The Honorable Peter Stirling and What People Thought of Him Part 100

"What, my darling?" said Peter, supporting the swaying figure.

"This," said Leonore, huskily, holding out the newspaper.

Mrs. D'Alloi s.n.a.t.c.hed it. One glance she gave it. "Oh, my poor darling!"

she cried. "I ought not to have allowed it. Peter! Peter! Was not the stain great enough, but you must make my poor child suffer for it?" She shoved Peter away, and clasped Leonore wildly in her arms.

"Mamma!" cried Leonore. "Don't talk so! Don't! I know he didn't! He couldn't!"

Peter caught up the paper. There in big head-lines was:

SPEAK UP, STIRLING!

WHO IS THIS BOY?

DETECTIVE PELTER FINDS A WARD UNKNOWN TO THE COURTS, AND EXPLANATIONS ARE IN ORDER FROM

PURITY STIRLING.

The rest of the article it is needless to quote. What it said was so worded as to convey everything vile by innuendo and inference, yet in truth saying nothing.

"Oh, my darling!" continued Mrs. D'Alloi. "You have a right to kill me for letting him come here after he had confessed it to me. But I--Oh, don't tremble so. Oh, Watts! We have killed her."

Peter held the paper for a moment. Then he handed it to Watts. He only said "Watts?" but it was a cry for help and mercy as terrible as Leonore's had been the moment before.

"Of course, chum," cried Watts. "Leonore, dear, it's all right. You mustn't mind. Peter's a good man. Better than most of us. You mustn't mind."

"Don't," cried Leonore. "Let me speak. Mamma, did Peter tell you it was so?"

All were silent.

"Mamma! Say something? Papa! Peter! Will n.o.body speak?"

"Leonore," said Peter, "do not doubt me. Trust me and I will--"

"Tell me," cried Leonore interrupting, "was this why you didn't come to see us? Oh! I see it all! This is what mamma knew. This is what pained you. And I thought it was your love for--!" Leonore screamed.

"My darling," cried Peter wildly, "don't look so. Don't speak--"

"Don't touch me," cried Leonore. "Don't. Only go away." Leonore threw herself upon the rug weeping. It was fearful the way those sobs shook her.

"It can't be," said Peter. "Watts! She is killing herself."

But Watts had disappeared from the room.

"Only go away," cried Leonore. "That's all you can do now. There's nothing to be done."

Peter leaned over and picked up the prostrate figure, and laid it tenderly on the sofa. Then he kissed the edge of her skirt. "Yes. That's all I can do," he said quietly. "Good-bye, sweetheart. I'll go away." He looked about as if bewildered, then pa.s.sed from the room to the hall, from the hall to the door, from the door to the steps. He went down them, staggering a little as if dizzy, and tried to walk towards the Avenue. Presently he ran into something. "Clumsy," said a lady's voice.

"I beg your pardon," said Peter mechanically. A moment later he ran into something again. "I beg your pardon," said Peter, and two well-dressed girls laughed to see a bareheaded man apologize to a lamp-post. He walked on once more, but had not gone ten paces when a hand was rested on his shoulder.

"Now then, my beauty," said a voice. "You want to get a cab, or I shall have to run you in. Where do you want to go?"

"I beg your pardon," said Peter.

"Come," said the policeman shaking him, "where do you belong? My G.o.d!

It's Mr. Stirling. Why, sir. What's the matter?"

"I think I've killed her," said Peter.

"He's awfully screwed," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the policeman. "And him of all men!

n.o.body shall know." He hailed a pa.s.sing cab, and put Peter into it. Then he gave Peter's office address, and also got in. He was fined the next day for being off his beat "without adequate reasons," but he never told where he had been. When they reached the building, he helped Peter into the elevator. From there he helped him to his door. He rang the bell, but no answer came. It was past office-hours, and Jenifer having been told that Peter would dine up-town, had departed on his own leave of absence. The policeman had already gone through Peter's pockets to get money for cabby, and now he repeated the operation, taking possession of Peter's keys. He opened the door and, putting him into a deep chair in the study, laid the purse and keys on Peter's desk, writing on a sc.r.a.p of paper with much difficulty: "mr. stirling $2.50 I took to pay the carriage. John Motty policeman 22 precinct," he laid it beside the keys and purse. Then he went back to his beat.

And what was Peter doing all this time? Just what he now did. He tried to think, though each eye felt as if a red hot needle was burning in it.

