was remorseless in his inten- 
 tion to get rid of Ford ; he cared not by what 
 means he accomplished his end. In con- 
 trasting his present frame of mind with his 
 normal one, he recalled Stevenson's story of 
 Jekyl and Hyde. It seemed odd, he reflected,
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 75 
 
 that love, supposed to be the noblest sentiment 
 in the world, should be capable of so transform- 
 ing character. 
 
 It was ten minutes to eleven when they 
 entered the corridor of a large hotel. " ' Bor- 
 rowed Plumes ' is not a long play," Dean was 
 reminding himself nervously. " I think it was 
 over the other night soon after half past ten. 
 I haven't an instant to lose." 
 
 He was bending over the register, not seeing 
 one of the names on the page down which his 
 finger was traveling. He raised his eyes and 
 glanced toward the door, with Ford still look- 
 ing over his shoulder. 
 
 " By Jove," he exclaimed, in well simulated 
 surprise, " there he goes. Excuse me a minute, 
 Tom," and off he darted. 
 
 Once on the sidewalk, Dean strode rapidly 
 off in the direction of the theater. Even while 
 his cheeks flushed with shame at the ruse he 
 had played on his friend, his heart was pound- 
 ing away mightily at the thought of soon 
 being with Estelle again. Although it was 
 barely three hours since he had seen her, it
 
 76 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 seemed an age to Dean. He was panting 
 when he arrived at the stage door. Already 
 some of the members of the cast were leav- 
 ing it. Dean recalled the fact that Harry 
 Vane might see him, but he did not 
 care. He would see Estelle if she had not 
 gone. 
 
 " Has Miss Myrwin passed out yet ? " he in- 
 quired eagerly of the doorkeeper. 
 
 " Don't know her," was the short answer. 
 " First night the company's here." 
 
 Dean had his hand in his pocket, to fee the 
 man to let him step inside and look around, 
 when Estelle herself appeared. Vane was with 
 her. She frowned when she saw Dean, but 
 having thrust aside so many obstacles in his 
 path up to this point, he was not to be checked 
 now. 
 
 " I have come to keep my appointment," he 
 said quietly, offering his arm. 
 
 Vane dropped back, with a courteous 
 "Good evening, Mr. Dean." Estelle took the 
 arm and said nothing until they reached the 
 sidewalk. Then
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 77 
 
 " Why did you come ? " she began. " Have 
 I not already been tortured sufficiently ? " 
 
 " And I ? " he returned. " Do you think I 
 have not suffered with you ? And could you 
 imagine that I could bear to part thus? " 
 
 " But think of the risk, Gilbert ? Does 
 your wife know you have come to see me? 
 Does " 
 
 " Let us not talk of others, Estelle, in the 
 brief time we have together. I want you to go 
 to supper with me, to hear you say " 
 
 " No, no, Gilbert, I cannot. It is not right 
 to try me so. It is hard enough as it is for 
 me." 
 
 They were walking slowly along the quiet 
 street which ran in the rear of the one on 
 which the theater fronted. Lifting her face 
 towards Dean's in the glare of an arc lamp, 
 Bstelle continued rapidly: 
 
 " Gilbert, what if right here I should throw 
 my arms about your neck, should declare I 
 loved you passionately, and beg you to abandon 
 wife, home, friends, career, respectability 
 everything that has lifted you to the plane you
 
 78 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 now occupy and come with me? If I should 
 do this and you should consent, think you, 
 Gilbert, that you would be happy, or I ? 
 Would not the specter of the past be ever at 
 our side ? Heaven knows, I am weak enough. 
 When I recall what you were to me once, 
 what you did for me only yesterday, what I 
 know you feel for me every minute of the day, 
 my heart rebels, but there is no appeal from 
 the fate that has separated us. I am right, 
 Gilbert. You must admit that I am." 
 
 " Even if you are, dear," Dean replied, " all 
 the more reason that you should give me the 
 opportunity to talk with you tonight. The 
 present is ours. Let us make the most of it. You 
 will go to supper with me now, will you not?" 
 
 " Yes, if you will promise that you will 
 never try to meet me again, nor write to me 
 even." 
 
 "You may trust me, Estelle, but in turn 
 you must not forget the promise you made me 
 yesterday to send to me whenever you were 
 in trouble of any kind, or needed a friend. 
 You know where I can be found."
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 79 
 
 They had turned into the more brilliantly 
 lighted thoroughfare, and as they strolled 
 along till they should come to a restaurant, 
 Dean was suddenly conscious that Tom Ford 
 had just passed them. Had he seen him ? 
 There was no means of knowing. There 
 would be time enough to think of that after 
 he had left Estelle. He would not borrow 
 worry from the future. 
 
 It was after one o'clock when they rose from 
 that supper. Forcibly banishing all cares from 
 his mind, Dean had enjoyed every minute of 
 it. Estelle, too, threw off the restraint she 
 had lately imposed on herself, and was the 
 fascinating creature, tenfold intensified, she 
 had been as his boyish ideal. 
 
 " And now it is, it must be good by, not au 
 revoir, Gilbert," she said, when he had 
 walked to the hotel with her. 
 
 " Unless you send for me," he answered. 
 " Then I will come, no matter what there is 
 to hinder. Good by." 
 
 A long pressure of the hand, a looking into 
 each other's eyes in the starlight, and then
 
 80 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 Estelle passed swiftly into the hotel, leaving 
 Dean to walk rapidly away, his footfalls echo- 
 ing distinctly in the silent street. But his 
 swift pace soon changed to a slow one. He 
 must take time to look his position in the 
 face. In getting rid of Tom Ford, he had de- 
 prived himself of the means of reentering the 
 house without arousing the family. Then how 
 should he explain to Ford the reason of his 
 failure to return to the hotel ? Most serious 
 of all, what should he say if Ford had seen 
 him with Estelle ? 
 
 " I am not a clever scoundrel," Dean told 
 himself with a bitter smile. " I think I am 
 smarter in channels where brilliancy of ideas 
 is put to more legitimate use. I ought to be a 
 worse man or a better one to get any measure 
 of content out of life. Perhaps if " 
 
 But he still recoiled in horror from exposure. 
 He had been about to tell himself that it would 
 be perhaps the best thing that could happen if 
 it turned out that Tom Ford had seen him 
 with Estelle. There would be a scene with 
 Louise, a quarrel, all barriers of self respect
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 8 1 
 
 would be broken down, and he left free to be 
 with Estelle as much as he pleased. 
 
 Walking slowly, he had by this time ar- 
 rived in front of the Fords' house. He was on 
 the opposite side of the street, and glancing 
 up instinctively at the window of the room to 
 which he and Louise had been assigned, he 
 saw her there. The figure disappeared in- 
 stantly, and a moment later the front door 
 was opened. It was Louise. She had been 
 watching for him, and had come down to let 
 him in. 
 
 " I was so anxious about you, Gilbert," she 
 murmured. " Tom came home hours ago, and 
 said he had missed you in some way. Where 
 have you been ? " 
 
 If she only knew ! For one instant Dean 
 was tempted to tell her ; to roll off the burden 
 of deceit that was weighing him down. But 
 why do this now, he asked himself? He was 
 not to see Estelle again ; the knowledge of 
 the truth would only needlessly embitter 
 Louise's life. No, it was better to let her igno- 
 rance remain bliss.
 
 82 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 " Why, did not Tom tell you, little girl ? " 
 he said. " I caught a glimpse of the man I 
 went into the hotel to look for, and he insisted 
 on taking me out to supper. I told him about 
 Tom being with me, and we went back to get 
 him, too, but he had gone." 
 
 How glibly the falsehoods slid from his 
 tongue now ! The utterance of them ap- 
 peared to give him no concern except that 
 which was occasioned by the possibility that 
 they were not clever enough. If Tom had 
 seen him with Estelle? But the morrow's 
 invention could look after that. Meantime, 
 the sooner he got away from Kansas City the 
 better. 
 
 " Louise," he said, " would you mind start- 
 ing for home tomorrow ? You know we have 
 lost a day by the accident, and I feel that I 
 ought to get back." 
 
 " I am eager for that myself, dear," she 
 replied. 
 
 And so it was settled that they leave on an 
 afternoon train. Dean dared not allow him- 
 self to think of Estelle. He knew that she
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 83 
 
 was right, and that in flight lay his only 
 safety. He expected to be unhappy away 
 from her, but Louise, at least, would be left in 
 the joyous contentment that had been her por- 
 tion since the day he had asked her to be his 
 wife. 
 
 Dean chafed a little under Tom Ford's eye 
 at breakfast. 
 
 " A pretty trick you served me last night, 
 Gilbert," he said rallyingly, after his morn- 
 ing's greeting. But there was a penetrating 
 element in the gaze he bent on his guest. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, old man," Dean re- 
 plied. " It was a shabby fashion in which to 
 treat one's host, but then when I caught that 
 glimpse of Holden just vanishing through the 
 door I knew I should have to make a bolt for 
 it, or lose him altogether. We came back 
 afterwards to look you up, but you had gone." 
 
 " Oh, did you?" rejoined Ford dryly. "Very 
 good of you. But I'll let you off this time, 
 only it's too bad I missed that supper." 
 
 And so the subject was dismissed from 
 everybody's mind with a laugh from every-
 
 84 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 body's but Dean's own, and possibly Tom's. 
 Did the latter know more than he thought it 
 for his guest's best interest to admit ? This 
 was the problem that kept Dean in unrest all 
 the forenoon. On thinking it over, he did 
 not comprehend how Tom could well have 
 escaped seeing him with Estelle. 
 
 He breathed a deep sigh of relief when he 
 and Louise boarded the train for the East that 
 afternoon. Although he had caught Tom 
 looking at him in a peculiar way once or 
 twice, nothing more was said about the night 
 before. He and Jessie both came to the station 
 to see them off. Louise and Jessie had said 
 and kissed their adieux ; Dean had gone to the 
 back platform to give a final hand clasp as the 
 train moved off. Jessie ran forward to the 
 window in response to a sudden call from 
 Louise. This left Tom and Gilbert alone. 
 The cars began to move. 
 
 "Good by, old fellow," said Ford. "Next 
 time don't call the friends you stop in at 
 hotels to see by two names." 
 
 There was no chance for Dean to reply,
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 85 
 
 Jessie had run back to join her husband ; both 
 were waving their hands to him now. Dean 
 tried to smile as he took off his hat in ac- 
 knowledgment, but his heart failed him for 
 fear. 
 
 He remembered now that while they had 
 been looking over that hotel register together, 
 Tom had asked his friend's name, and he had 
 answered " Green." Then the next morning 
 he had called him Holden! How stupid of 
 him, and how he must be despised, Dean 
 thought ! He knew what would be his 
 opinion of Ford had he caught him in a de- 
 ception of the sort. He felt he was not wor- 
 thy to even sit beside his wife when he went 
 back to her. How long would she permit him 
 to do this ? How long would it be or how 
 short a time perhaps before she would turn 
 from him in horror as though there were con- 
 tamination in his touch ? And yet he had com- 
 mitted no great crime, he told himself. Surely 
 he exaggerated the importance of his acts. 
 Partially justifying himself to himself in this 
 manner, Dean was enabled to carry his head
 
 86 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 erect and to deport himself in the dignified 
 manner that befitted his standing when they 
 arrived again at Islington. It seemed good to 
 him to get back. Here were the props to 
 respectability that would uphold him in his 
 determination to crush down the desire to see 
 Estelle again.
 
 IX. 
 
 TT was November. Dean and his wife had 
 been back in Islington several weeks. 
 Contrary to his promise to Estelle to forget 
 her, he had thought of her more and more 
 from day to day, and many of these thoughts 
 were transmitted to her through the mails. 
 Letters such as these she could not do other- 
 wise than answer. Her resolution that day on 
 the train was easily spoken ; it was not so 
 easily kept. Had he not saved her life? 
 
 As for Dean, he was looking forward with 
 eager longing to seeing her when the company 
 came East. " When shall you play in Albany ?" 
 he wrote her. " Wire me exact date." 
 
 He thought of little else than Estelle now. 
 According to her last letter she would be in 
 Albany some time in the following week. 
 " This is Saturday," he mused. " A telegram 
 should reach me by Monday noon." 
 87
 
 88 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 Dean went to church with his wife on Sun- 
 day, but the words of the preacher did not 
 penetrate his ears. In his Sunday paper he 
 had seen that the " Borrowed Plumes " com- 
 pany would play in Albany on Tuesday night. 
 
 All day Monday he waited anxiously for a 
 telegram from Estelle. None came. He was 
 nervous, distraught, irritable. Could it be 
 that she did not wish to see him ? And after 
 the letters she had written him ! 
 
 " She must see me," he resolved. " I will 
 go to Albany, any way." He went home to 
 his wife with deception on his lips. His kiss 
 was not the less sweet to her. 
 
 "Dear," he began, putting his arm around 
 her as he walked with her towards the win- 
 dow, " I must go over to Albany tomorrow." 
 
 " Oh, Gilbert ! " 
 
 " I'm sorry," he went on quickly, looking 
 intently across the street. " I'm sorry, but I 
 have just learned that Illford is to be there. 
 He has a bill before the Legislature, and wants 
 my influence. I cannot deny him the favor." 
 
 All Tuesday forenoon he still looked for a
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 89 
 
 telegram, but in vain. At times he was indig- 
 nant, and wavered in his determination, but 
 each flash of indignation was succeeded by a 
 longing to see Estelle which there was no 
 denying, and at one o'clock he was off. 
 Louise's eyes followed him wistfully as he 
 walked down the street. " I wish I had gone 
 to Albany with him," she said to herself. " I 
 wonder why I didn't think of it in time. I 
 wonder why Gilbert didn't suggest it." 
 
 Towards night Louise was at the window 
 again, and in her reverie she could see Gilbert 
 as distinctly as she had seen him a few hours 
 before on his way to the station. " There is 
 not another man in Islington," she reflected, 
 "with such a figure, and he is handsome 
 handsomer than any other man in town. I 
 remember the day I saw him first. And it 
 was all so unexpected. Suppose I had never 
 met him ! " and she sighed deeply. 
 
 As she stood there, thinking in this wise, a 
 cab drove up to the Uptons', across the way. 
 She watched as the coachman got down from 
 his box and helped the occupant into the
 
 90 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 house. John Upton's failing was known pretty 
 generally in Islington by this time. 
 
 " Poor Mary," murmured Louise, as she 
 drew the blind, and turned on the electric 
 light. " What if I had a burden like hers to 
 carry ! " 
 
 She was startled by a sharp ring at her own 
 door bell. A moment later the maid appeared. 
 
 "A telegram for the master, Mrs. Dean," she 
 said. " It came to the office, and Mr. Clark 
 opened it, Joe says, thinking it was on busi- 
 ness. But it wasn't, so he thought he'd better 
 send it up to you, ma'am." 
 
 " Very well ; thank you, Delia." 
 
 Louise took the envelope with its jagged 
 edge showing where it had been hurriedly slit 
 with the finger. Her heart leaped wildly at 
 the first mention of a telegram, fearing it 
 might be ill news of Gilbert. But no ; there it 
 was, addressed plainly, "Gilbert Dean," and 
 she was so relieved that for an instant she 
 forgot to draw out the inclosure. Then she 
 recalled what Delia had said about its not 
 being on business.
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. g r 
 
 "In that case," she concluded, "it must 
 be something in which I am interested." 
 
 She hastily threw aside the envelope, and 
 read these words : 
 
 Will be in Albany tonight. E. O. 
 
 " E. O. " Louise repeated the letters musingly. 
 "Who can that be? Why, I can't recall 
 anybody Gilbert knows whose name begins 
 with an O. 'E. O.'?" She closed her eyes 
 for an instant as if to think the clearer, but the 
 wrinkle did not leave her brow. 
 
 " I wonder if it is very important, if I ought 
 to wire it on to him. But then he did not 
 tell me where he was going to stop." This 
 reflection came over her with a tinge of un- 
 pleasantness in it. She hated to think that 
 even for one night her husband was beyond 
 her call. 
 
 " He should have told me to what house he 
 was going." She rested her elbow on the 
 library table, on which the Albany Sunday 
 paper still lay. Mechanically she ran her 
 eye down the list of hotels, which happened 
 to be just before her. Then suddenly a name
 
 92 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 in the adjoining column caught her attention. 
 It was under the head of " Amusements," and 
 was the announcement that " Borrowed 
 Plumes " would be played in Albany Tuesday 
 night. This was Tuesday night. Her glance 
 shifted to the telegram again. " E. O." Es- 
 telle Osgood, the real name of Marie Myrwin, 
 the actress, whom Gilbert had afterwards saved 
 from the railroad wreck ! But why should 
 this woman send a telegram to him ? Louise 
 put the despatch down and pushed it away 
 from her. She gave one quick glance about 
 the room, to make sure she was alone. Her 
 thoughts were so painfully intense ; it seemed 
 as though, were any one present, he must be 
 able to read them. 
 
 Back over the intervening weeks her mind 
 hurried, to the period, only a night it was, 
 spent in that Western farmer's home. Surely 
 there had been no opportunity there for 
 Gilbert to become so well acquainted with the 
 actress. Why, she even recalled chiding him 
 for his indifference to her, he had behaved so 
 oddly when in her presence.
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 93 
 
 But suddenly light was flashed upon the 
 mystery from another quarter Miss Myrwin's 
 expression when told that it was Gilbert 
 who had taken her from the wrecked car. 
 " Did he save me? " she had exclaimed, and an 
 expression of Louise knew not what nature 
 had come into her eyes. She understood 
 now ; it was rapture, joy. What if she and 
 Gilbert had known each other before ? 
 
 And that night at the theater in Beverley ! 
 The note Gilbert had received ! He said it 
 was from a man, but now, as Louise looked 
 back upon the circumstance in the light of 
 this awful suspicion, it seemed unlikely that 
 a man would send a note merely to call a 
 friend outside. Why could he not come 
 down and make the request in person ? And 
 Gilbert had been oddly abstracted on his 
 return. Yes, and the next day on the train ! 
 
 Proof was heaping up swiftly now, much 
 too swiftly. Louise clasped both hands across 
 her eyes as if to shut out some horrible vision. 
 But this only made her see more clearly the 
 firmly welded links in the chain of evidence
 
 94 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 that was bringing her to despair. She recol- 
 lected Gilbert's restlessness after leaving Bever- 
 ley. " And she was on board the train, and he 
 told me he was going to look for a friend a 
 man. So Gilbert lied to me, and this is just 
 what he did at the theater ! " And she buried 
 her face in her hands. 
 
