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Read Ebook: Under Three Flags: A Story of Mystery by Taylor Bert Leston Thoits Alvin T
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Ebook has 3040 lines and 118058 words, and 61 pages
"Where are we?" asks the girl, looking about her in bewilderment. The moon passes behind a cloud. The spell is over.
"Why, this is Ashfield, isn't it? There is the station, and the church and the--Derrick! Derrick, where have we been wandering? Five miles from home and midnight! What will Louise and father say? We must go home at once."
"Home," he repeats, bitterly, pointing to the north. "There is no home yonder for me. Listen, Helen!" He draws her to him fiercely. "If we part now it must be forever. I shall never go back. I cannot go back! Will you not come away with me--somewhere--anywhere? Hark!"
The whistle of the Montreal express sounds from the north.
The girl seems not to hear him. The long whistle of the express again echoes through the night.
"Helen, darling!" There is a world of yearning and entreaty in his voice.
She throws her arms about him and kisses him. "Yes, Derrick; I will go with you--to the end of the world."
The station agent regards the pair suspiciously. In the dim light of the kerosene lamps of the waiting-room their features are only partially discernible.
"Sorry," he says, "but this train don't stop except for through passengers to New York."
"But we are going to New York," almost shouts Derrick. "Quick, man!" The train has swept around the curve above the village and is thundering down the stretch.
"Wall, I guess I kin accommerdate ye," drawls the station master. He seizes his lantern and swings it about his head and No. 51 draws up panting in the station.
"Elopement, I guess," confides the station agent to the conductor, as Derrick and the girl clamber aboard the train.
The latter growls something about being twenty minutes late out of St. Albans, swings his lantern and No. 51 rumbles away in the mist and moonlight.
THE PRISONER OF WINDSOR--THE TRAGEDY OF A NIGHT.
"Stanley, I have good news for you."
"All news is alike to me, sir."
Warden Chase of the Vermont state prison regards the young man before him with a kindly eye.
"Your sentence of three years has been shortened by a year, as the governor has granted you an unconditional pardon," he announces.
"His excellency is kind," replied the young man in a voice that expresses no gratitude and may contain a faint shade of irony.
He is a striking-looking young fellow, even in his prison garb, his dark hair cropped close and his eyes cast down in the passive manner enjoined by the prison regulations. His height is about five feet ten inches and his figure is rather slender and graceful. His face is singularly handsome. His eyes are dark brown, almost black, and the two long years of prison life have dimmed but little of the fire that flashes from their depths. A square jaw bespeaks a strong will. The rather hard lines about the firm mouth were not there two years before. He has suffered mentally since then. There are too many gray hairs for a man of 28.
Warden Chase touches a bell. "Get Stanley's things," he orders the attendant, who responds.
"Sit down, Stanley." The young man obeys and the warden wheels about to his desk.
"I am authorized to purchase you a railroad ticket to any station you may designate--within reason, of course," amends Mr. Chase. "Which shall it be?" A bitter smile flits across Stanley's face and he remains silent.
"North, east, south or west?" questions Mr. Chase, poising his pen in air.
"I have no home to go to," finally responds Stanley, lifting his eyes for the first time since his entrance to the room.
"No home?" repeats the warden, sympathetically. "But surely you must want to go somewhere. You can't stay in Windsor."
Stanley is thoughtful. "Perhaps you had better make the station Raymond," he decides, and he meets squarely the surprised and questioning look of the warden.
"But that is the place you were sent from."
"Yes."
"It is not your home? No; I believe you just stated that you had no home."
"I have none."
"And you wish to revisit the scene of your--your trouble?"
Stanley's gaze wanders to the open window and across the valley.
"Well, it's your own affair," says the warden, turning to his desk. "The fare to Raymond is .50. I am also authorized to give you cash, to which I have added . You have assisted me about the books of the institution and have been in every respect a model prisoner. In fact," supplements Mr. Chase, with a smile, "under different circumstances I should be sorry to part with you."
"Thank you," acknowledges Stanley, in the same impassive tones.
"And now, my boy," counsels the warden, laying one hand kindly on the young man's shoulder, "try to make your future life such that you will never be compelled to see the inside of another house of this kind. I am something of a judge of character. I am confident that you have the making of a man in you. Here are your things," as the attendant arrives with Stanley's effects.
Mr. Chase resumes his writing and Stanley withdraws. Once within the familiar cell, which is soon to know him no more, his whole mood changes.
"Free!" he breathes, exultingly, raising his clasped hands to heaven. "What matter it if my freedom be of a few days only, of a few hours? It will be enough for my purpose. Heavens! Two years in this hole, caged like a wild beast, the companion of worse than beasts--a life wrecked at 28. But I'll be revenged! As surely as there is a heaven above me, I'll be repaid for my months of misery. An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth!"
He throws his prison suit from him with loathing. Then he sinks back into his apathy and the simple toilet is completed in silence.
A suit of light gray, of stylish cut, a pair of well-made boots, a negligee shirt and a straw hat, make considerable change in his appearance. He smiles faintly as he dons them.
He ties his personal effects in a small package. They are few--half a dozen letters, all with long-ago post-marks, a couple of photographs, and a small volume of Shakespeare given him by the warden, who is an admirer of Avon's bard.
"I have not followed the calendar with reference to any particular days."
"The 30th day of May--Memorial day," says Mr. Chase.
"It will be a memorial day for me," responds Stanley. "Good-by, Mr. Chase, and thank you for your many kindnesses."
"I'm rather sorry to have him go," soliloquizes the warden, as his late charge walks slowly away from the institution. "Bright fellow, but peculiar--very peculiar."
Stanley proceeds leisurely along the road leading to the station. His eyes are bent down, and he seemingly takes no note of the glories of the May day, of the throbbings of the busy life about him. A procession of Grand Army men, headed by a brass band that makes music more mournful than the occasion seems to call for, passes by on the dusty highway.
"Homage for the dead; contumely for the living," he murmurs, bitterly.
The train for the north leaves at 4:30. Stanley spends the time between in making some small purchases at the village.
"At what hour do we arrive at Raymond?" he asks the conductor, as the train pulls out.
"Seven forty-five, if we are on time."
"Thank you," returns the young man. He draws his hat over his eyes, and turns his face to the window.
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