Presently he rose, and began to pace the floor, but he kept stumbling over the desk and chairs. As he stumbled he thought, sometimes to himself, sometimes aloud: "If I could only think! I can't see. What was it Dr. Pilcere said about her eyes? Or was it my eyes? Did he give me some medicine? I can't remember. And it wouldn't help her. Why can't I think? What is this pain in her head and eyes? Why does everything look so dark, except when those pains go through her head? They feel like flashes of lightning, and then I can see. Why can't I think? Her eyes get in the way. He gave me something to put on them. But I can't give it to her. She told me to go away. To stop this agony! How she suffers.

It's getting worse every moment. I can't remember about the medicine.

There it comes again. Now I know. It's not lightning. It's the petroleum! Be quick, boys. Can't you hear my darling scream? It's terrible. If I could only think. What was it the French doctor said to do, if it came back? No. We want to get some rails." Peter dashed himself against a window. "Once more, men, together. Can't you hear her scream? Break down the door!" Peter caught up and hurled a pot of flowers at the window, and the gla.s.s shattered and fell to the floor and street "If I could see. But it's all dark. Are those lights? No. It's too late. I can't save her from it."

So he wandered physically and mentally. Wandered till sounds of martial music came up through the broken window. "Fall in," cried Peter. "The Anarchists are after her. It's dynamite, not lightning. Podds, Don't let them hurt her. Save her. Oh! save her I Why can't I get to her? Don't try to hold me," he cried, as he came in contact with a chair. He caught it up and hurled it across the room, so that it crashed into the picture-frames, smas.h.i.+ng chair and frames into fragments. "I can't be the one to throw it," he cried, in an agonized voice. "She's all I have.

For years I've been so lonely. Don't I can't throw it. It kills me to see her suffer. It wouldn't be so horrible if I hadn't done it myself.

If I didn't love her so. But to blow her up myself. I can't. Men, will you stand by me, and help me to save her?"

The band of music stopped. A moment's silence fell and then up from the street, came the air of: "Marching through Georgia," five thousand voices singing:

"Rally round our party, boys; Rally to the blue, And battle for our candidate, So sterling and so true, Fight for honest government, boys, And down the vicious crew; Voting for freedom and Stirling.

"Hurrah, hurrah, for Stirling, brave and strong.

Hurrah, hurrah, for Stirling, never wrong.

And roll the voters up in line, Two hundred thousand strong; Voting for freedom and Stirling."

"I can't fight so many. Two hundred thousand! I have no sword. I didn't shoot them. No! I only gave the order. It hurt me, but I didn't mean to hurt her. She's all I have. Do you think I intended to kill her? No! No sacrifice would be too great. And you can talk to me of votes! Two hundred thousand votes! I did my best for her. I didn't mean to hurt her. And I went to see the families. I went to see them all. If I only could think. But she is suffering too much. I can't think as long as she lies on the rug, and trembles so. See the flashes of lightning pa.s.s through her head. Don't bury your face in the rug. No wonder it's all dark. Try to think, and then it will be all right."

Up from the street came the air of: "There were three crows," and the words:

"Steven Maguire has schemed to be elected November fourth, Steven Maguire has schemed to be elected November fourth.

Steven Maguire has schemed and schemed, But all his schemes will end in froth!

And the people will all shout, Hurrah, rah, rah, rah.

And the people will all shout, Hurrah, rah, rah, rah.

"For Peter Stirling elected will be upon November fourth, For Peter Stirling elected will be upon November fourth, For Peter Stirling elected will be And Steven Maguire will be in broth, And the people will all shout, Hurrah, rah, rah, rah, And the people will all shout, Hurrah, rah, rah, rah."

"It's Steven Maguire. He never could be honest. If I had him here!"

Peter came in contact with a chair. "Who's that? Ah! It's you. You've killed her. Now!" And another chair went flying across the room with such force, that the door to the hall flew off its hinges, and fell with a crash. "I've killed him" screamed Peter. "I've--No, I've killed my darling. All I have in the world!"

And so he raved, and roamed, and stumbled, and fell; and rose, and roamed, and raved, and stumbled, and fell, while the great torchlight procession sang and cheered him from below.

He was wildly fighting his pain still when two persons, who, after ringing and ringing, had finally been let in by Jenifer's key, stood where the door had been.

"My G.o.d," cried one, in terror. "He's crazy! Come away!"