 " But no," she exclaimed, raising her head 
 suddenly. " No, I will not believe it. Gilbert 
 has never deceived me. There must be some 
 explanation. I will not allow myself to think 
 about it any more. It is all so foolish." 
 
 But she could think of nothing else. She 
 recalled how speedily Gilbert had returned 
 from his search in the rear of the train, 
 and then, on the plea of smoking, had gone 
 forward " into the smoking compartment," 
 he had said, but she knew now it must have 
 been into the forward coach, where this 
 woman was. 
 
 " And he is in Albany with her now!" she 
 murmured. She remembered his excuse a 
 favor for Illford. How carefully he had ex- 
 plained it all to her ! He had not been in the
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 95 
 
 habit of doing this. And she had thought 
 his doing so in the present instance was only 
 a new evidence of the depth of his regard for 
 her ! To his other sin was to be added hypo- 
 crisy. It was unbelievable that all his atten- 
 tions to her during the past few weeks, all his 
 caresses, were hollow, mere blinds to conceal 
 his defection ! 
 
 " God of mercy," she murmured, " how can 
 I bear it ? What must I do ?" 
 
 She recalled how she had discovered the 
 actress' real name seeing the initials E. O. on a 
 watch which the Pullman conductor had found 
 and brought to the farm house in search of an 
 owner. 
 
 " I am Estelle Osgood," she had explained 
 in identifying her property. "Myrwin is 
 merely my stage name." 
 
 What if this incident had never happened, 
 Louise asked herself ? Was she grateful for the 
 enlightenment it was afterwards to give her ? 
 Would ignorance be indeed bliss ? 
 
 She rose and began to pace the floor ; then, 
 fearing that Delia might pass and see her thus
 
 96 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 strangely occupied, she walked to the window, 
 and running up the shade, pressed her burning 
 forehead against the cool pane. Upon the 
 other side of the glass rain had begun to beat 
 furiously ; but if it were only this she had to 
 face, she thought, how gladly would she go 
 through it unprotected, in exchange for the 
 mental anguish that was now her portion ! 
 
 "And it was but a moment ago," she 
 reflected, as her glance rested on the house 
 across the street, "that I was pitying Mary 
 Upton, contrasting her lot with my own ! Her 
 husband at least is sensible of his weakness, 
 and makes an effort to master it. Mine oh, 
 heavens, his whole existence is a living lie !" 
 
 Her strength failed her ; she sank down on 
 a chair, misery and despair taking complete 
 possession of her. How long would it be before 
 others pitied her as she had pitied Mary 
 Upton ? People would stop talking when she 
 came into the room that they might watch her 
 unhampered ; and then, when she had passed 
 out again, how the whispered comments would 
 hurry from tongue to ear, and how each would
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 97 
 
 gaze after her compassionately, and wonder 
 how she bore it at all ! 
 
 There was a knock at the door. 
 
 " Oh ! " Louise started up with a little scream. 
 But it was only Delia, come to announce that 
 dinner was served. 
 
 Louise went down and made a brave attempt 
 to eat. The servants must not be allowed to 
 suspect that anything was wrong. But it was 
 torture to feel that they were watching her, 
 and as soon as possible she returned up stairs 
 and shut herself in the library again. Per- 
 haps she need not keep up the deception long. 
 The whole town might soon be aware of her 
 husband's baseness. 
 
 She glanced at the clock on the mantel. 
 It was nearly eight. But what difference did 
 time make to her now? What had she to 
 look forward to? Gilbert's return? Up to 
 an hour ago she had been saying to herself, 
 " This time tomorrow he will be back." Now 
 his being with her would be torture worse than 
 that she was already enduring. She would know 
 that his every look, his every word, his every
 
 98 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 movement, in so far as they related to herself, 
 were but a cruel mockery. 
 
 How should she receive him ? She must 
 outline some plan of action. The first emotion 
 of humiliation, of mortification, having spent 
 itself, anger began to obtrude. Her rights as 
 a wife had been trampled on ; she would not 
 submit meekly. She would put him on the 
 rack ; would make him account to her for 
 every second of his absence, and then, when 
 he had rolled up a record of falsehoods that 
 would rank well with those he had already 
 told her, she would place the telegram in his 
 hands, and tell him what she thought of him. 
 
 What would he say then, she wondered ? 
 What defense would he make, or would he 
 attempt none ? Suppose he threw himself upon 
 her mercy, declared that he had been weak, 
 but that now, seeing the enormity of his offense, 
 he would turn from it and be the loving hus- 
 band she had always supposed him ? Would 
 she forgive him then ? Could she ever trust 
 him again? Would there not always be a 
 suspicion in her mind? The serpent had
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 99 
 
 entered her paradise. Nothing now could be 
 as it had been ; her life was wrecked ; her 
 hopes, her ambitions, her pride all had gone 
 down beneath this blow, as some vessel might 
 be going down even now before the pitiless 
 storm that was rattling the windows and roar- 
 ing down the chimney. But she must live on, 
 nevertheless. Each day of her unhappiness 
 would contain as many hours as those that 
 went to make up her honeymoon ; but each 
 would seem thrice as long. 
 
 " And it was just after Gilbert had come 
 back from talking with that woman on the 
 train," she recollected now, with a shudder, 
 " that I told him it seemed to me our honey- 
 moon had never waned." 
 
 But she must not think of the past ; there 
 was a pang in every remembrance of it. How 
 could she be sure that Gilbert had ever really 
 loved her ? She was conscious that outwardly 
 she was not as attractive as many women. It 
 was this fact, perhaps, that caused her to value 
 her husband's affection so highly. And now 
 that affection had turned to ashes in her grasp.
 
 100 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 There was a tap at the door, and Delia ap- 
 peared with a letter the postman had just 
 brought. Louise took it listlessly. There 
 was no longer zest for her in anything. When 
 the maid had gone she walked to the mirror 
 over the mantel. She was surprised that she saw 
 so little alteration in the face that looked back 
 at her. " But it will come," she murmured, 
 " and people will talk low and say, ' Poor 
 thing, how it has changed her ! ' " 
 
 Then she glanced down at the superscrip- 
 tion on the envelope. " From Ethel," she 
 murmured. " And she is coming here to visit 
 next week. Shall I put her off?" 
 
 She returned to her chair, opened the letter 
 and began to read. Presently a little ejacula- 
 tion escaped her. " And now, my dear 
 cousin," the letter ran, " I have a great sur- 
 prise for you. I have just become engaged. 
 He is the dearest boy Malcolm Hunt. I 
 have known him a year, but I feel as if it had 
 been forever. I am sure I should not want to 
 go away just now if I was not coming to you. 
 I know you won't think me silly a bit when
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. IOI 
 
 I want to talk him all the time to you. You 
 and Cousin Gilbert have always seemed to me 
 different from other married people. It is 
 just as if you weren't married I mean, just as 
 though you kept on being lovers, the way so 
 many other people don't, after they are hus- 
 band and wife." 
 
 Louise let the sheet fall. It was agony to 
 read such words now. Her mind went back 
 over the two years of her life with Gilbert. 
 Had they been truly " lovers " all that while, 
 as Ethel said ? - c he knew that she had. And 
 he well, he had never spoken an unkind 
 word to her, and if he had not been as free 
 with his caresses as she with hers, she had set 
 this down to his less demonstrative nature. 
 
 How would they deport themselves in the 
 new life, which would begin as soon as he 
 returned ? It must differ from the old ; it 
 would be impossible for things to be as they 
 had been. Ethel would not fail to notice the 
 change. She must not be allowed to come. 
 Louise would write to her, in the morning, 
 that yes, what would she write ? She could
 
 102 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 not tell an untruth. That would be too much 
 Gilbert's way. She caught her breath quickly 
 at the comparison. But it was too true. 
 Already she was beginning to despise him. 
 
 She finished the reading of the letter, and 
 resolved to put off her decision till the morrow. 
 Gilbert would be back then ; she would talk 
 it over with him. 
 
 The keenest pang of her ordeal shot through 
 her as she realized what she was thinking. 
 She had now none to whom to go for counsel. 
 Her sole companion was her misery. She 
 went to her room and hour after hour lay 
 upon her bed, staring at the ceiling, at one 
 moment trying to realize the full extent of her 
 loneliness ; at another seeking to deceive her- 
 self into the belief that this trouble had not 
 really fallen upon her ; that it was only part 
 of some story which had made too deep an 
 impression on her mind. 
 
 The November wind took up the rain and 
 whirled it in fierce gusts against the windows. 
 Louise imagined it to be her sorrow beating 
 her down to the earth. Ah, it was cruel, to
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 103 
 
 have deceived her so ! If he had never loved 
 her, why had he come to her at all with a pretense 
 of doing so? For now that she was convinced 
 of his infatuation for Estelle, she could not 
 believe, she did not wish to believe, that he 
 had ever really cared for her ; did not want to 
 feel that she had been put aside for this woman, 
 an actress. Oh, it was too much ! It was 
 better never to have been loved ; better to 
 fancy that she had been deceived from the 
 first. There would then at least not be the 
 humiliation of believing he had grown tired 
 of her. 
 
 But there was agony, too, in this other con- 
 viction, and no help to be found anywhere ; 
 and the morrow to be dreaded, and yet longed 
 for, as there was no hope of sleep that night 
 for such as she. And so, whether wished for 
 or not, day dawned and brought no comfort to 
 this wife who had discovered truth.
 
 X. 
 
 A LTHOUGH the sky was weeping, and the 
 bare branches of the trees lent a melan- 
 choly tinge to the November landscape, there 
 was sunshine in Dean's heart as the train bore 
 him swiftly toward the city where he would 
 see Bstelle again. No disturbing thought of 
 Louise rose up to cloud his joyous anticipa- 
 tions. He had downed his conscience for the 
 present at least. There would be time enough 
 for a reckoning with it when his journey could 
 be thought of only retrospectively. 
 
 The train reached Albany at half past five, 
 and fifteen minutes later Dean was eagerly 
 poring over the register at the Mohawk. His 
 face lighted up as he discovered the name 
 " Marie Myrwin," and in another instant his 
 card was on its way to her room. 
 
 Estelle was dressing for dinner when the 
 
 boy appeared with it. She shared the room 
 104
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 105 
 
 \vitli Sophie Waters, the soubrette. Sophie 
 was out of humor because she hadn't received 
 a letter which she expected to find await- 
 ing her. Estelle was despondent. This was 
 nothing new ; but tonight she was feeling 
 more than ordinarily depressed. She was 
 thinking that she had had but the word to 
 say and the man who filled her heart would have 
 come to her, would perhaps be with her now. 
 Albany was only four hours distant from Isling- 
 ton. The company would probably never be 
 any closer to the town which now, to her eyes, 
 stood out from the map as if printed in letters 
 of a different color. 
 
 "If I had only sent the despatch sooner," 
 she was thinking, " he would have come. But 
 I knew this, and sent it purposely too late. 
 It was right for me to do so ; his wife was 
 very kind to me, but oh, heavens, so was he. 
 He saved my life, and I love him, I love 
 him!" 
 
 It was at this point the boy with the card 
 knocked. When Estelle opened the door and 
 learned who had asked for her, she could scarcely
 
 106 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 repress a little cry of joy. There was no 
 thought of denying him. " Tell him I will be 
 down at once," she told the boy. 
 
 And when they met in the quiet parlor of 
 this quiet house, there was another greeting 
 such as a husband would give a wife, and for 
 a while each forgot that the joy was a stolen 
 one ; or if they remembered, the thought 
 only added a sweeter taste to it. Then Es- 
 telle shook her finger reprovingly at Dean. 
 
 " I thought I told you that you were not to 
 see me any more," she said ; " and you 
 promised." 
 
 " But that was when I believed you were 
 going to be beyond my reach. I can't starve 
 my heart all the time. One look into your 
 eyes, one touch of your hand, are reward for 
 all that I may have to undergo to obtain 
 them." 
 
 " Then this is the last. We shall not be in 
 Albany again." 
 
 " Yes, the last, Estelle, if you will be very 
 good to me this time. So you see it depends 
 on yourself. Now will you come out to dinner
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 107 
 
 with me, and then let me take you to the 
 theater ?" 
 
 " On those conditions, yes, Gilbert." 
 
 She was soon ready, and they were out in 
 the rain soaked street. But the elements 
 counted for little with these two. For each, 
 just now, nothing existed but the other. Each 
 saw the love light in the other's eyes as they 
 sat at the table in the cozy corner of the 
 restaurant, and each resolutely put away all 
 thoughts of the morrow. When they were in 
 the cab on the way to the theater Dean said 
 suddenly, " Tell me something, Estelle. You 
 say you did not know I was married when 
 you sent for me that night in Beverley. What 
 if what if I had not been, and I had asked 
 you to be my wife, what would you have said? " 
 
 "My heart would have said yes, dear, but 
 my sense of duty no. I am no longer in the 
 circle to which once we both belonged. I am 
 a woman of the stage. It would only drag 
 you down to marry me ; it is dragging you 
 down to be with me now." 
 
 "You must not talk that way, Estelle.
 
 08 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 There is no purer being on earth than you. 
 I could do anything, be anything, that you 
 bade, and doing it, being it, be the better man, 
 for you would not demand that which was 
 not right. If I were only free " 
 
 " Don't, Gilbert ; now it is my turn to beg 
 you not to speak in that way. You are not 
 free ; your duty is to your wife, who was once 
 so kind to me, and yet from whom, Heaven 
 forgive me, I shrank, because she was that to 
 you I could never be." 
 
 Dean left Estelle at the stage door, then 
 went round to the box office and bought a 
 seat for himself close to the footlights. 
 
 During the time that Estelle was on the 
 stage, he sat there entranced. How graceful 
 were all her movements, how soft and flexible 
 her voice, and in her beauty she was peerless. 
 His heart beat fast She caught his eye and 
 smiled at him. His soul was on fire. When 
 she appeared on the stage again a little later, 
 she had a love scene with Harry Vane, and 
 Dean became horribly jealous. It seemed to 
 him that the actor held Estelle in his arms a
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 109 
 
 great deal longer than was necessary, and 
 every caress was a dagger thrust to Gilbert. 
 
 When the play was over he met Estelle and 
 took her to supper. They lingered at the table 
 till past midnight, and Dean wondered how he 
 was ever going to endure the old life to which 
 he must return the life that was a lie. 
 
 And Estelle she looked at this man who 
 she knew loved her with all his heart, whom 
 she loved more devotedly than ever since he 
 had risked his own life to save hers, and a 
 fierce rebellion took possession of her. Why 
 must she give him up? He really belonged 
 to her. No other woman could love him as 
 she loved him, and was not love like hers 
 stronger than marriage vows ? Should not 
 this attraction of heart to heart be kept sacred 
 and held in deference? It was against nature 
 that Gilbert Dean should belong to Louise 
 Dartmouth and not to Estelle Osgood. Louise 
 might love him deeply, but did he love her ? 
 No. Then there was no reciprocity, and by 
 every prompting of humanity, Estelle's claim 
 should be recognized.
 
 110 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 At least such were the wild arguments that 
 went surging through the actress' brain as she 
 began counting the minutes before they must 
 part. What if she should speak some of them 
 to Dean ? Suppose he shared her views, but 
 had hesitated about expressing himself? If 
 he offered to give up wife, home, his brilliant 
 future, all for her, would she have the strength 
 to resist, as she had told him a few hours 
 before that duty would have prompted her to 
 resist him had he asked her to be his wife 
 that night in Beverley? 
 
 For an instant she gave her imagination 
 the reins, and saw herself and Gilbert flying 
 from duty, from the right, abandoned to love, 
 with no other thought than to be happy. And 
 would they be? Ah, no. A shiver passed 
 over her. Dean noticed it. 
 
 " What is it, Estelle ?" he asked anxiously, 
 tenderly. 
 
 " I was only thinking thinking how wrong 
 it is for you to be here, how wrong in me to 
 have let you come." 
 
 " But you didn't let me come," he answered,
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. Ill 
 
 with a smile. " I came on the mere chance 
 that I would find you here. Call it chance 
 that I came." 
 
 " I can't, Gilbert. I was weak. I might 
 have telegraphed sooner and told you well, 
 told you we were not to play here. A written 
 lie would have been better than the acted one 
 you have been living tonight." 
 
 " Telegraphed sooner, Estelle ! " he replied. 
 " What did you mean by that ? You did not 
 telegraph at all." 
 
 " Ah, but I did ; sent the message when I 
 knew it would be too late for you to catch the 
 train to bring you here." 
 
 A wrinkle creased Dean's forehead. 
 
 "You did telegraph me, Estelle?" he ex- 
 claimed. " For heaven's sake, what did you 
 say in the message?" 
 
 "Why, Gilbert, did I do anything wrong? 
 You asked me to wire you when we were to 
 play in Albany." 
 
 " But I did not suppose any such message 
 would come after I had left. Quick, what 
 did you say?"
 
 112 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 " Let me think. Oh, my dear, I hope I 
 have not been the means of bringing trouble 
 to you ! " 
 
 " No, it is probably all right." Dean caught 
 his breath quickly between each word. " Only 
 tell me just what you said, if you can re- 
 member." 
 
 " I think it was this : ' Will be in Albany 
 tonight.' " 
 
 "And what did you sign it? " 
 
 Dean leaned forward eagerly for the answer. 
 
 "Why, just simply ' E. O.' But you look 
 very serious. Was it wrong ? You told me 
 to telegraph, you know." 
 
 " You sent it to the office, did you not ? " 
 said Dean, his hand trembling slightly. 
 
 " Yes ; just where I have addressed the let- 
 ters," Estelle replied. "Tell me, do you think 
 any harm has come of it? If there has " 
 
 "Don't worry, Estelle." But his face was 
 a shade whiter. "It is probably all right. 
 You did just as I told you, any way. Do not 
 let us spoil our last few minutes together by 
 being anxious over mere possibilities."
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 113 
 
 But the shadow did not lift from Estelle's 
 face. As they walked back to the hotel for 
 the rain had ceased at midnight she kept 
 continually reverting to the matter. " I knew 
 I was right, Gilbert," she said, " when I told 
 you that day on the train that you ought not 
 to see me again. It means danger for both of 
 us. You will let me know, dear, will you not, 
 whether whether any evil has befallen by 
 reason of that despatch ?" 
 
 " Surely I will, little one. Don't forget to 
 give me your route before I leave you." 
 
