would enable him to steel
himself more surely to the inevitable meeting. After they had once
spoken together, it would be easier. At length they might even become
accustomed to the ghastly thing that lay between them and veil it, as
it were, with commonplaces.

Ralph took up the morning paper and pretended to read, though the words
danced all over the page. The old housekeeper brought in his
breakfast, and, likewise, he affected to eat. An hour went by, and
still the dreaded step did not sound upon the stair. At length the old
housekeeper said, with a certain timid deference:

"Your father's very late this morning, Doctor Ralph. He has never been
so late before."

"He'll be down, presently. He's probably overslept."

"It's not your father's way to oversleep. Hadn't you better go up and
see?"

Thus forced, Ralph went leisurely up-stairs, intending only to rap upon
the door, which was always closed. Perhaps, with the closed door
between them, the first speech might be easier.

He rapped once, with hesitation, then again, more definitely. There
was no answer. Wholly without suspicion, Ralph opened the door, and
went in.

Anthony Dexter lay upon his bed, fully dressed. On his face was a
smile of ineffable peace. Ralph went to him quickly, shook him, and
felt his pulse, but vainly. The heart of the man made no answer to the
questioning fingers of his son. The eyes were closed and, his hands
trembling now, Ralph forced them open. The contracted pupils gave him
all the information he needed. He found the wineglass, which still
smelled of laudanum. He washed it carefully, put it away, then went
down-stairs.

His first sensation was entirely relief. Anthony Dexter had chosen the
one sure way out. Ralph had a distinct sense of gratitude until he
remembered that death did not end disgrace. Never again need he look
in his father's eyes; there was no imperative demand that he should
conceal his contempt. With the hiding of Anthony Dexter's body beneath
the shriving sod, all would be over save memory. Could he put by this
memory as his father had his? Ralph did not know.

The sorrowful preliminaries were all over before Ralph's feeling was in
any way changed. Then the pity of it all overwhelmed him in a blinding
flood.

Searching for something or some one to lean upon, his thought turned to
Miss Evelina. Surely, now, he might go to her. If comfort was to be
had, of any sort, he could find it