left the
house.

Temple himself was profoundly moved. The utter helplessness of the man;
his abject and complete surrender to the demon which possessed him--all
this appalled him. He had seen many drunken men in his time--roysterers
and brawlers, most of them--but never one like Poe. The poet seemed to
have lost his identity--nothing of the man of the world was left--in
speech, thought, or movement.

When Harry re-entered, his uncle was sitting beside the poet, who had
not yet addressed him a word; nor had he again raised his head. Every
now and then the sound of an indrawn breath would escape Poe, as if hot
tears were choking him.

St. George waved his hand meaningly.

"Tell Todd I'll ring for him when I want him, Harry," he whispered, "and
now do you go to sleep." Then, pointing to the crouching man, "He must
stay in my bed here to-night; I won't leave him. What a pity! O God!
what a pity! Poor fellow--how sorry I am for him!"

Harry was even more affected. Terrified and awestruck, he mounted the
stairs to his room, locked his chamber door, and threw himself on his
bed, his mother's and Kate's pleadings sounding in his ears, his mind
filled with the picture of the poet standing erect with closed eyes, the
prayer his mother had taught him falling from his lips. This, then,
was what his mother and Kate meant--this--the greatest of all
calamities--the overthrow of a MAN.

For the hundredth time he turned his wandering search-light into his own
heart. The salient features of his own short career passed in review:
the fluttering of the torn card as it fell to the floor; the sharp crack
of Willits's pistol; the cold, harsh tones of his father's voice when
he ordered him from the house; Kate's dear eyes streaming with tears
and her uplifted hands--their repellent palms turned toward him as she
sobbed--"Go away--my heart is broken!" And then the refrain of the poem
which of late had haunted him night and day:

"Disaster following fast and following faster,
Till his song one burden bore,"

and then the full, rich tones of Poe's voice pleading with his Maker:

"Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us."

Yes:--Disaster had followed fast and faster. But why had it followed
him? What had he done to bring all this misery upon himself? How could
he have acted differently? Wherein had he broken any law he had been
taught to uphold, and if he had broken it why should he not be forgiv