 "Only till Friday; that will be long 
 enough for news of today to reach me. After 
 that you must not write again." 
 
 Dean did not plead ; he knew that Estelle 
 would relent. 
 
 " Tell me that you love me, dear," he said 
 instead; " that you will think of me every day, 
 and won't forget your promise to let me know 
 if you are in trouble." 
 
 They were near the hotel now. There was 
 no one else in the street. She looked up into 
 his face in the starlight.
 
 114 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 " I do love you with all my heart, Gilbert ; 
 love you too well to permit any harm to come 
 to you through me." 
 
 " And by one foolish act I put myself be- 
 yond such love. Oh, Heaven be kind to me ! " 
 The words were uttered with a dramatic effect 
 liner than anything Estelle had ever played 
 to on the stage. The pathos of it swept away 
 all reserve. She put out her hands to him. 
 He drew her into his arms, and the kiss she 
 gave him was as manna to his starving soul. 
 
 " Why must I not see her again ? " he asked 
 himself after he had gone to his room. " If 
 that telegram has betrayed me, I might as well 
 be betrayed for much as for little." 
 
 The company were to play in Newark the 
 next day, and before he slept Dean wrote this 
 note to Estelle : 
 
 I shall take breakfast with you at eight. I have de- 
 cided to accompany you as far as Poughkeepsie. I can 
 then just make the connections that will get me back in 
 Islington by nine in the evening. 
 
 Estelle rebuked him with her lips when he 
 met her the next morning, but there was joy 
 in her eyes. He took a chair next to hers in
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 115 
 
 the drawing room car, and once more they 
 talked of the old days in Lakefield, and the 
 morning flew by on the wings of love. Once 
 Dean heard a little girl across the aisle whis- 
 per, " Mama, don't you think they are bride 
 and groom ? " He smiled when he repeated 
 this to Estelle, but she looked grave as she 
 replied : 
 
 " What if she knew the truth ? " 
 
 When Dean left her at Poughkeepsie, he 
 stood on the platform of the station and watched 
 a fluttering handkerchief at one of the car 
 windows of the New York train till she who 
 held it was carried beyond his vision. Then 
 he heaved a great sigh, and turned his face 
 back towards Islington.
 
 XI. 
 
 TF the night had seemed long to Louise, 
 the day succeeding it appeared endless. 
 And yet, when she thought of what the future 
 might have in store, she felt that she ought 
 to cling covetously to every minute of the 
 present, fraught with anguish as it was. The 
 sun shone brilliantly after the storm, and the 
 flood of light that poured in at the windows 
 was such a mockery of the gloom that en- 
 shrouded her soul that she wished the rain 
 might have continued. 
 
 She had an engagement at eleven to go to 
 the hospital and read for an hour to a patient 
 whom her circle of King's Daughters had 
 taken in charge. It was a woman whose husband 
 had left her, and who was dying of a broken 
 heart. Louise pictured her own friends talk- 
 ing afterwards of how it must have tried her 
 
 soul to minister to one whose trouble was so 
 116
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 117 
 
 closely akin to her own. She did not see how 
 she could go today, but she knew it was her 
 duty ; and only duty was left to her now. 
 
 When afternoon came she shut herself in 
 her room on the pretense of sleeping, but really 
 to think, to plan. Should she tell Gilbert of 
 her discovery ? She carried that telegram in 
 the bosom of her gown. Yes, she must tell 
 him of it. The message belonged to him ; 
 she had no right to keep it after he arrived. 
 
 Suppose he should admit his guilt, what 
 must then be her course? Her inclination 
 would be to go away somewhere, where she 
 would never see him again, never hear his 
 name ; but that would be equivalent to pub- 
 lishing his disgrace to the world, providing it 
 were not known already. 
 
 What if this were the case, and she were the 
 last instead of the first to know of her hus- 
 band's defection? Could this possibly be 
 that she had been pitied and talked about, and 
 blamed, perhaps ? But whether this were so 
 or not, where could she go? She was now 
 living in the home that had been hers from a
 
 118 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 child. Her parents were both dead. She re- 
 membered how people said, when her father 
 died, what a fortunate thing it was she had 
 married such a sterling fellow as Gilbert 
 Dean, who could take Mr. Dartmouth's place 
 in everything that went to the management of 
 the great business and the making of the lux- 
 urious home. 
 
 There was Uncle John Peterson, who lived 
 on a farm over in Vermont. She would see 
 no one if she went there, and he was true as 
 steel, and would care for her devotedly. But 
 what would life be worth to a woman of her 
 tastes and aspirations, buried away from all 
 culture and social contact with the busy world 
 of thought and action ? 
 
 No, she would not submit to being driven 
 out from that which was really her own. If 
 any one was to go, it must be he, who had 
 brought this shadow upon her life. She had 
 done no wrong ; he was guilty, and must suffer. 
 And it was in this mood that she passed the day. 
 
 While she was at dinner a telegram came 
 from Dean, dated in Albany, saying he would
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 1 19 
 
 be home at nine. Louise checked the sensa- 
 tion of joy that possessed her at the thought of 
 soon seeing him again. " He is not worthy of 
 my respect even," she told herself. " Why 
 must I give him my love ? He has made me 
 suffer. Now it will be his turn." 
 
 As nine o'clock drew near, a feverish excite- 
 ment began to possess her. She felt her cheeks 
 to be burning. She tried to arrange in her 
 mind just the order in which she would con- 
 vict him out of his own mouth. She would 
 not spare. Why should she? He had not 
 spared her. That he meant to keep her in 
 ignorance of his offense against her, counted 
 for nothing. How two faced he had been ! 
 What a hypocrite he was ! No wonder he had 
 risked his life to rescue this woman, this act- 
 ress ! And she, Louise, had called him brave 
 for doing it, and had tenderly cared for the 
 woman, held her in her arms, stroked the hair 
 back from her temples, watched beside her 
 bed ! Oh, it was monstrous that such things 
 could be ; it was a miracle that Gilbert could 
 look her in the face, could take
 
 120 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 Ah, there was his key in the lock now ! Her 
 first impulse was not to go to meet him, as she 
 ordinarily did. But that would awaken sus- 
 picion. She did not wish to do this ; she must 
 show more diplomacy. She would convince 
 him that there were actresses as clever as those 
 who trod the boards of the theater. Then she 
 hurried out into the hall and flung her arms 
 about his neck with all her old time fervor. 
 She wondered a little that she did not shrink 
 from the contact, but she was watching herself 
 closely. 
 
 " Did you get my telegram ?" he asked, as, 
 with his arm about her waist, he returned with 
 her to the library, where his easy chair was ready 
 for him in front of the burning logs in the grate. 
 
 "Yes, while I was at dinner. It was so 
 thoughtful of you to wire me. But then, that 
 is just like you, Gilbert ; always thinking to 
 do little things that will please me." She 
 watched to note if he would flinch on hearing 
 this, but not a muscle quivered ; at least not 
 so long as she dared look. She found that 
 she could not entirely trust herself yet.
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 121 
 
 He sank into his chair with a sigh of con- 
 tent. " How good it is to be at home again," 
 he murmured ; and putting out his hand, he 
 drew her to a favorite seat on an ottoman 
 beside him, where she could rest both arms 
 across his knee and look up into his face. 
 
 "You have missed me, then, Gilbert?" she 
 asked softly. 
 
 " Of course I have missed you, little one. 
 You want me to tell you how often your face 
 kept coming between me and those prosy 
 legislators I was trying to move in Illford's 
 behalf ? " He bent down and kissed her again. 
 
 "And did you succeed? Do you think 
 you will get the bill through?" She could 
 scarcely steady her voice sufficiently to 
 frame the words. She was thinking of the 
 traitorous embrace she had just received ; of the 
 awful string of falsehoods she had now opened 
 the way for him to tell. 
 
 " I think we shall," he replied, without an 
 instant's hesitation. "I put in some good 
 work this morning. I couldn't do as much as 
 I expected last night."
 
 122 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 " What did you do with yourself last even- 
 ing, then ? Didn't it rain in Albany. 
 
 " Yes, poured. Illford and I sat in the lobby 
 of the hotel, smoking and swapping stories of 
 frontier life. You know he was in the army 
 once ; was quartered at Fort Niobrara. He 
 was quite surprised to hear that I had been for 
 six months on a Texan ranch. Do you re- 
 member what a cowboy guy I was when you 
 first saw me there, Louise ? " 
 
 "You were never a guy in my eyes, Gil- 
 bert," she replied quickly. She forgot, for the 
 instant, the hated task she had set herself. 
 She was transported in memory back to that 
 night when her heart told her that her eyes 
 were looking upon a man she could easily 
 love. But it was only an instant's lapse ; 
 sweeping over her again came the conscious- 
 ness of the full perfidy of her husband, who 
 could so easily pile untruth upon untruth. 
 She must test him still further, and then 
 reveal what she knew. 
 
 She reached out one hand and took that 
 Sunday paper from the table.
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 123 
 
 " So you stayed at the hotel all the even- 
 ing," she went on, glancing with apparent 
 carelessness up and down the columns. " I 
 rather thought you might go to the theater." 
 
 "To the theater?" he replied, in well af- 
 fected surprise. " Why, my dear, you know 
 that you care more for that sort of thing than 
 I do." 
 
 " But I thought the attraction in this in- 
 stance," she went on, with a tinge of sarcasm, 
 " would be too strong for you to resist. The 
 ' Borrowed Plumes ' company was playing in 
 Albany last night. Surely you have not for- 
 gotten Estelle Osgood ? " She held the paper 
 up for him to see, with her finger on the 
 announcement. But her eyes were fixed on 
 his face. 
 
 There was only surprise in his. " Why, is 
 that so ? " he exclaimed, taking the paper. " It 
 is too bad I did not know of it. I might have 
 taken Illford. I could have told him the 
 story of that experience of ours with the lead- 
 ing woman, and he would have been doubly 
 interested."
 
 124 TH E AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 Louise's lip was trembling by this time. 
 What an accomplished liar her husband was ! 
 She inserted one hand in her corsage and drew 
 out the telegram. " If this had not come too 
 late," she said, rising as she passed it over to 
 him, " you would have had no excuse for not 
 knowing." 
 
 She stepped back to the mantelpiece, rested 
 one elbow upon it, and watched him as he 
 read the despatch. It seemed but an instant 
 that he glanced at it, then he had crushed it 
 together in his hand, and had come over to 
 stand in front of her. 
 
 " What do you mean, Louise ? " he asked. 
 There was no terror in his tones, no sign of 
 nervousness even. " What has this telegram 
 to do with Miss Osgood ? " 
 
 " Everything, as it is from her. No, don't 
 speak. You already have enough to answer 
 for, and now that I have found you out, you 
 need no longer wear the mask. So you went 
 to Albany to oblige Mr. Illford, and stayed 
 with him at the hotel all the evening, smok- 
 ing and telling stories ! And I I was sitting
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 125 
 
 here alone with that message before me, its 
 every word burning into my soul the convic- 
 tion of your treachery. I would not believe it 
 at first, but with the proof in my hand, oh, 
 merciful Heaven, what else could I do ? " 
 
 She felt that her voice was breaking ; that 
 tears of anguish were forcing themselves to 
 her eyes, which she had hoped, instead, to 
 make blaze with indignation. She turned 
 away and bowed her head upon the mantel. 
 She figured herself remembering this culmi- 
 nating moment in her life's history to her 
 dying day : the moment when Gilbert knew 
 that she knew his deception. 
 
 " And on such slight evidence as this you 
 believe so much ill of me." He was speaking 
 softly into her ear; she could just feel his arm 
 as he passed it lightly around her. 
 
 She faced him quickly. " Prove that I was 
 wrong," she entreated. "But you cannot, you 
 cannot. Those were her initials ; you knew 
 her before that accident, I am sure you did ; 
 and you went to Albany expressly to meet her. 
 How could you so deceive me?"
 
 126 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 " You have jumped at conclusions, woman 
 like, Louise." Dean's voice was as firm as it 
 had ever been in his life. It was one of the 
 times when it had to be firm. " Listen : this 
 message is from Illford. He told me he had 
 sent it, thinking he had not made it quite 
 plain in his letter just when he would be in 
 Albany, as he had two dates under consider- 
 ation." 
 
 " But how could it be from Mr. Illford ? " 
 Louise interposed. " His initials are not E. O." 
 
 " No, but they are E. I. Eugene Illford. 
 The mistake is easily accounted for. In te- 
 legraphy two dots stand for both letters, but 
 there is a little longer space between them in 
 the O than in the I. The operator simply did 
 not pay close enough attention, and got them 
 mixed. Why, my dear little girl, you don't 
 know how it pains me to have you think such 
 monstrous things of me. Besides, consider 
 how absurd your supposition was. When did 
 this telegram arrive ? " 
 
 " It was sent up here from the office about 
 half past five yesterday afternoon."
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 127 
 
 " Well, then, granting it was from Miss 
 Osgood, of what use would it have been to 
 me, as I could not possibly get to Albany that 
 night, and the company, as you can see for 
 yourself by the paper, play there for that date 
 only." 
 
 " But the same reason would show that 
 the despatch was not sent by Mr. Illford," 
 Louise responded. 
 
 " With this difference," Dean answered at 
 once ; " that he expected to stop over today as 
 he did, and only sent this message as an extra 
 measure of precaution, to insure my being 
 there some time during his stay. Are you 
 satisfied now, little one?" 
 
 Louise threw her head back and looked up 
 into his face. How she longed to believe him, 
 to trust him ! And why should she not ? Was 
 not his story a reasonable one? As she 
 regarded it now, with this new light cast upon 
 it, the light of love, how flimsy a structure 
 seemed that fabric of deceit she had brought 
 herself to look upon as her husband's work ! 
 Placed beneath the rays of this powerful illumi-
 
 128 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 nant, even that episode in the farm house 
 dwindled into insignificance. There were a 
 hundred ways of accounting for that woman's 
 strange words on being told who had been her 
 rescuer other than the one her suspicions had 
 caused her to hit upon. And as for the inci- 
 dent in the theater at Beverley, and on the 
 train, why, the sting she had found in these 
 was altogether of her own making. Was not 
 she the unworthy one? Their eyes met ; 
 his did not waver. " Gilbert, my husband, 
 forgive me!" she cried, throwing her arms 
 about his neck. 
 
 She clung there, weeping convulsively. 
 How cruelly she had wronged him ! She did 
 not deserve such generous treatment at his 
 hands. 
 
 " I am not worthy of you, Gilbert," she 
 sobbed. 
 
 Louise was radiantly happy now, so happy, 
 indeed, that presently she began to make light 
 of her misery. 
 
 " Why, I even envied poor Mrs. Upton," she 
 said. " And I was wondering where I should
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 129 
 
 go if it came to my leaving you. But it was 
 very lucky the occasion didn't arise, because 
 I knew I should be miserable in any place 
 without you. And once I actually caught 
 myself planning to wait and ask your advice. 
 Fancy that, when I imagined that you had 
 gone off and left me ! Wasn't it absurd ? " 
 And Louise laughed, and Dean laughed with 
 her, and then she became almost hysterical as 
 she recalled how confidently she had expected 
 never to see his lips part in a smile for her 
 again. 
 
 "This is the happiest day of my life, 
 dear," she said to him as they went up stairs 
 together. 
 
 " And of mine," he whispered back. And 
 he wondered why a bolt from heaven did not 
 strike him dead for the lie ; and when Louise 
 had gone to her dressing room he stood for a 
 moment at the window, looking up at the stars, 
 and doubting if they shone down on a more 
 wretched man in all the world.
 
 XII. 
 
 '"PHE days following Gilbert's return from 
 Albany were joyous ones to Louise. 
 Despising herself for her unjust suspicions, she 
 was constantly discovering new evidences of 
 her husband's affection. For Dean was care- 
 ful now to be liberal in bestowing these. But 
 in spite of that one night's contrition, his 
 heart was still in Estelle's keeping. He had 
 written to her the next morning, telling her 
 not to distress herself about that telegram, for 
 no harm had resulted. And she had replied, 
 and thus the correspondence went on as briskly 
 as before. 
 
 These letters from Dean were Estelle's 
 most valued treasures. She looked upon them 
 as the last link connecting her with the old 
 life, that life where women were always re- 
 spected, and no coarseness of speech was ever 
 suffered to come within their hearing. Her 
 130
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 131 
 
 present environment had been sufficiently irk- 
 some before that night when the company 
 played in Beverley. But then she had only 
 become weary of it at times ; now it was con- 
 tinually hateful to her. Yet she saw no 
 escape ; she was absolutely dependent on her 
 salary, every penny of which must be carefully 
 guarded lest she might not have enough to 
 carry her through the long summer vacation. 
 Relatives she had none, except those that were 
 poorer than herself, and they had cast her off 
 since she had gone on the stage. 
 
 Her present companions were friendly 
 enough ; too friendly at times. Harry Vane's 
 attentions were odious to her. He had a wife 
 traveling with another company. Estelle's 
 soul sickened within her when she was driven 
 to remind him of this fact, and he replied, 
 " Well, my dear, I accord her the privilege of 
 consoling herself as I am trying to do." 
 
 Contrasted with men such as these, Gilbert 
 Dean seemed godlike, weak as Estelle recog- 
 nized him to be. But then that weakness was 
 betrayed only in yielding to his regard for
 
 132 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 her ; and a woman can easily forgive such a 
 failing in a man. His love, hopeless as she 
 knew it to be, was the one thing that now made 
 life worth living. It would be like stilling 
 her very heart beats to put it out of her soul, 
 and so she did not try. Although the thought 
 was never formulated into an expectation, she 
 knew that some time, somewhere, and soon, 
 she would see Dean again. And Dean shared 
 this hope or rather not hope ; with him it 
 was an intention. 
 
 So the winter passed, and when spring came 
 Estelle wrote that early in May the company 
 were to play a one night stand in Islington. 
 The local opera house had been renovated, 
 and had been offered on such favorable terms 
 to manager Roberts, that he had decided to 
 cancel one date in Syracuse. Dean scarcely 
 knew whether he was more rejoiced or dis- 
 turbed to receive these tidings. To know 
 that Estelle would be in the same town, and 
 to be unable to be with her, would be unen- 
 durable ; and yet, here, at home, how could 
 he manage it without betraying himself ? But
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 133 
 
 that he would manage it by some means, at 
 whatever risk, he knew perfectly well. 
 
 As the day drew near, a feverish impatience 
 seized him ; and then, on the very morning 
 when the " Borrowed Plumes " posters were 
 put up in town, Illford appeared. Dean was 
 out when he called at the office, but he found 
 his card on his return, " Sorry to miss you. 
 Will be busy the rest of the day, but will drop 
 in on you at your home tonight." 
 
 Dean stood staring at the bit of pasteboard 
 as though it were endowed with the ability 
 to inflict bodily injury on him. What should 
 he do ? Louise must not meet this man. Oh, 
 of course there was no likelihood that she 
 would. How absurd to be so fearful ! A smile, 
 but a faint one, curled the corner of his mus- 
 tache, as he crushed the card together and 
 dropped it into his overcoat pocket. It was 
 not necessary that Louise should meet his 
 business friends who called at the house to see 
 him, although, to be sure she often did. It 
 would be safer to send Illford word not to 
 come ; to say that he would not be at home.
 
 134 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 But Dean did not know where to send the 
 message. There was positively no way of com- 
 municating with the man. 
 
 " Then I must take Louise and go out some- 
 where tonight," Dean decided, and he began 
 to cast about in his mind for a place to go. 
 And as he thought, he grew calmer. He 
 remembered how skilfully he had extricated 
 himself from the telegram dilemma ; surely 
 his wits would not fail him now. 
 
 " Louise," he said, when he went home that 
 night, " don't you want to go around with me 
 to the Nevilles' this evening ? " And she, 
 delighted to go anywhere with her husband, 
 gladly acquiesced. 
 
 "Let us start early, dear," he added, "so 
 that we can come home in good time." He 
 was fearful least Illford might call before they 
 got off. 
 
 He had his hat on, and was holding the 
 front door open for his wife to pass out, when 
 she exclaimed, " Oh, Gilbert, I snatched up 
 my gloves so hastily that they are both for the 
 same hand. Please go get the right one for me."
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 135 
 
 " How very stupid," he muttered, as he 
 hurried off to do her bidding. 
 
 Louise looked after him wonderingly. It 
 was not like Gilbert to talk in this way. 
 There was a step on the graveled driveway. 
 An instant later a figure appeared at the door. 
 
 " Is Mr. Dean at home ? " the newcomer 
 asked. 
 
 It was a man whom Louise did not know 
 a gentleman, she saw at a glance. 
 
 " Yes," she replied. " That is, we were just 
 going out. Won't you walk in ? My husband 
 will be down stairs in a moment." 
 
 " He had a previous engagement, then. I 
 am sorry, but I will wait and speak to him." 
 
 " Oh, no, it was no regular engagement," 
 Louise returned pleasantly. " We were merely 
 going out to call on some friends. Gilbert 
 Mr. Dean suggested it while we were at 
 dinner." 
 
 " Then he could not have received my card 
 but here he is, to speak for himself," and Ill- 
 ford walked toward the stairway, meeting 
 Dean at the foot of it.
 
 136 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 "Why, my dear fellow," the master of the 
 house exclaimed, " this is a surprise. When 
 did you arrive in town ? " 
 
 " This morning. I dropped in on you at 
 your office, but you were out, so I scribbled a 
 message on a card and left it on your desk. 
 Did you not see it ? " 
 
 " Not a sign of it. Must have blown out of 
 the window ; things sometimes do. What did 
 you say on it ? But come on up to the library, 
 and we'll have a smoke. Louise, you will ex- 
 cuse me, I know." 
 
 " Certainly, my dear." She had come to 
 the stairway, expecting that her husband 
 would introduce his friend, but he made no 
 motion to do so, and the two went off up stairs 
 together. 
 
 Louise strolled into the drawing room, and 
 with her wraps still about her sat there for 
 some time, thoughtfully turning her wedding 
 ring round and round upon her finger. There 
 had been something strange about Gilbert 
 ever since he came home tonight. She re- 
 called now that he had been unwontedly silent
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 137 
 
 at the table until he had suddenly proposed 
 making this call on the Nevilles, which was 
 in itself an odd thing for him to do. Then 
 he had hurried her off, was cross because she 
 had brought the wrong glove, and now he had 
 been almost rude in not introducing her. He 
 must have heard her talking with his caller 
 as he came down stairs. 
 
 " I think I will give him a little scolding," 
 she decided, " after his friend has gone. If it 
 is a business worry, he ought not to bring it 
 home with him, or else he should tell me all 
 about it, and let me help him bear it." 
 
 She rose, and started to go up to her own 
 room, to lay aside her things. In crossing the 
 hall her glance chanced to fall on something 
 white lying on the floor just outside the coat 
 closet. She could hear a low murmur of 
 voices in the library up stairs. Gilbert must 
 have closed the door, for no odor of cigar 
 smoke came down to her. She stooped to pick 
 up the crumpled card and toss it into the waste 
 paper basket, when penciled writing on it 
 caught her eye.
 
 138 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 " It is something Gilbert has dropped from 
 his overcoat pocket in taking out his gloves," 
 she thought. 
 
 She smoothed out the bit of pasteboard, and 
 read these words : " Sorry to miss you. Will 
 be busy the rest of the day, but will call on 
 you at your house tonight." 
 
 Louise quickly turned the card, and saw the 
 name 
 
 EUGENE 
 
 She was not prepared for this. She put out 
 her hand as if to clutch the empty air for 
 support, and then sank weakly into the little 
 cushioned recess that made a cozy seat by the 
 fireplace. In swift panorama all her hus- 
 band's strange actions of the evening mar- 
 shaled themselves before her mental vision. 
 Each one pointed to the same conclusion : he 
 did not wish her to see this man, the man to 
 meet whom he had told her he had gone to 
 Albany last fall. 
 
 And that woman, that actress, was coming
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 139 
 
 to Islington. Louise recalled noticing the 
 posters of the play around the streets that very 
 afternoon. This man Illford doubtless knew 
 just what Gilbert had done on that trip to 
 Albany. Merciful heavens, must that fearful 
 chapter in her wifehood be lived over again ? 
 Had her husband added a new series of hypoc- 
 risies to his yet deeper crime, and were all the 
 tokens of affections he had lavished upon 
 her since that memorable November night, but 
 so many blinds to cover up his perfidy ? 
 
 The first sharp pang passed, Louise began 
 to shape her course of action. She could do 
 this with more coolness than on that previous 
 occasion. Then, the horror of it all was too 
 fresh to permit her to think with any degree 
 of coolness. Now, although her heart was bleed- 
 ing, she compelled her head to assume control. 
 
 Retaining the card, she went up to her own 
 room, and sat there, with her wraps on, till 
 she heard her husband's visitor depart. Then 
 she came out and met Gilbert on the stairs. 
 " Is it too late to go to the Nevilles' now, my 
 dear ? " she asked.
 
 140 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 She noted that Gilbert was nervous; she 
 could detect that he was watching her, seeking 
 to try to inform himself whether any suspicion 
 had been awakened in her mind. 
 
 " Yes, I am afraid it is too late, my love," 
 he answered her, looking at his watch. "That 
 bore of a Brooks would stay on. He is always 
 making his appearance at the wrong times, 
 and never going at the right ones." 
 
 Louise's heart had given a quick bound 
 when Gilbert mentioned his friend as Brooks. 
 Perhaps she was mistaken after all, and that 
 card of Illford's had no connection with the 
 man who had called. But she would keep it 
 and find out, if she had to go down to the 
 office and question the clerks as to the appear- 
 ance of the man who had left it 
 
 " I thought it a little odd you didn't intro- 
 duce him, Gilbert," was all she said now. 
 " You must have heard me talking to him." 
 
 " He is not the man I would want my wife 
 to know, Louise," was Dean's reply. She was 
 looking steadily at him, and noted the telltale 
 flush that dyed his cheeks.
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 141 
 
 Before they retired that night, Gilbert 
 announced that he must breakfast early and 
 drive on business to Raymond Falls. 
 
 " Perhaps I will show him that card to- 
 night," Louise said to herself the next morn- 
 ing, as she stood on the piazza for a moment 
 after she had bidden him good by. 
 
 At this instant a figure turned in at the gate- 
 way, and Louise beheld the caller of the night 
 previous advancing up the drive. Her heart 
 began to beat faster as she reaHzed the oppor- 
 tunity for undisturbed investigation that was 
 now presented to her. She moved toward the 
 steps to meet this early morning visitor. 
 
 He raised his hat as he came up. " Is Mr. 
 Dean at home ? " he asked. 
 
 " No," answered Louise. " My husband 
 has just started on a drive to Raymond Falls." 
 
 " I am sorry to miss him. I thought I would 
 catch him before he went to his office." 
 
 u You can find him there later in the day. 
 He will be back by ten." 
 
 " But I leave town on the eight thirty train. 
 I am Mr. Illford."
 
 142 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 " Oh ! " The exclamation uttered by Louise 
 was almost a gasp. 
 
 " I wished to see Mr. Dean for a few minutes 
 about a matter I forgot to speak of last night." 
 
 Louise was greatly excited, but she exerted 
 all her self control and remained outwardly 
 calm. " Won't you walk up and take a seat, 
 Mr. Illford ? " she said. " It is not yet time 
 for your train." 
 
 " Thank you ; " and he followed her to a 
 shaded corner of the piazza. 
 
 " Perhaps you would like to leave a mes- 
 sage with me," she added, as they seated them- 
 selves. " I have often heard my husband 
 speak of you, Mr. Illford." 
 
 u yes?" 
 
 " It was you he went to meet in Albany last 
 November, I believe one of the very few trips 
 he has ever taken without me." 
 
 " Meet me in Albany ? " exclaimed Illford, 
 in perplexity. 
 
 " Why, yes ; don't you remember the occa- 
 sion? It had something to do with a bill of 
 yours before the Legislature."
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 143 
 
 " A bill of mine before the Legislature ? " 
 Illford repeated, still puzzled. 
 
 " Perhaps it wasn't called a bill, then." 
 Louise forced a little laugh. " You know we 
 women are always stupid where anything con- 
 nected with politics is concerned, except when 
 we are strong minded. At any rate, you and 
 he were there together, on some affair of im- 
 portance." 
 
 " But really you mystify me, Mrs. Dean. 
 I have never had anything to do with legis- 
 lative business, and I have not been to Albany 
 in two years. You must be confusing me with 
 some other friend of your husband." 
 
 " Possibly I am." Louise wondered how 
 she possessed the strength to frame the words. 
 The world appeared to be reeling away from 
 her. Her worst suspicions were confirmed. 
 Gilbert had lied to her. But she must not 
 give way now. " You said something about 
 a message," she went on, oblivious of the fact 
 that it was she herself who had spoken of 
 this. " Won't you leave it with me ? That is, if 
 it is not of too abstruse a business character."
 
 144 TH E AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 Illford thought he had never seen a sadder 
 smile on a human face. He recalled this fact 
 vividly afterwards. 
 
 " Oh, I need not trouble you with one, Mrs. 
 Dean," he replied. " I can write after I reach 
 home. And now I must be going, or I shall 
 miss my train. Good morning. Say to Mr. 
 Dean that I am very sorry I missed him." 
 
 Louise rose as her caller passed her on his 
 way to the steps. She placed one hand firmly 
 against a pillar of the porch, and leaned 
 heavily against it. 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. Illford," she forced 
 herself to say. " I will tell my husband you 
 were here." Then, as her caller's back was 
 turned, she set her lips tightly together, and a 
 firm resolve entered her soul.
 
 XIII. 
 
 TT was late in the afternoon of the same 
 day. The Dean carriage stood before the 
 gate, and, card case in hand, Louise came 
 forth and entered it. " Drive down to the 
 Tremley House, David," she said to the 
 coachman. 
 
 The faithful old Scotchman was rather sur- 
 prised at this order. His mistress was not in 
 the habit of calling at this hotel, the principal 
 one in the town though it was. He was more 
 amazed than ever, however, when, after a brief 
 halt at the Tremley, Mrs. Dean returned to 
 the carriage with the order, " Drive around to 
 the Forest King." 
 
 This was the other hotel in the town, of not 
 quite such high standing as the Tremley, 
 much frequented by commercial travelers, and 
 the few theatrical companies that took in 
 Islington on their routes. 
 145
 
 146 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 " The missus must be on a quare charity 
 errand this day, and no mistake," David solilo- 
 quized, as he drew up before the ladies' en- 
 trance to the rather dingy hostelry with the 
 pretentious name. 
 
 There was no attendant at the side door, and 
 Louise was obliged to wait until the clerk in 
 the office caught a glimpse of her, and sent a 
 shambling bell boy to learn her wishes. 
 
 " Is Miss Myrwin stopping here ? " 
 
 " Do you mean the actress lady ?" asked the 
 bell boy. 
 
 " Yes," said Louise. " Will you take up this 
 card to her?" 
 
 The boy took the card and went off with it. 
 Louise found the door of the reception room, 
 and sank down on the sofa. But her lips were 
 firmly set still ; she had made up her mind to 
 accomplish a certain purpose, and was deter- 
 mined not to flinch because it might be dis- 
 agreeable to carry out. "If she is not in I 
 will come again," she told herself. 
 
 But Estelle was in. The boy came back in 
 the course of a few minutes with word that the
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 147 
 
 caller was to walk up to the parlor on the next 
 floor. Louise wondered, as she took her way 
 thither, whether the boy would tell the clerk 
 who she was, and thus start bar room comment 
 on the strangeness of her visit. 
 
 Estelle appeared in the doorway of the 
 dingy drawing room a few minutes after she 
 herself had arrived there. " Why, Mrs. Dean," 
 she exclaimed, " how good of you to come ! " 
 
 It was with an effort that Louise took the 
 hand held out to her. It lay as a piece of ice 
 in her own hand, but the actress' cheeks were 
 flaming. 
 
 " I wanted to know how you were," 
 Louise replied. " I shall not soon forgot the 
 day we passed together in that Nebraska far- 
 mer's home." 
 
 " When you were so very, very kind to 
 me." Estelle dropped her eyes from her 
 caller's persistent gaze as she murmured the 
 words. 
 
 " Have you entirely recovered from the 
 shock of the accident?" Louise went on, ask- 
 ing herself if the interview could possibly be
 
 148 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 inflicting as much torture on this other woman 
 as it was on herself. 
 
 " Oh, yes, indeed ; long, long ago. You 
 were such a capital nurse, Mrs. Dean. I wish 
 that I might repay you in some way for what 
 you did for me, an utter stranger." 
 
 " I could not have done less, Miss Osgood." 
 Estelle instinctively shrank away a little at the 
 coldness of this response. " You were within 
 a few hours of us in the fall, I believe," Louise 
 continued after an instant. 
 
 " We played one night in Albany," Estelle 
 answered in a very low tone. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Dean was in Albany that same 
 night. " There was something in Louise's voice 
 that sent a thrill to Estelle's soul. How much 
 did Gilbert's wife know, she asked herself ? A 
 deadly fear took possession of her. She had 
 foreboded ill when she learned who had called. 
 Now she felt that the supreme moment had 
 come. The eyes of this woman were fixed on 
 her face as though they would read her 
 through and through. 
 
 " Did you not see him ? " Estelle heard this
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 149 
 
 question as in a dream. How should she an- 
 swer ? She recalled Gilbert's reassuring letter ; 
 that it was all right about that telegram ; that 
 she need not worry. 
 
 " Yes," she admitted waveringly. 
 
 " You are franker than my husband," re- 
 joined Louise, in a voice of steel. " He did not 
 mention the fact to me." 
 
 The agony that was now depicted on Es- 
 telle's face would have been pitiful to a less 
 merciless observer. She knew not what to 
 say ; it seemed to her as if the end of all things 
 had come. 
 
 " Perhaps, then, you can tell me " Louise 
 
 started to continue, when the bell boy entered 
 the room. 
 
 "A gentleman to see you, Miss Myrwin," 
 he said, and he handed Estelle a card. 
 
 Louise was white. She knew intuitively 
 that it was her husband's card, and now, as 
 Estelle took it from the salver, she was sure 
 of it, from its peculiar shape. 
 
 An expression of consternation came into 
 the eyes of the actress. " Tell him," she
 
 150 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 stammered, and then paused, her confusion 
 overwhelming her. "Tell him," she began 
 again " tell him I cannot see him." 
 
 "Tell him she will see him," interposed 
 Louise, in commanding tones. 
 
 The earnestness of her words compelled the 
 boy to obey. Estelle raised her hand in pro- 
 test, and called hysterically after him ; but 
 once safely out of the room he had no thought 
 of returning. 
 
 " The presence of his wife should not deprive 
 Mr. Dean of the pleasure of seeing you," said 
 Louise, in contemptuous irony. Her words 
 cut deep, but Kstelle made no reply. She was 
 dazed. What would another minute bring 
 forth? 
 
 For six months Dean had not seen the woman 
 who filled his heart to the exclusion of all 
 others. He burst into the room with eager 
 joy. He had almost reached Estelle, his hands 
 outstretched, when he stopped, stunned there 
 was his wife ! 
 
 It was an awful moment. He staggered 
 back, as one thrust through by a dagger. His
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 15 J 
 
 brain reeled ; his wife's eyes burned into his 
 very soul. He tried to speak. Louise raised 
 her hand. 
 
 "An unexpected pleasure for you, Mr. 
 Dean, no doubt," she said, with biting sarcasm. 
 u You could hardly have anticipated finding 
 your wife with this woman." 
 
 Estelle sprang to her feet with flashing eyes. 
 " You have no right, madam, to refer to me in 
 such words." 
 
 " I have the right to say what I choose to 
 this man ; I was not addressing you." 
 
 Louise had the stronger nature. Estelle 
 felt this realized the feebleness of her protest. 
 Louise went on. 
 
 " I have trapped you at last," she said, turn- 
 ing again to her husband ; " trapped you in her 
 very presence. Your infamy is plain to me 
 now. I have seen Illford, and know all. He 
 was not in Albany last November. You did 
 not go there to meet him, but to be with this 
 woman your companion in shame." 
 
 Dean took a quick step forward. The honor 
 of her he loved had been assailed. It mattered
 
 152 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 not that the assailant was his wife. " I will 
 not permit you to imply aught against Miss 
 Osgood," he cried hotly. 
 
 Louise answered with a bitter sneer. 
 
 " I take my oath that she is as pure as your- 
 self," Dean went on, now thoroughly aroused. 
 
 " Your oath, Gilbert Dean," exclaimed 
 Louise, with ineffable scorn. " The oath of 
 a man who can perjure himself as you have 
 done ! " Her voice was raised ; her face was 
 white with righteous wrath. " I have done 
 with you forever," she cried. " You will have 
 to cover up your infidelity with no more false- 
 hoods. She can have you, miserable woman !" 
 And Louise started to leave the room. 
 
 Dean sprang forward and caught her by the 
 wrist. " You shall not go like this," he com- 
 manded. " You must believe me ; I have told 
 you the truth. You are mad, Louise. For 
 God's sake, think what you have said ! " 
 
 " Coward ! " she muttered, and, wrenching 
 herself from his grasp, fled from the room and 
 out past the listeners who had gathered in 
 the hall.
 
 XIV. 
 
 OEVEN o'clock the next morning. The 
 waitress at the Deans' has just entered the 
 dining room to throw open the shutters and 
 make ready for breakfast. She has let in the 
 cheerful sunlight from three of the windows. 
 In starting toward the fourth, she sees some- 
 thing at her feet, almost trips over it, in fact. 
 It is the prostrate figure of a woman Mrs. 
 Dean. The eyes are staring, looking up at 
 the terrified servant with a glassiness that can 
 mean but one thing. 
 
 The girl drops to her knees and places a 
 hand against the white cheek. It is ice cold. 
 She springs up and flies shrieking from the 
 room. The other servants rush forth, but the 
 waitress can tell them only that their mistress 
 is lying dead upon the floor. Then she runs 
 up the stairway, calling out " Mr. Dean, Mr. 
 Dean ! " while the coachman goes for the doctor. 
 153
 
 154 TH E AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 But Mr. Dean is not to be found. The room 
 which he usually occupies with his wife is 
 empty ; the bed has not been disturbed. In the 
 mean time the physician has arrived. 
 
 " It is too late," were his first words. "Poor 
 Mrs. Dean ! " he added. " What can this 
 mean?" 
 
 A closer examination revealed marks about 
 the throat that suggested a tragedy. 
 
 " This must be the explanation," reasoned 
 the doctor ; " but who could have committed 
 this horrible crime ? Gilbert ? Oh, no, no it 
 can't be, and yet he is missing." 
 
 Quickly the news flies from tongue to tongue ; 
 quickly it spreads over the town ; quickly it 
 flashes along the wires to the metropolis, and 
 the eyes of the world are turned toward the 
 scene of the tragedy. Islington itself is stirred 
 to fever heat. The wildest rumors gain cre- 
 dence, and every man has a theory of his own. 
 All business is suspended, and the soil is be- 
 reft of its tillers. 
 
 Dean's unaccountable absence caused im- 
 mediate suspicion to rest upon him, and yet
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 155 
 
 his friends, one and all, forced the ugly 
 thought from their minds. Gilbert Dean a 
 murderer, the murderer of his wife ? Horrible, 
 impossible ! But the human mind easily ad- 
 justs itself to new conditions, and startling 
 facts are readily absorbed after the first shock. 
 " Why should Mr. Dean have mysteriously 
 disappeared ? " every one asked himself. " It 
 looks black," was the inevitable conclusion. 
 " But Gilbert Dean, of all men ! " protested his 
 friends. " He was the most popular man in 
 town rich generous sunny. " 
 
 "There must be some explanation," reasoned 
 the more thoughtful. " We will not damn so 
 good a fellow as Gilbert Dean unheard." 
 
 The current of comment had turned some- 
 what in his favor, when it became noised 
 about that there had been a quarrel late the 
 previous afternoon between him and Mrs. 
 Dean. The facts were greatly exaggerated 
 grotesquely distorted. In all the gossip the 
 actress figured conspicuously. And the wrath 
 of the town, especially the feminine por- 
 tion of it, was turned towards her. Meanwhile,
 
 156 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 fortunately for Estelle, she was well away from 
 Islington, having left on the early morning 
 train with her company. When it became 
 known that she had gone, gossips at once 
 assumed that Dean had gone with her. The bit- 
 ter feeling against her lessened, in a measure, 
 the suspicion that rested on him, and many 
 went so far as to charge her with the crime. 
 It was established, however, at the inquest 
 that her whereabouts could be satisfactorily 
 accounted for during the entire time of her 
 stay in Islington. 
 
 This bit of evidence was disappointing, 
 and many were the narrow minds that per- 
 sisted even now that she was the guilty one. 
 
 " There are witches," suggested one old 
 woman. 
 
 " I'm sure there must be," assented her lis- 
 tener with a little shudder. " If there wasn't, 
 how could there be so many mysteries? " 
 
 " And dark ones." 
 
 " Yes, and murders even." 
 
 " Oh, think of it, and this woman was an 
 actress."
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 157 
 
 " Those actresses are just imps of the devil, 
 that's what I think." 
 
 " Of course they are ; just imps." 
 
 And thus primed, the two women separated, 
 and each repeated the other's words to eager 
 ears. Thus began a conception of Estelle that 
 grew in hideousness until she was little else 
 than a fiend incarnate in the eyes of Islington. 
 
 John Upton, the neighbor of somewhat un- 
 certain habits, testified that he came home the 
 night previous well on towards midnight ; that 
 just before reaching his own gate he saw Gil- 
 bert Dean on the opposite side of the street ; that 
 he was walking rapidly, and apparently had 
 just left home. 
 
 "I called to him," said Upton, "but he 
 didn't answer me, and he was soon beyond 
 hearing." 
 
 There was some doubt in the minds of many 
 about the reliability of testimony from such a 
 source ; yet, supported by that of the next 
 witness, it made a marked impression. This 
 witness stated that he was at the railway 
 station at midnight ; that just as the east bound
 
 1 58 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 train was pulling out, Gilbert Dean ran up 
 and swung himself on the last car ; that he 
 (the witness) spoke to him as he passed, but 
 that Dean made no response, and hurried into 
 the car. 
 
 The witness added that he recalled now that 
 Dean seemed a good deal agitated a habit 
 witnesses not infrequently have when their 
 imagination has been quickened by the ringer 
 of suspicion. 
 
 The testimony of the last two men began 
 to weave the noose around Dean's neck. The 
 friends who had stood out most stoutly for 
 him were compelled to waver. And their 
 faith in him was still further shaken by the 
 receipt of a telegram from the conductor of the 
 train on which Dean left town. It stated 
 that he had no ticket ; that he paid his fare 
 to Albany, and that he left the train at 
 Schenectady. 
 
 There was breathless silence during the 
 reading of this telegram, and then the people 
 looked at one another, and pain was on their 
 faces. " Poor Dean," they seemed to say as
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 159 
 
 with one voice, and then they asked them- 
 selves what could have brought him to this 
 Dean, the most tender hearted man they 
 knew. 
 
 Immediately upon receipt of the telegram 
 from the conductor, the sheriff wired a descrip- 
 tion of Dean to Schenectady, requesting his 
 arrest on a charge of murder. 
 
 It was three o'clock in the morning when 
 Dean reached Schenectady. He went to a 
 hotel near the station. He was exhausted 
 mentally and physically alike. The strain of 
 the last ten hours had aged him years. He 
 walked up to his room with the step of an 
 old man, and yet the sun had cast its cheerful 
 glow upon the world before slumber sealed 
 his eyes. 
 
 He slept on and on, outraged nature hold- 
 ing him in her recuperative grasp. At length 
 he was awakened by a rude knocking at his 
 door. He raised himself on his elbow and 
 looked wildly about him. The room was 
 strange to his eyes. Where was he, and why 
 was he there?
 
 160 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 Then memory served him. It all came 
 back to him : the hideous thing he had be- 
 come, the misery he had caused, the oh, it 
 was horrible. He covered his face with his 
 hands as though thus he could shut out the 
 mental vision. 
 
 There came a blow at the door that threat- 
 ened to wrench it from its fastenings, and 
 Dean answered. In another minute he was 
 confronted by a burly officer with blue coat 
 and brass buttons. 
 
 Dean's heart stood still. " You probably 
 know why I am here," said the policeman 
 gruffly. 
 
 Dean gasped. His nerves had been shaken 
 to their very foundation. 
 
 "What what do you want of me?" he 
 stammered in confused reply. " What is the 
 charge against me ? " 
 
 "Murder!" 
 
 " Murder ?" exclaimed Dean. " Murder ? " 
 Is she dead ? " and he fell back senseless upon 
 the bed.
 
 XV. 
 
 T T was the day of the trial. The court room 
 was packed to suffocation, and those who 
 could not get inside formed groups in the 
 halls and on the street without, all discussing 
 the one absorbing topic. 
 
 Dean had protested his innocence from the 
 first, but even those who had been his closest 
 friends had their faith in him staggered, not 
 only by the evidence brought forward at the 
 inquest, but by his own words when appre- 
 hended in the hotel at Schenectady. What 
 his defense would be none knew except his 
 lawyer, Philip Wilton, a Lakefield chum of 
 his, who had been summoned from New York 
 to take charge of the case. 
 
 The State was represented by Amos Grymes, 
 the district attorney, who entered upon this 
 trial with almost savage delight. It furnished 
 him the opportunity he had dearly craved. 
 
 161
 
 1 62 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 He was ambitious for political advancement. 
 What mattered it to him whether this ad- 
 vancement were built upon the grave of a 
 fellow man? He had no sentiment in his 
 cold nature. He did not know the meaning 
 of an emotion. The conviction of Dean meant 
 glory for him, and what was Dean to him ? 
 What was any man to him ? 
 
 " Every one for himself in this world," was 
 Grymes' creed. " The world has always been 
 against my family against me. I have pro- 
 gressed simply because I have fought the 
 world, and now I have made a start, I'll show 
 them that a Grymes can compel recognition." 
 
 Amos Grymes was not a comely man to 
 look upon. He was of a stubby type, with 
 square jaw and heavy features almost sullen, 
 they were. His hands were hard, with stumpy 
 fingers. The fiber of the man was coarse. Avarice 
 and ambition were the passions of his life. 
 He had risen to be district attorney through 
 the manipulation of machine politics. His 
 strength lay with the worst element. This 
 tragedy at the Deans' had set on fire his miser-
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 163 
 
 able soul. He saw at once opening before 
 him visions of power that had hitherto seemed 
 afar off. 
 
 A hush as of death fell upon the room when 
 the prisoner was brought in. The most mor- 
 bid of the spectators could not have imagined 
 a change in him more awful than was the 
 reality. There was a dullness in the eye, a 
 languor in the carriage, a droop of the shoulders, 
 that made him as different from the Gilbert 
 Dean of yore as pale moonbeams differ from 
 the radiant shafts of sunlight. 
 
 The judge entered and took his seat, a jury 
 was sworn in, and then the clerk of the court 
 read the indictment, charging Gilbert Dean 
 with the murder of his wife, Louise Dartmouth 
 Dean. Thereupon Amos Grymes stepped 
 forth, and made a presentation of the case. 
 
 " The crime which I shall seek to bring home 
 to its proper source," he said, among other 
 things, "is one of peculiar atrociousness. Not 
 the greed of gain, nor the desire of revenge, 
 nor the stroke that seeks its victim in a moment 
 of passion with none of these do we have to
 
 1 64 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 deal. Cold, deliberate, unprovoked murder 
 confronts us, and should the guilty one escape, 
 through any false sympathy due to hitherto 
 good standing in the community, it will be a 
 blot upon the justice of the county that can 
 never be effaced." 
 
 Grymes then proceeded to state what he 
 proposed to prove, which was that the pris- 
 oner could not be more plainly guilty than if 
 he had been taken red handed in the very 
 act. 
 
 The district attorney now called the first 
 witness, a maid in the service of Mrs. Dean. 
 She testified that she had admitted her mis- 
 tress to the house about five o'clock in the 
 afternoon preceding the tragedy ; that Mrs. 
 Dean had seemed much disturbed in mind, 
 and scarcely tasted of her dinner. She stated 
 furthermore that Mr. Dean did not come home 
 according to his custom. 
 
 " He was not in the habit, then, of staying 
 away from this meal ? " asked Grymes. 
 
 " Oh, no, sir." 
 
 " Very good," said the attorney, with such
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 165 
 
 a look of satisfaction that the poor witness 
 came near breaking down on the stand, fearing 
 that she had said something to convict her 
 master. 
 
 " Will you kindly state," Grymes went on, 
 " when was the next time you saw Mr. Dean ?" 
 
 " Not till this blessed minute as I see him 
 now afore me, God have mercy on us all." 
 
 " Never mind sentiment," snapped Grymes, 
 adding, " But the fact that you did not see him 
 would not prevent his having come to the 
 house without your knowledge? He carried 
 a latch key, did he not?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, always." 
 
 " At what time did you retire on the night 
 of the murder ? " 
 
 " About ten, sir." 
 
 " And you were roused by no noise during 
 the night ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Were you ever aroused by any noise in the 
 night?" 
 
 " I can't just think now, but I suppose, sir, 
 I have been."
 
 1 66 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 " I dare say. In case a burglar had effected 
 an entrance, you might have heard him with- 
 out being sufficiently awakened to be alarmed?" 
 
 " Oh, sir, I don't know." 
 
 " Are you a light sleeper ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, I think I am." 
 
 Grymes then proceeded to another point of 
 attack. 
 
 " When you came down stairs the next 
 morning did you pass out by the front door 
 for any purpose ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; to sweep off the piazza." 
 
 " Did you notice that the lock of the door 
 had been tampered with in any way ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 "And when you came to open the win- 
 dows, did you find anything wrong about 
 them?" 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " And was there any silver or jewelry or 
 money missing from the house ? " 
 
 " No, sir; not a thing." 
 
 This witness was then dismissed, and the 
 cook was called, and put through an almost
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 167 
 
 similar catechism. Her answers were to the 
 same end that no alarm was heard in the 
 night, that nothing was missing in the morn- 
 ing, no locks broken, nor was there any evi- 
 dence about the place to show that any stranger 
 had been there. 
 
 A chambermaid from the Forest King House 
 was next placed on the stand, and after testi- 
 fying as to her name and occupation, had this 
 question put to her by Grymes : 
 
 " Did you, or did you not, hear high voices 
 coming from the ladies' parlor in the hotel on 
 the afternoon preceding the murder ? " 
 
 " I did, sir." 
 
 " Was it a man's or a woman's voice that 
 seemed to be the most threatening ? " 
 
 " A man's voice, sir." 
 
 " Could you catch what he said? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; some of it." 
 
 " Will you tell the jury what you heard ? " 
 
 " Well, sir, one thing he said was, ' You 
 shall not get away,' very savage-like." 
 
 Profound sensation in the court. Grymes' 
 stubby mustache raised itself slightly, making
 
 1 68 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 about his mouth a close approach to a smile. 
 Dean made a quick movement as if about to 
 speak, then sank back listlessly. 
 
 " You have no means of knowing, of course," 
 Grymes went on, " to whom this remark was 
 addressed ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, I have," answered the witness ; 
 " because the next minute Mrs. Dean rushed 
 out of the room like as if she had tore herself 
 loose from somebody a holding of her." 
 
 Another sensation, and another gleam of 
 satisfaction in the district attorney's covetous 
 eyes. 
 
 " Did you hear anything else after Mrs. 
 Dean had taken her departure ? " he now went 
 
 on. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 There was breathless silence in the court, 
 and heads were eagerly craned not to lose a 
 syllable of the testimony that was about to be 
 submitted. 
 
 " Will you tell the jury what you heard ? 
 What remark did the prisoner make just after 
 his wife had gone?"
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 169 
 
 " He said that he would find a way to silence 
 her, that the actress woman need not be 
 alarmed." 
 
 A low murmur of indignation swept through 
 the court room, which was checked by the 
 judge. Again Dean started up as if to protest, 
 but once more sank back, with the same hope- 
 less look in his eyes. 
 
 "What response, if any, did Miss Myrwin 
 make to this?" proceeded Grymes. 
 
 " She spoke quite low, sir, and I could not 
 rightly hear, but it sounded like, 'I won't be 
 talked about in that way, Gilbert. You must 
 defend my good name.'" 
 
 "Are you quite certain she spoke to the 
 prisoner as ' Gilbert ' ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir; I heard that quite distinctly." 
 
 " What response did he make ? " 
 
 " He said that it was shameful ; that he 
 didn't care whether it was his wife or not ; 
 that he was going to make her right the wrong 
 she had done them, if it took force to do it." 
 
 " You are certain the prisoner made use of 
 the word ' force ' ? "
 
 1 70 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " What else did they say ? " 
 
 "I couldn't hear all." 
 
 "Tell the jury, please, what you did 
 hear." 
 
 "Well, there was something about her 
 having 'made his life miserable,' that she was 
 ' a millstone about his neck.' " 
 
 " What else did you hear ? " 
 
 " Nothing else, except a noise as if he was 
 coming out, and then we hurried to get 
 away." 
 
 " You say ' we.' Who else was with you 
 in the hall ? " 
 
 " Johnny Crump, and Mrs. Mix, who had a 
 room on that floor." 
 
 These two were then called to the stand in 
 quick succession, and corroborated all that the 
 chambermaid had said up to the point where 
 Mrs. Dean had left the room. They had both 
 retreated at that stage, but the boy came back 
 in time to hear the prisoner say that somebody 
 was a millstone about his neck. 
 
 Grymes had spent much labor upon these
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 171 
 
 witnesses. He had sought frequent interviews 
 with them, and by patient manipulation had 
 succeeded in molding their testimony into the 
 shape it finally took. He next brought for- 
 ward a cigar dealer who had seen Dean come 
 out of the Forest King House at half past five. 
 " You are acquainted with the prisoner ? " 
 questioned Grymes. 
 
 " Yes ; he has often bought cigars of me." 
 " Did you speak to him ? " 
 "Yes; I said, 'Good evening, Mr. Dean.'" 
 " And what reply did he make ? " 
 "None." 
 
 "Was he in the habit of ignoring you?" 
 "No; he was always very friendly." 
 " Which way did he go ? Toward his 
 home?" 
 
 " No ; in the opposite direction." 
 " Did he appear to be walking as though he 
 had an object in view ? " 
 
 " No ; sometimes he would move fast, and at 
 others slow." 
 
 " Where did you lose sight of him ?" 
 
 " At the corner of Elm and Hawk Streets,
 
 172 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 where I turned off to go home and get my 
 supper." 
 
 The State's next witness was a woman re- 
 siding on Hawk Street, who had been stand- 
 ing at her gate watching for her husband to 
 come home. She testified to seeing the pris- 
 oner pass about a quarter past six, and to think- 
 ing it strange to see him in that part of the 
 town. Then came a farmer from Raymond 
 Falls, who had passed Dean on the road to 
 that village. 
 
 " Was he walking toward Raymond Falls ?" 
 asked Grymes. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Was it light enough for you to be sure it 
 was the prisoner ? " 
 
 " Yes ; the sun hadn't gone down yet" 
 
 " Just in what part of the road was this ? 
 Were there any houses near ? " 
 
 " No ; it was by that piece of woodland of 
 Deacon Myers'." 
 
 Dr. Blauvelt was now called, and declared 
 that he met the prisoner a few moments after 
 the farmer had passed him.
 
 THE; AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 173 
 
 " How do you know this?" 
 
 " Because within five minutes I overtook 
 the farmer." 
 
 " Which way was the prisoner walking when 
 you saw him ? " 
 
 " Towards Islington." 
 
 " Then he must have turned around in the 
 road without stopping anywhere ? " 
 
 " Presumably, as there was no place for him 
 to stop." 
 
 Another witness next testified to seeing the 
 prisoner on Liberty Street at eight o'clock. 
 
 " In what direction was he walking? " 
 
 "Towards Raymond Falls." 
 
 " Was he walking fast or slow ? " 
 
 " Slow; almost sauntering, you might say." 
 
 " Was it not dark by this time? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " How then can you be certain that it was 
 the prisoner you saw ? " 
 
 " Because I met him under a street lamp." 
 
 Mrs. Hallohan, residing in a tenement oppo- 
 site the Dartmouth factory, being duly sworn, 
 stated that she had seen the prisoner enter his
 
 174 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 office in the factory, with a key, a little after 
 eight o'clock. A constable was then called 
 who told of meeting Dean just as he was com- 
 ing down the steps from his office, somewhat 
 after ten. Next John Upton repeated the testi- 
 mony he had given at the inquest. 
 
 " Can you swear that he had just left his 
 home?" asked Gryrnes. 
 
 " I am quite certain of it." 
 
 "You saw him turn out from the gate, 
 then?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You said you spoke to him. What did 
 you say ? " 
 
 " I called out, ' Hello, you 're going the 
 wrong way ! ' " 
 
 " And what reply did he make ? " 
 
 "None." 
 
 " Do you think he heard you ? " 
 
 " He must have." 
 
 That there should be no doubt of this, 
 Grymes now produced another witness, who 
 had started to the station to meet a friend he 
 expected on the midnight train.
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 175 
 
 " When did you first catch sight of the pris- 
 oner?" 
 
 " As a quick moving shadow coming down 
 the driveway from his house." 
 
 " You say ' quick moving ' ; was the prisoner 
 running ? " 
 
 " I should say he was." 
 
 "But he slowed up before reaching the 
 gate ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Do you think he saw you? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Did you see Mr. Upton ? " 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " Did you hear him call out to the prisoner 
 as he has stated?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Where did the prisoner go then ? " 
 
 "To the station, just ahead of me." 
 
 "Then what became of him ? " 
 
 " He swung himself on to the last car of 
 the Albany train, which was just moving out." 
 
 The conductor and brakeman of this train, 
 and the night clerk from the hotel in Sche-
 
 176 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 nectady, were now examined, and their evidence 
 went to show that the prisoner was in a highly 
 nervous, almost dazed condition on the night 
 of the murder. 
 
 But Grymes did not rest here. He fully 
 realized the influence Dean's hitherto high 
 standing in Islington might have upon popu- 
 lar opinion in the way of awakening sympathy 
 for him. To checkmate this he had gone to 
 Lakefield, the prisoner's native place, and 
 by skilful maneuvering, and with untiring 
 patience, had unearthed boyish quarrels and 
 escapades long since forgotten by nearly all 
 concerned in them. He brought witnesses to 
 Islington to prove that Dean was cursed with 
 an ungovernable temper, and that while he 
 had always made a fair showing outwardly, 
 his heart was black. According to these 
 deponents, Gilbert Dean had not a spark of 
 gratitude in his nature, lived only to gratify 
 his senses, and had married for money. 
 
 To be sure, the men who swore to these 
 things were rather threadbare, disreputable 
 looking specimens of humanity themselves.
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 177 
 
 Envy of the high estate to which their fellow 
 townsman had attained might not have been 
 uninfluential in inducing them to assent to 
 Grymes' desires ; but " give a dog a bad name 
 and hang him." The astute district attorney 
 had laboriously prepared his ground, and the 
 seed he sowed in it instantly sprang up and 
 bore the desired fruit. 
 
 From this phase of the accused's character 
 Grymes passed to the affair with Marie Myrwiu, 
 the actress, with the intention of showing the 
 actuating motive for the crime. Witnesses 
 were brought from Albany to prove that the 
 two were together there, and the keen scented 
 attorney even found out about the deception 
 Dean had practised on his wife. Eugene Ill- 
 ford was placed on the stand to prove it. 
 
 " You are a friend of the prisoner, I believe?" 
 began Grymes. 
 
 " Well, a business acquaintance, say, rather." 
 
 "But you always had a high opinion of his 
 character ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Have you any reason to suppose he deceived
 
 178 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 his wife with regard to a visit to Albany in 
 your company ? " 
 
 " In the light of late events, I am compelled 
 to believe that he did." 
 
 " Do you recognize this card ? " went on 
 Grymes, passing the piece of pasteboard over 
 to him. 
 
 " Yes, it is the card I wrote at his office the 
 day I called there and found him out." 
 
 " What did the prisoner say with regard to 
 the card?" 
 
 " He said that he had never seen it ; that it 
 must have blown out of the window." 
 
 " Out of the office window, he meant, I pre- 
 sume ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And yet that card was found on Mrs. 
 Dean's dressing table. How do you account 
 for that ? " 
 
 " I cannot account for it." 
 
 " You gathered from your call at the house, 
 did you not, that the prisoner was not anxious 
 to have you meet his wife ? " 
 
 " Yes."
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 1 79 
 
 "And does this not lead you to infer that 
 the prisoner had been leading a double life ? " 
 
 " I confess I have been very much surprised 
 in him." 
 
 While this testimony was not so directly 
 damaging as the rest, yet, coming as it did 
 from a friend of the accused, it had a marked 
 effect on the jury, as tending to show the dark 
 strain in Dean's character and his capacity for 
 blinding the eyes of those who were about 
 him. As the trial proceeded, and the coil of 
 evidence circled more and more tightly about 
 the prisoner, Grymes pursued the trail with 
 increased ferocity. His own fame was spread- 
 ing daily. His name figured prominently in all 
 the newspapers, and " Grymes Springs a Fresh 
 Clincher " was the heavy head line that more 
 than once stirred his soul with a sense of tri- 
 umph. He rested his side of the case with 
 perfect confidence in the outcome.
 
 XVI. 
 
 pHILIP WILTON, Dean's counsel, although 
 a young man, had already established a 
 good repiitation in the metropolis. He had 
 known Dean since they were both in knicker- 
 bockers, and had a stanch belief in his friend's 
 innocence ; but in his attempt to establish it 
 he found himself confronted with a herculean 
 task. 
 
 He began the defense with a well worded 
 plea against the monstrosity of sending an in- 
 nocent man to his death on circumstantial 
 evidence, citing numerous instances where this 
 had actually been done. 
 
 His first witnesses were some of the solid 
 business men of Islington, who testified to 
 Dean's integrity in every transaction they had 
 had with him. These were followed by citi- 
 zens of Lakefield, who in refutal of the stories 
 told by the prosecution, related how Gilbert
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 181 
 
 Dean had always been, so far as they knew, an 
 honorable, well conducted boy and man. Then 
 came the sensational feature of the defense 
 Estelle's appearance on the stand. 
 
 When she entered the court room the report- 
 ers from the newspapers of three cities put 
 fresh points to their pencils in anticipation of 
 some particularly spicy revelations. Her face 
 was like marble, not only in its whiteness, but 
 in its immobility. She had known what to 
 expect in facing such an assemblage, and had 
 steeled herself to show no sign of the anguish 
 that threatened to unseat her reason. Only 
 the dire necessity of having to earn her live- 
 lihood had enabled her to play since that aw- 
 ful moment when she had learned of Mrs. 
 Dean's death. 
 
 She had read the evidence brought forward 
 at the inquest, but did not realize how black 
 it made the case look for Gilbert till now, 
 when she could see stony despair in the face 
 of the man in the prisoner's dock. And yet, 
 not one jot did her belief in his innocence 
 abate. The Gilbert Dean she had known as
 
 1 82 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 boy and man simply could not commit so 
 atrocious a crime; that was enough for her. 
 That he could clear himself she had not an 
 atom of doubt till she looked upon him at 
 this moment. There was a hopeless misery in 
 his expression that told of ambition dead, of 
 the extinction of all expectation of freedom. 
 
 And yet, to Bstelle's eyes at least, this 
 abandonment to despair was not the abandon- 
 ment of guilt. It was simply the physical 
 breaking down of the man beneath his terrible 
 burden. " And it has all been through me," 
 she told herself bitterly. " If I had not sent 
 for him that night in Beverley, he would not 
 have come to this ! " 
 
 In spite of all her determination, her agita- 
 tion when placed on the stand was pitiful. 
 She could not but be conscious of the detes- 
 tation in which she was held in Islington. 
 Indeed, none took any pains to hide it from 
 her. 
 
 She testified to having known the prisoner 
 about twenty years, admitted that they had 
 quarreled and separated, and that she had
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 183 
 
 never expected to see him again until they 
 met in the autumn. 
 
 Then, coming down to the interview with 
 Mrs. Dean at the Forest King House, Wilton 
 attempted to show the falseness of the testi- 
 mony of the listeners in the hall. 
 
 "Just previous to Mrs. Dean's withdrawal 
 from the room, did the prisoner say to her, 
 ' You shall not get away ' ? " 
 
 " No, he did not." 
 
 " Can you recall what he did say ? " 
 
 " I am not sure, but it was not that, I am cer- 
 tain. What he meant was, that he did not 
 wish her to leave in that mood." 
 
 " Have you any recollection of the prisoner 
 saying he would find a way to silence her ? " 
 
 " I am sure he never said that." 
 
 " You heard the testimony of the chamber- 
 maid from the Forest King House?" 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " Now can you recall addressing the prisoner 
 in the words of that witness : ' I won't be talked 
 about in that way. You must defend my 
 good name ' ? "
 
 1 84 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 " I may have said that. I was very much 
 agitated." 
 
 " One more question, Miss Osgood. Did 
 the prisoner say his wife had made his life 
 miserable, that she was a millstone about his 
 neck ? " 
 
 " No, he did not ; that is wholly false." 
 Grymes now took up the cross examination 
 of the actress. It was difficult for him to con- 
 ceal the satisfaction he derived from this 
 task. He knew that each question would 
 act as a probe upon a still bleeding wound, 
 but that inspired in him no compassion. The 
 sentiment was foreign to his nature. 
 
 "In the direct examination," he began, 
 " you stated your belief that the prisoner did 
 not wish his wife to leave the room in that 
 mood. To what mood did you refer ? " 
 " She was very much excited." 
 " Can you state what had excited her? " 
 "The interview. She did not know that 
 her husband and I were such old friends, and 
 thought it strange that he should come to the 
 hotel to see me."
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 185 
 
 " Very good. You affirmed on the direct 
 examination that the prisoner did not say he 
 would find a way to silence her. But two 
 witnesses are agreed that he did say it. Now 
 can you recollect his saying anything that was 
 similar, some sentence with the word 'silence ' 
 in it?" 
 
 Estelle reflected an instant and then an- 
 swered. 
 
 " He may have said something to the effect 
 that the only thing we could do was to keep 
 silent about the matter." 
 
 " That does not sound much like the words 
 the other two witnesses testify to having heard. 
 Do you not think that your agitation you 
 admitted under my opponent's examination that 
 you were agitated do you not think that this 
 agitation may have weakened your memory?" 
 
 " It may have to some extent, but I am 
 sure there was nothing threatening to Mrs. 
 Dean said." 
 
 " But you cannot state just what was said." 
 
 " No, I cannot." 
 
 Estelle then left the stand, and a recess was
 
 1 86 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 taken. Held in abhorrence as she was in the 
 town, her testimony had added little to streng- 
 then Dean's case. None doubted that the actress 
 would not hesitate to perjure herself if thereby 
 she might help the man over whom, to their 
 eyes, she had cast her spell.
 
 XVII. 
 
 ^\X7HEN the court reconvened, Dean him- 
 self was placed on the stand, and invited 
 to account for his whereabouts on the night of 
 the murder. 
 
 " At what time did you leave the Forest 
 King House?" asked Wilton. 
 
 " About six o'clock." 
 
 " Do you recall seeing Thomas Stearns, the 
 cigar dealer, as you came out ? " 
 
 " No, I do not remember recognizing any 
 one." 
 
 " Where did you go first ? " 
 
 " Nowhere in particular. The scene with 
 my wife had left me in a very excited frame 
 of mind." 
 
 " But you surely have some knowledge of 
 the direction in which you walked, have you 
 not ? " 
 
 "I only know that after I had been walking 
 187
 
 1 88 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 for some time I found myself on the road to 
 Raymond Falls." 
 
 " About what time was this ? " 
 
 " Sunset ; about seven o'clock." 
 
 "What did you do then? Had you any 
 purpose in going to Raymond Falls?" 
 
 " No ; I did not go there. I turned around 
 and walked back toward town." 
 
 " Why did you take this long, purposeless 
 walk?" 
 
 " I was trying to plan out some course of 
 action." 
 
 " Where did you go when you reached 
 town?" 
 
 " To my office." 
 
 " What time was this ? " 
 
 " About a quarter past eight." 
 
 " Was there any one at the office besides 
 yourself ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Did any one see you enter ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " What did you do after you reached your 
 office?"
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 189 
 
 " I sat down and continued studying the 
 problem before me." 
 
 " You had no supper, then ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " How long did you remain in your office ? " 
 
 " I do not know. I did not look at my 
 watch." 
 
 " But you must have some idea whether it 
 was one hour, or two, or three ? " 
 
 " I should say I was there from two to three 
 hours." 
 
 " Where did you go when you left the 
 office?" 
 
 " Nowhere in particular. I wandered up 
 and down the streets." 
 
 " How much time did you spend in this way ?" 
 
 " Fully half an hour, I should think." 
 
 "What did you do then ? " 
 
 " I went to my own home." 
 
 " Did you enter the house? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Because I felt that I could not yet face my 
 wife."
 
 190 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 "How long did you remain inside the 
 grounds ? " 
 
 " I have no means of telling for certain." 
 
 " Were there any lights in the house ? " 
 
 " Yes, there was a light in the dining room." 
 
 " What did you do next ?" 
 
 " I heard the whistle of the midnight train, 
 and I suddenly determined to go to the station 
 and board it." 
 
 " Had you any object in mind in thus leav- 
 ing town ? " 
 
 " None in particular. I was still dazed by 
 the affair at the hotel. I was restless and 
 excited, scarcely accountable for what I did." 
 
 " Did you run from the house to the gate ?" 
 
 " I started to, as I feared I might miss the 
 train. Then I remembered that it did not 
 matter so very much if I did miss it." 
 
 " Did you see any one as you passed out at 
 the gate ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I saw a man across the street." 
 
 "Did you recognize him? " 
 
 " Not until he spoke. Then I knew it was 
 John Upton."
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 191 
 
 " Why did you not reply ? " 
 
 "Because I was not in a mood for conver- 
 sation." 
 
 " Had you any idea where you would go 
 when you boarded the train ? " 
 
 " No ; I simply wanted to get away from 
 the place where I had been through so much 
 misery." 
 
 " You did not stop to purchase a ticket, 
 then?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " What did you say to the conductor when 
 he came through?" 
 
 " I told him I wanted to pay my way to 
 Albany, as I had had no time to buy a ticket." 
 
 " You then left the train at Schenectady. 
 Why did you do this ? " 
 
 " For no special reason. A man is liable to 
 do unaccountable things after he has been told 
 by his wife that she does not wish to have 
 anything more to do with him." 
 
 There was a rustling all over the court room 
 at this point in the proceedings. 
 
 " When the officers entered your room at
 
 192 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 the hotel the next morning," Wilton went on, 
 " and announced that you were wanted on a 
 charge of murder, why did you exclaim, ' Is 
 she dead?'" 
 
 " When I heard the word ' murder ' from 
 the officer's lips, the horrible thought flashed 
 over me that an awful evil had befallen my 
 wife." 
 
 Grymes now took up the cross examination 
 of the prisoner. 
 
 " When you left the Forest King House," 
 he asked, " did you not at first walk at a rather 
 fast gait?" 
 
 " I may have done so. I do not fully recall 
 the speed at which I moved." 
 
 " And the direction in which you at first 
 turned would have taken you to your own 
 home, would it not ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Can you give the jury any reason why you 
 walked toward Raymond Falls ? " 
 
 " No reason except that I was very much 
 disturbed in mind, and did not care where I 
 went."
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 193 
 
 " You were thinking of your wife, I pre- 
 sume ? " 
 
 u Yes." 
 
 " And it occurred to you, doubtless, that 
 things might have been much more harmo- 
 nious had she not called on Miss Osgood that 
 afternoon ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " This, then," Grymes went on, " accounted 
 for your perturbed feelings ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You say you cannot account for your 
 walking toward Raymond Falls ; can you give 
 any explanation of your suddenly ceasing to 
 go in that direction, and turning back toward 
 Islington ? " 
 
 " No, I cannot, beyond what I have already 
 said about my state of mind." 
 
 " You were still thinking about your wife, 
 I presume?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Do you recall coming to some sudden de- 
 cision in regard to your course of action at the 
 moment when you turned in your tracks?"
 
 194 TH E AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 Grymes looked very intently at the prisoner 
 as he put this question. 
 
 Dean reflected an instant before replying, 
 and then answered, " No." 
 
 " But there must have been some cause to 
 induce you to turn about at that particular 
 point ? " persisted Grymes. 
 
 " There may have been, but my brain was 
 in such a distracted condition at the time that 
 I have lost all memory of it," replied Dean 
 wearily. 
 
 " When you went to your office," the dis- 
 trict attorney proceeded, " did you have a light 
 there?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Were you in the habit of going to your 
 office in the evening and sitting in the dark 
 to meditate?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " If you heard of another man doing it, 
 would you not think it strange, not to say 
 ridiculous ? " 
 
 " I suppose I should." 
 
 " You have said that your occupation at the
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 195 
 
 office was to continue the study of the problem 
 before you. Will you state to the court the 
 nature of this problem ? " 
 
 There was an instant's silence during which 
 the traditional pin might have been heard had 
 it fallen to the floor. Then Dean replied : 
 
 " My wife had misunderstood my motives, 
 and I was endeavoring to reason out the 
 proper course to take in order to justify myself 
 in her eyes." 
 
 Profound sensation in the court room. 
 
 " When you waited till about eleven o'clock 
 to return to your own home," resumed 
 Grymes, " did you have any special object in 
 this delay ? " 
 
 " No ; I had not thought till then about 
 going back at all." 
 
 " At what time were your servants in the 
 habit of shutting up the house and going to 
 bed?" 
 
 " At ten o'clock." 
 
 " You have stated that you saw a light in 
 your dining room. Did it not occur to you as 
 strange at that hour?"
 
 196 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 " No ; I merely supposed that my wife was 
 still sitting up." 
 
 " Were you in the habit of occupying the 
 dining room as a sitting room ? " 
 
 "We sometimes remained there in the 
 evening." 
 
 " Would you not consider it strange in a 
 husband to come to his house after eleven at 
 night and approach to within a few feet of the 
 room where he knew his wife was awaiting 
 him, then turn about suddenly and hurry 
 away?" 
 
 " I might as a general thing, but in my own 
 case I had no reason for supposing that my 
 wife was awaiting me." 
 
 " You admit, then, that you had parted in 
 anger ? " 
 
 " No ; there was only a misunderstanding 
 between us." 
 
 " A misunderstanding that you believed you 
 could not explain away, otherwise you would 
 not have turned about and rushed off to catch 
 that train. Is this what the court is to con- 
 clude?"
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. IQ7 
 
 " No ; I could explain it away. My wife 
 was wrong." 
 
 " Why, then, did you not go in and convince 
 her of the fact ? " 
 
 " Because I had already endeavored to do so, 
 and failed." 
 
 " Yet you knew this when you came back 
 to your house. You must have changed your 
 mind suddenly ! " 
 
 "I did." 
 
 " Without any special reason for it? " 
 
 " None except that the hopelessness of the 
 task just at that time came over me with 
 convincing power." 
 
 " Then you are inclined to believe that had 
 you entered the dining room, and proceeded 
 to argue the matter with her, she would not 
 have taken it kindly?" 
 
 " I have no belief in the matter." 
 
 " Then perhaps you have some knowledge?" 
 
 " No ; I cannot make any statement as to 
 what would have been the outcome of an inter- 
 view that did not take place." 
 
 " And yet you have said that the hopeless-
 
 198 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 ness of trying to convince your wife that she 
 had wronged you, was what caused you to 
 leave the grounds. Is not this equivalent 
 to admitting that an interview at the time 
 would have been of a somewhat distressing 
 nature?" 
 
 " I suppose it is, but as there was no inter- 
 view, I do not see of what importance any 
 guesswork on my part as to its nature can be." 
 
 But Grymes did. He asked no more ques- 
 tions. He seemed perfectly content with what 
 he had already learned. The case was then 
 adjourned to permit of a summing up of the 
 evidence. 
 
 The affair aroused widespread comment. 
 Dailies in the big cities devoted columns to 
 an account of the trial as it progressed from 
 day to day, and in Islington itself it formed 
 the chief topic of discussion, although this 
 is scarcely the word where all were agreed 
 in one opinion. In fact, it had been a matter 
 of extreme difficulty to make up the jury, so 
 outspoken were the townspeople in their views 
 of Dean's conduct.
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 199 
 
 Some freely expressed themselves to the 
 effect that it was a waste of the county's 
 money to go through the form of a trial. "In 
 some towns of the Southwest," they added 
 suggestively, " short work would be made 
 with such as he." 
 
 Sometimes Wilton wondered whether his 
 client would be safe even should the law pro- 
 nounce him guiltless.
 
 XVIII. 
 
 T^ BAN'S lawyer made an earnest effort to 
 save him. He summed up all the testi- 
 mony that had been brought against his 
 client, and then proceeded to show that it was 
 coincidental, not incriminating, facts that 
 were seeking to hurry the prisoner to the 
 death chair. 
 
 " In the fascination of adjusting about its 
 victim the coil of circumstantial evidence," he 
 proceeded, " the prosecution has become blind 
 to the light of reason. It has contradicted 
 itself. After carefully collecting witnesses to 
 prove the prisoner to be possessed of ungovern- 
 able temper, in the heat of which any crime 
 may have been committed, it then as carefully 
 seeks to show that the deed with which my 
 client was charged, was committed with the 
 most fiendish deliberation. According to the 
 character the distinguished attorney for the 
 
 200
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 2OI 
 
 prosecution has given to the prisoner, the 
 time for him to have perpetrated the murder 
 was at the Forest King House, when, accord- 
 ing to the evidence supplied by the same 
 source, the most direful threats were uttered 
 against the deceased. I need not remind you 
 that this evidence was shown to be misleading, 
 proving that no threats of this description 
 were made. 
 
 " What, then, are you asked to do, gentle- 
 men of the jury ? To send a man to the elec- 
 tric chair because his wife died a violent 
 death some eight hours after she had quar- 
 reled with him. Not the faintest trace of 
 direct proof is brought against him, not even 
 the fact that he was in the same house when 
 she died. No doubt my opponent will en- 
 deavor to convince you that the prisoner must 
 have committed the deed because there was 
 nothing to show that anybody else had done 
 it. But is this the sort of reasoning on which 
 to take from a man his life ? 
 
 " Granting for one instant that the prisoner, 
 after the calm deliberation which the opposition
 
 202 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 has shown he exercised, did take the life of 
 the deceased, what would he gain thereby ? 
 Doubtless the prosecution will tell you that 
 it was to remove the obstacle to his union 
 with some one else. But is not such a suppo- 
 sition illogical on the face of it ? A man who 
 would risk putting his life in jeopardy to re- 
 move an obstacle to a new marriage would 
 not hesitate to gain his end by a less hazard- 
 ous course. Now, gentlemen of the jury, dis- 
 abuse your minds of a crime that everything 
 seems to point to ; think only of the facts 
 which exist, as they have been presented to 
 you, and see if in them you can find one single 
 circumstance that will convince you that my 
 client has been guilty of the most atrocious 
 of crimes." 
 
 A deep hush succeeded Wilton's plea. 
 Every one present felt the solemnity of the 
 moment. Then Grymes rose, slowly, with 
 the air of a man fully convinced of his posi- 
 tion in the estimation of his fellow men, and 
 who was therefore in no hurry to reassert it. 
 
 " Your honor and gentlemen of the jury,"
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 203 
 
 he began, with the same deliberation in his 
 speech, " we are here on serious business. I 
 feel called upon to remind you of this fact 
 because I have feared that the words of my 
 predecessor may have misled you. Argu- 
 ments that partake of so childish a tinge are 
 apt to throw one's mind off the true purport of 
 the affair upon which we are now engaged. 
 This is seeing to it that justice be done, with- 
 out fear or favor. Sentimentality has no place 
 in the problem ; to judge from the words of 
 my predecessor, one might think that you, 
 gentlemen of the jury, had each a personal 
 spite against the prisoner, which you were 
 determined to gratify by bringing him in 
 guilty. For my part, I ask you to look at 
 nothing, to consider nothing, but the evidence 
 which has been brought before you. Here is 
 a man who has been leading a double life for 
 months previous to the commission of the 
 crime with w 7 hich he is now charged. He 
 has not disputed that fact. On the very after- 
 noon of the murder he quarrels with the de- 
 ceased ; this fact is not denied by the defense.
 
 204 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 My colleague tells you that the line of argu- 
 ment of the prosecution is contradictory be- 
 cause it seeks to prove, in one instance, that 
 the prisoner is of quick temper, and in another 
 shows that the awful deed was committed 
 after calm deliberation. But have you never 
 heard of nursing wrath? The fire to the 
 train of powder was set during that interview 
 in the hotel. It crept slowly, slowly along 
 the line toward culmination during those 
 walks in and about the town whose apparent 
 aimlessness the prisoner himself confesses he 
 cannot explain. 
 
 " My learned brother mentions the fact 
 that it has not been proven that the prisoner 
 was in the house at the time the murder was 
 committed. The puerility of this subterfuge 
 only shows the weakness of his case. The 
 accused has admitted being within the grounds ; 
 we scarcely expect him, inasmuch as he has 
 pleaded 'Not guilty,' to stand forth and 
 acknowledge that he really strangled the 
 deceased. But he had said in your hearing 
 that an interview with his wife at that hour
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 205 
 
 would have been a stormy one. The spark, 
 lighted at the Forest King House, had been 
 finding its way along the devious turnings of 
 the powder train till all it needed was the 
 touch of the powder itself to burst forth into 
 a mighty explosion. 
 
 "Then mark the actions of the accused 
 after leaving his home. He started to run at 
 first; then, seeing passersby, slowed down, 
 with that fear of awakening suspicion which 
 is the surest indication of guilt. He avoids 
 answering the salutations of friends, boards a 
 midnight train just as it is moving out of the 
 station, pays his fare to one place and gets off 
 at another, and when finally he is charged 
 with murder, his accusing conscience leaps 
 impulsively from his lips in the query, ' Is she 
 dead?' 
 
 " This may be circumstantial evidence, but 
 if we had more, what need would there be of 
 a trial ? 
 
 " One point more ; my learned brother of 
 the opposition has declared that not sufficient 
 motive has existed for the crime ; he has inti-
 
 206 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 mated that a man would prefer to commit 
 bigamy to murder. Perhaps a person of an- 
 other disposition might have done this ; but as 
 the prisoner has himself stated, he is a man 
 of impulse. To such a one, murder a deed 
 that may be committed in an instant comes 
 more natural than the deliberately planned 
 abandonment of one woman and the fleeing 
 with another. Of what was he thinking dur- 
 ing those long and aimless walks? He did 
 not tell us, but it was evidently not of seeking 
 consolation with her who was the cause of the 
 estrangement between himself and his wife, 
 else he would have gone to her. 
 
 " Let us sum up the whole case in a nut- 
 shell. Our town is shocked with a murder 
 whose hideousness calls loudly for vengeance 
 on the perpetrator. There is not the faintest 
 indication that it was committed by house- 
 breakers ; there is every indication that it was 
 done by the husband whose evil deeds the 
 wife had just brought home to him. Had the 
 affair occurred in Angel Alley or Paradise 
 Court, I wager that there would have been
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 207 
 
 scant hesitation in bringing the guilty one to 
 book. But because the prisoner resides on 
 Berkeley Hill, because he has wealth and 
 position, and has hitherto shown only his 
 smooth side to the community, heaven and 
 earth are moved to set him free. It will be 
 a lasting blot upon the county, I contend, if 
 this be done. What, shall wealth get exemp- 
 tion where poverty receives only its just due ? 
 The eyes of half the country are on this town 
 today ; countless telegraph instruments stand 
 ready to click out the news of your decision. 
 Those who contemplate dark crimes, it may 
 be, hinge their final determination on what 
 shall be the verdict here. Remember these 
 facts, and render your report in accordance 
 with them." 
 
 Grymes sat down amid a buzz of excited 
 comment, which ceased quickly as order was 
 demanded, and the judge began to speak. But 
 it was not to give his charge to the jury ; he 
 announced instead that he would reserve this 
 for the next morning, till which time the case 
 would stand adjourned.
 
 XIX. 
 
 " TT is going to be against us, Phil; I feel 
 sure of that." 
 
 Dean's voice was calm, but his handclasp 
 was not so steady as it usually was when he 
 welcomed his old time chum to his quarters in 
 the jail. 
 
 " If it does, I'll appeal for a new trial. I 
 feel certain I can get it. Why, a friend of 
 yours is waiting outside now to see you. He 
 says he has not communicated with you before ; 
 but he has been working for you all the time." 
 
 "Who is it?" 
 
 " Ford ; Thomas T. Ford," replied Wilton. 
 " He has come all the way from Kansas City 
 expressly to render you all the aid he can." 
 
 Dean's face went white. He had not thought 
 to hear from the Fords now. Jessie was a 
 cousin of Louise. What did Tom mean by 
 
 coming to see him ? Dean had heard nothing 
 208
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 209 
 
 from him since that memorable visit to his 
 Western home. It seemed like a Nemesis that 
 he should turn up at this crisis. 
 
 " Bring him here, and then leave us alone 
 for a little while, will you, Phil ? " and when 
 the other had gone, Dean steeled himself for an 
 ordeal he dreaded more than he did the scene 
 in court on the morrow. 
 
 But Ford's greeting was altogether different 
 from what he had expected. "Gilbert, old 
 man ! " he exclaimed, with a pressure of the 
 hand that meant so much of friendship where 
 only contempt had been awaited, that Dean 
 was closer to being unnerved than during his 
 whole awful experience. 
 
 " Then you do not believe, Tom " he 
 
 began, when Ford interrupted him with " I 
 believe only this, my dear fellow : that you 
 have been out of your mind for more than a 
 year past, and that you are no more respon- 
 sible for what you may have done within that 
 period than a marble statue would be." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " gasped Dean, look- 
 ing at him with new horror in his eyes.
 
 210 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 " Listen : you remember your last visit to 
 our home?" 
 
 " Only too distinctly," said Dean in a tone 
 scarcely audible. 
 
 " Well, you certainly did not deport yourself 
 on that occasion like a sane being." 
 
 " Then you did see me with her ? " 
 
 " To be sure I did, and thought the worse 
 of you till your inexplicable conduct after- 
 wards convinced me that you were not to be 
 held accountable for your acts. I am sur- 
 prised that your lawyer has not seen matters 
 in this light before." 
 
 Dean went up to his friend, put an arm on 
 either shoulder, and looked straight into his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Tom," he said, " what is the undercurrent 
 to all this? You must know perfectly well 
 that I deliberately tried to deceive you that 
 night. I was a bungler, I admit, but my at- 
 tempt was made in the full light of reason. 
 God knows I have freely admitted the folly of 
 my course up to a certain point " 
 
 " Ah, that is just it ! " broke in Ford. " You
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 211 
 
 have been such a half way offender through- 
 out this whole miserable business that there 
 is but one conclusion to arrive at, and that 
 one is the only thing that will save you from 
 a shameful death. With infinite pains I have 
 tracked your every movement that night in 
 our city, and " 
 
 " Then you discovered nothing that was 
 really criminal in any one of them, for there 
 was nothing." 
 
 " The very point I wish to make. Don't 
 you catch my meaning, man ? You had 
 labored as though to produce a mountain, and 
 brought forth a mouse. It was the same in 
 Albany for I have taken pains to push inves- 
 tigation there, too and " 
 
 " Stop ! " cried Dean hoarsely. " I see what 
 you mean now, and were it to save me from 
 ten thousand executions, I would not permit 
 such a defense. Drag her name into this 
 wretched affair again, and in such a light ! I 
 would first " 
 
 " But you are clearing her name completely, 
 man," the other broke in.
 
 212 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 " Only so far as I myself am concerned ; it 
 leaves it smirched by inference to the end of 
 time. Would you have me crown my folly 
 by an act of cowardice so base that there 
 would be no hole on earth deep enough to 
 hide me ? " 
 
 " Then you will go to the death chair, Gilbert 
 Dean, as surely as the sun will rise tomorrow. 
 No jury on earth will acquit you in the face 
 of the evidence submitted." 
 
 "If I die because I refuse to live on such 
 terms, I die more nobly than I have lived. 
 Ah, Tom, through deception I have already 
 seared my soul as with a red hot iron. The 
 wounds still bleed. I have done more evil in 
 the world than there is time in eternity to 
 atone for. I will not say, do not tempt me, for 
 it is no temptation." 
 
 " But if you will not think of yourself, be- 
 stow some thought on your friends, on your 
 family, on the family of poor Louise. If they 
 prove you non compos mentis, not only are you 
 absolved from paying the penalty for her 
 death, but all your demeanor toward her will
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 213 
 
 appear in a different light. Surely this view 
 of the case demands some consideration from 
 you." 
 
 " Nothing you can say will change me, 
 Tom. I know you mean it all in friendship, 
 and don't think I do not appreciate your com- 
 ing here now and taking my hand as you 
 have done. I can't think you would do this 
 if you really believed that I deserved the 
 verdict which you tell me the jury will bring 
 in tomorrow." 
 
 It was now Ford's turn to look Dean 
 straight in the eyes eyes which did not flinch 
 beneath the penetrating gaze. 
 
 " Hang it, man, you wouldn't harm a fly ! 
 I know that, and yet " 
 
 "And yet what?" 
 
 " Why must you meet this awful death 
 when you don't deserve it ? " 
 
 "Perhaps it is best, Tom. What would 
 life be worth to me now ? But your time is 
 up. Good by and promise me that you will 
 make no attempt on the line you have sug- 
 gested."
 
 214 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 " I promise, Gilbert." They shook hands 
 and Ford went off with the warden. 
 
 Dean sat there stolidly for a few moments, 
 thinking over the interview. 
 
 " He believes that I am guilty," he finally 
 ejaculated. " And God help me, so do they 
 all ! "
 
 XX. 
 
 BAN'S doom was sealed. He had been 
 convicted of murder in the first degree. 
 The jury were out but a few moments. In 
 their eyes, as well as in the eyes of the people, 
 it was clear that Dean had murdered his wife. 
 His counsel's efforts to obtain a new trial were 
 unavailing. The day was set for his removal 
 to Auburn, and the week in which he was to 
 die had already been named. 
 
 Estelle had come to Islington that she might 
 be near him and with him to the last. She 
 saw him but once. She found him broken 
 down. He was an old man now. The steel of 
 self accusation entered her soul when he came 
 up to those cruel dividing bars and put his 
 fingers through for her to touch. 
 
 " Can you forgive me, Gilbert ? " she whis- 
 pered, her eyes streaming. 
 
 "Forgive you, Estelle?" he repeated. 
 215
 
 216 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 " There is nothing to forgive. You are stain- 
 less, as I am stainless of that awful crime with 
 which I am charged. If I had heeded you, 
 I should not have laid myself open to the sus- 
 picion." 
 
 " But if I had not come into your life again, 
 you would never have been brought to this." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that. My marriage 
 with Louise was an unhallowed one. I did not 
 love her as I should have done, as she was de- 
 serving of being loved. These matters always 
 adjust themselves. In our case fate used you 
 as the means. You are not to blame. God 
 knows you warned me often enough of the 
 folly of my course." 
 
 " But I ought to have gone away, Gilbert ; 
 gone somewhere out of the country, where you 
 would never have found me." 
 
 " No, Estelle, your going away could not 
 have altered my feelings for you. If there 
 were sin in loving you, that sin was mine, not 
 yours. For that I am willing to answer. We 
 know, both of us, that it was a pure love, not 
 the sinful one poor Louise believed it
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 217 
 
 That is where I have wronged you, Estelle. 
 I have made it possible for the world to say 
 that of you which is false, but which you are 
 powerless to disprove. Can you forgive me 
 for that?" 
 
 " A thousand times, dear. But let us not 
 speak of that. I have come to cheer you as 
 to the future, not to lament the past. I am 
 working to save you, others are working. 
 There is yet time. You will be set free. 
 Only keep up heart." 
 
 "That is like you, Estelle, to be a com- 
 forter. But the hope is vain. Only tell me 
 one thing, that in your inmost heart you do 
 not believe me " 
 
 " Hush, hush ! How can you suggest such 
 a thing? You know I believe in you as I 
 believe in my own life." 
 
 " Then God is good to me, very good, after 
 all." 
 
 The keeper now touched Estelle on the 
 arm to remind her that her time was up. 
 She had not strength to say good by, 
 could only murmur, " I will come again," as
 
 2l8 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 she pressed her lips to his finger tips. Then 
 the jailer helped her from the corridor, only 
 to see her faint in Wilton's arms. 
 
 That same night a letter was brought to 
 her at her hotel. It was addressed in a 
 strange hand. When she opened it, a stony 
 look of horror came into her eyes. 
 
 A WARNING. 
 
 Unless you leave Islington within twenty four hours 
 from this date you will be dealt with summarily. There 
 will be no favors shown you because you are not a man. 
 Islington shall not harbor the mistress of a murderer. 
 (Signed) WHITE CAPS. 
 
 Estelle sat mute for an instant, the sheet 
 shaking in her hand. Its every word stung 
 her to the quick. To be sure, it was an 
 anonymous communication, and as such de- 
 served to be treated with contempt ; but that 
 it should have entered the mind of any one to 
 write it was where the anguish lay. 
 
 Once more she read the cruel words. They 
 seemed to fascinate her as the glance of the 
 serpent lures the helpless bird. " Heaven is 
 merciful in one thing," she murmured ; " that 
 it keeps from us the knowledge of what the
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 219 
 
 future holds. How could I have lived my life 
 knowing this was to be part of it?" 
 
 But presently a new mood seized her. Her 
 eyes flashed, and she sprang from her seat, 
 crumpling the letter in her hand. 
 
 "They shall not send me from him," she 
 cried. " I will stay. They dare not touch me ! " 
 
 She sent for Wilton. 
 
 " Read that," she said, handing him the note. 
 " Cannot the writers be found and made an- 
 swerable for their audacity ? " 
 
 The lawyer's face paled as he took in the 
 full purport of the communication. He had 
 heard ugly rumors about the town. He knew 
 that the affair was no trifling one. 
 
 " You must leave Islington at once," he 
 said. 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Estelle. " Go away 
 without seeing Gilbert again ? It would seem 
 cowardly. I am not afraid." 
 
 " Your staying can do no good. Indeed, 
 it will rather weaken whatever faint chances 
 Gilbert might have. Besides, if he hears of 
 this, his anxiety for your safety will only
 
 220 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 torment him. These fiends are capable of any- 
 thing." 
 
 " But I cannot go without bidding Gilbert 
 good by. Surely the enmity of one or two 
 people in the town will not harm me." 
 
 " It is not one or two, Estelle." 
 
 " But even were it a hundred, I will not let 
 them see that they can frighten me. I came 
 here to be with Gilbert. If the prison authori- 
 ties allow me to see him, I see no reason why 
 I should stay away." 
 
 Wilton protested, and then said that he 
 would go out to learn the temper of the people. 
 
 Estelle had arranged to visit the jail again 
 at ten o'clock the next morning, but before she 
 had finished her breakfast Wilton appeared. 
 
 " You must go away on the 9:40," he said. 
 u The sentiment in the town is very pro- 
 nounced, and is growing more threatening 
 every hour, as the fact of your being here 
 spreads. Remember, it is for Gilbert's sake as 
 well as your own." 
 
 " But I must see him again," Estelle 
 pleaded.
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 221 
 
 "It would be suicidal," the lawyer inter- 
 posed. " Besides, you have not time." 
 
 Much against her will, Bstelle was finally 
 persuaded to act on this suggestion. Leaving 
 without seeing Gilbert, and with the knowl- 
 edge that she would never see him again, was 
 agonizing. But that her going away was wise, 
 she was herself convinced after she was on 
 the train. Dark looks were cast at her as she 
 went with Wilton to the station, and now and 
 then a jeering remark reached her ears. It 
 was all like some awful nightmare. Had it 
 not been for the lawyer's presence, she knew 
 not what insult might have been offered her. 
 As it was, after her departure, Wilton himself 
 barely escaped rough handling because of his 
 championship of her cause. 
 
 Meantime Dean was removed to Auburn. 
 He was perfectly passive. Some of those with 
 whom he came in contact declared that he did 
 not yet fully realize the horror of his posi- 
 tion; others, among them Wilton, affirmed 
 that he exhibited no sign of dread or despair 
 simply because he had suffered all that he
 
 222 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 could suffer when the murder of his wife was 
 first laid at his door. 
 
 One by one his last days on earth were 
 notched off ; but the chaplain of the prison, 
 who had more frequent intercourse with him 
 than any one else, could note no increase of 
 nervousness as the fatal date drew near. Dean 
 was friendly with him at all times, except 
 when urged to free his soul by confession. 
 
 " Why should I confess to a lie?" he asked. 
 " Sins I have committed many of them. 
 For these I most humbly do crave pardon, but 
 of that great sin for which I am to die, I am 
 innocent." 
 
 Earnestly the chaplain pleaded with him to 
 recede from a position which could avail him 
 nothing in this world, and only jeopardized 
 his chances of happiness in the next. " I am 
 innocent," Dean would repeat, not violently, 
 but with a calmness that almost convinced the 
 priest in face of the glaring evidence piled up 
 against him. 
 
 At last the chaplain ceased to speak of the 
 matter, and then Dean opened his heart more
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 223 
 
 fully to him. He was a young man, and this 
 fact gave the condemned one a feeling that his 
 own weaknesses could find more ready pallia- 
 tion than with one whose own youth, with its 
 follies, was far back in the past. 
 
 " It is not so hard for me to die," Dean said 
 to him, shortly before the end. " If it were 
 not that my death would seem to justify so 
 many in the belief that I am what the court 
 has decreed me to be, I would go gladly. Life 
 was never really a boon to me after I found 
 out that I loved some one else better than my 
 wife. My nature is too finely organized to 
 live recklessly. I could never abandon myself 
 to evil courses as most men can. It was im- 
 possible for me to forget that I was transgress- 
 ing. Others remember only afterwards in the 
 form of remorse. With me the pain was 
 mingled with the pleasure. I felt myself to 
 be a brute even while I was planning to be 
 still more brutish. Punishment for that I de- 
 serve. If my condemnation only read, ' You 
 are to die, for deceiving your wife,' I should 
 not murmur, because it would be just"
 
 224 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 The last day came. In some way the re- 
 porters had ascertained the date of the execu- 
 tion, and an elaborate arrangement of signals 
 was in readiness to convey to the ends of the 
 country the intelligence that Islington's wife 
 murderer had met with his deserts. 
 
 It was on this final morning that the chap- 
 lain made his last attempt to extract a con- 
 fession from Dean. 
 
 " No," was the firm reply ; " I will not die 
 with a lie upon my lips. But I blame no one ; 
 it is my own folly that has brought me where 
 I am. ' As ye sow, so must ye reap,' and if 
 I have sowed only foolish weakness and reap 
 the penalty for the most awful of crimes, it is 
 a pity, but I must submit to the rulings of a 
 higher will than mine. Men may never find 
 out their mistake ; but God knows. Aye, 
 and there is one on earth who believes in me, 
 too." 
 
 " Not her name," implored the chaplain. 
 " Do not let her name be the last thing on 
 your lips." 
 
 " And why should it not be ? She is as
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 225 
 
 pure as an angel in heaven. I have ruined 
 her life. It is as little as I can do to give 
 her the poor comfort of knowing that I went 
 to my death with the thought of her to make 
 me brave. Come, are they not ready for me 
 now ? " 
 
 With steady step he walked into the cham- 
 ber from which a few minutes later was borne 
 forth the rigid body of one who met nobly an 
 ignoble death.
 
 XXL 
 
 "IXTHEN Estelle left Islington under such 
 fearful circumstances, it seemed as if 
 she must give way to utter despair. If she 
 had only been permitted to see Gilbert once 
 again, she felt that she could better endure 
 her lot. But to realize that she had been 
 deliberately driven from his side, was ex- 
 ecrated by an entire community, among 
 whom she would never dare venture again 
 the recollections of all this oppressed her with 
 a sense of horror from which she could not 
 escape. 
 
 The words of that " warning " were burned 
 indelibly into her brain. Waking, she thought 
 of them always ; sleeping, they took living 
 shape and tormented her in the form of demons 
 who had vowed never to let her rest. The 
 fictitious strength that had carried her through 
 
 so much, gave way at last. One morning she 
 226
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 227 
 
 found she could not leave her bed. She had 
 scarcely power to speak or to raise her hand. 
 And yet her mind seemed tirelessly active 
 going over and over again the scenes of that 
 last day in Islington, repeating endlessly the 
 contents of that letter. 
 
 Her tortured fancy pictured her as being 
 compelled to return to the town, as walking 
 through its streets the butt of ridicule, the 
 target for jeers, the object at which the uni- 
 versal finger of scorn was pointed. All unbid- 
 den, there came visions of little children being 
 taught to shield their eyes from the sight of 
 her ; of women holding aside their skirts as 
 she passed ; of men nudging one another and 
 saying, "There she goes," in the familiar tone 
 that embodies the utmost limits of contempt. 
 
 She could think of nothing else. Full of 
 Gilbert as her heart was, each thought of him 
 only reminded her afresh of her humiliation. 
 But one hope sustained her. She knew that 
 Wilton was still working faithfully for him ; 
 if only he could be saved, she cared not what 
 fate overtook herself.
 
 228 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 And so the days passed by. Each morning 
 and evening she had the paper brought to her, 
 and turned with feverish eagerness to see 
 whether a reprieve had been granted. But 
 there was nothing to reward her, only now and 
 then an item stating that wife murderer Dean 
 still stoutly maintained his innocence. And 
 then one morning she read the lines, " Gilbert 
 Dean Pays the Full Penalty for His Crime." 
 
 He was dead; murdered, as truly as was 
 poor Louise. Nothing that she might ever do 
 could bring him back to her. His inno- 
 cence might be established fifty times over, 
 but it would be all one to him now. He had 
 gone out from her life forever, and she was 
 left alone, alone to fight those horrible shapes, 
 that now, waking as well as sleeping, were 
 always pursuing her. 
 
 "Gilbert," she cried, "why do you not come 
 to me ? There are men with white masks over 
 their faces. They are driving me before them. 
 I have no rest. Save me, save me ! " 
 
 Her voice rose shrill. Some of the servants 
 in the house where she was staying heard her
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 229 
 
 and hastened to the room. She gazed at them 
 as though she had never seen them before. 
 There was a wildness in her eyes that terrified 
 them. A doctor was hastily summoned. 
 
 " It is here," he said gravely, touching his 
 forehead. 
 
 After a week or two, as there was no change, 
 a commission was appointed. She was ex- 
 amined and adjudged insane. But she was 
 quite passive, and allowed them to do with her 
 what they would. 
 
 One day Wilton read in the papers that 
 Marie Myrwin, the actress so unpleasantly 
 associated with the Dean murder, had gone 
 out of her mind, and had been placed in con- 
 finement. 
 
 " Poor Estelle," he murmured. " God forgive 
 me for wishing that it had been death instead." 
 
 He lost no time in going to see her, and 
 arranging that she should be made as com- 
 fortable as possible. She knew him, but only 
 as she had known him when he and Gilbert 
 and herself had been young people together 
 in Lakefield.
 
 230 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 " Gilbert has not been to see me in a long 
 while, Phil," she said. " Why doesn't he come ? 
 Perhaps, though, he doesn't know how much 
 I love him." 
 
 "Is there no hope?" Wilton asked the 
 doctor. 
 
 " None," was the reply. 
 
 He saw her again before he went away. 
 This time she seemed to have more compre- 
 hension of the real nature of the things that 
 had befallen. 
 
 " You shall not kill him," she moaned. 
 " He never murdered her ! But she was cruel 
 to me. He would not harm her for it. Gil- 
 bert, Gilbert, why do you sit there, helpless, 
 looking at them ? They will kill you. I 
 see it in their eyes." 
 
 "God help her," Wilton murmured, as he 
 went his way ; " she is beyond the help of 
 man."
 
 XXII. 
 
 T^OR many months the Dartmouth property 
 in Islington, where the Deans had lived, 
 stood idle. It had fallen to the heritage of 
 some relations of Mrs. Dean who resided in a 
 distant State. They had no idea of coming 
 to live there themselves, and while the awful 
 associations that clung about the house were 
 still so fresh in all minds, it was a difficult 
 matter to find a purchaser. But as time 
 passed by, and after some mineral springs 
 were discovered in the neighborhood, a syndi- 
 cate was formed which bought in the property, 
 and set about putting up a big summer hotel 
 on the site. Spring was just opening again 
 when the house was unlocked to admit of the 
 furniture being removed. 
 
 The Islington Journal not long afterwards, 
 under startling headlines, contained the fol- 
 lowing : 
 
 231
 
 232 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 
 
 A most shocking miscarriage of justice has been 
 brought to light. It seems that Gibert Dean, who was 
 electrocuted last fall for the murder of his wife, was in- 
 nocent of the crime. Mrs. Dean committed suicide by 
 taking poison. After a thorough investigation this paper 
 is enabled to give the facts in a case which only proves 
 anew the fatal weakness of circumstantial evidence in 
 criminal trials. 
 
 Among the articles of furniture in the Dean dining 
 room was a sideboard of rather peculiar construction. 
 Built of oak and exceedingly heavy, it did not sit flush 
 with the carpet, but rested about an inch above it on four 
 claw feet. When this sideboard was moved out from its 
 place against the wall during the recent sale of effects, a 
 litter of rubbish was discovered to be beneath it, as its 
 nearness to the floor prevented the introduction of broom 
 or brush. There was a silver knife, a penholder, a nickel 
 match safe, and a bit of crumpled writing paper. 
 
 On picking up the latter and smoothing it out, a work- 
 man discovered writing on it, in pencil. In brief, it 
 was a note in Mrs. Dean's hand, as has been proven beyond 
 all doubt. We give herewith the contents : 
 
 I can endure this agony no longer. In spite of all that 
 I have seen with my own eyes, I love my husband still. 
 But to love him and know him to be false to me is 
 anguish too keen for mortal to bear. I have taken poison. 
 Soon all will be over. I want Gilbert to know that I 
 forgive him for all that he has made me suffer. If my 
 death will make him happy, he shall have the opportu- 
 nity to taste of the joy it seems I could not give him. 
 Perhaps I have sinned in what I have done. If I have, 
 there is no remorse in my heart. There is room there 
 only for love love and sorrow. Dying I injure no one, 
 myself least of all, for to live after what has happened 
 would be daily torture. I write this that the world may 
 know I alone
 
 THE AFFAIR AT ISLINGTON. 233 
 
 Here the note broke off abruptly. The writing, steady 
 at first, shows traces, as it proceeds, of a shaking hand, 
 until at the last it is scarcely legible. Undoubtedly this 
 was caused by the working of the poison, which had 
 taken effect sooner than the writer had imagined it 
 would. As the final seizure overcame her, it is probable 
 that Mrs. Dean crumpled the note tightly in her hand, 
 before clutching at her throat in the death agony ; then, 
 as she fell, the paper dropped from her nerveless fingers 
 close to the sideboard, underneath which it might have 
 slid at once, or been kicked there unknowingly by some 
 of the servants in the next morning's excitement. 
 
 Could there be a more shocking arraignment of the 
 injustice of securing so called justice by means of circum- 
 stantial evidence ? 
 
 As soon as the facts above set forth were 
 established even to Amos Grymes' grudging 
 satisfaction, Wilton hastened to Estelle in the 
 hope that she might be made to comprehend 
 the happy, if tardy truth. But he saw at once 
 that hope was vain. Her mind was as full of 
 shadows as on his previous visit, and he came 
 away with her last words echoing again haunt- 
 ingly in his ears : " Gilbert, Gilbert, why do 
 you sit there, helpless, looking at them ? 
 They will kill you. I see it in their eyes." 
 
 THE END.
 
 "Derrmgforth" 
 
 By FRANK A. MUNSEY. 
 Price reduced from 75 cents to 25 cents a volume. 
 
 " 1~\ERRINGFORTH " is a story of today a story 
 -^ that bears on a problem that every young 
 woman must consider ; a problem that every mother 
 should consider. 
 
 Some Press Comments on " Derringforth." 
 
 Sweet and true in sentiment, and told in a natural and effective manner. 
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 d:\ys of Eve, but rarely are they brought out with more fidelity to nature than 
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 tially a drama ol the human heart. New Haven Palladium. 
 
 "Derringforth" is published in two volumes, 
 handsomely bound in cloth. Heretofore it has sold at 
 $1.50, but in order to make all our books uniform in 
 price, it will from now on sell at 50 cents, for the set. It 
 can be had from your book seller or the publisher at 
 this price. 
 
 FRANK A, MUNSEY, HI Fifth Ave., New York.
 
 The first book in this series was 
 
 " A Princess 
 and a Woman " 
 
 BT ROBERT MCDONALD. 
 
 IT is a stirring story of adventure in the eastern countries 
 of Europe, where the shifting kaleidoscope of political 
 intrigue is swayed by the strong hands of bold soldiers of 
 fortune and the resistless power of true love. It is a 
 fascinating story that holds the attention of the reader 
 from beginning to end. Originally published as a serial 
 in MUNSEY'S MAGAZINE, much new matter has been 
 added by the author previous to its issue in book form. 
 It is beautifully bound in cloth, uniform with " The Affair 
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 publisher. 
 
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 By RICHARD MACE. 
 
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 and price with "The Affair at Islington." The story * 
 is of a domestic nature and is refreshingly novel in theme 
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