The Bell in the Fog and Other Stories

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n Schuyler, the man nearer to him than any save himself, imploring him to "come at once." The appeal w

ing, brilliant; a superb intellectual machine, which never showed a fleck of rust, unremittingly polished, and enlarged with every improvement. But for one man he cherished an abiding sympathy;

y of the languid pretty women. He owed his minor fame to his guardianship of fashionable nerves. He could calm hysteria with a pressure of his c

orld a shock did Circumstance cease to run abreast of her. She was leaning back indolently in the open carriage, the sun slanting into her luminous skin and eyes, her face locked for the benefit of the chance observer, although she con

down his library. He was unshaven; his hair and his clothing were disordered. His face had the modern bea

call in any one else, and I am worn out. She is asleep now, and I got out o

y. Let us g

handsome children romped across the hal

you shut yourself up on the third floor with

m and bade them ret

asked bitterly. "What an atmosphere f

I wish, and send her

fe. Moreover, concealment

a door, hesitated a moment, then said abruptly: "I sa

the Avenue a f

or did the goaded man at his si

furniture was solid, too solid to be moved except by muscular

ed lips were black and blistered within; her shapely skinny hands clutched the quilt with the tenacious suggestion

d once been what are vaguely known as fine eyes;

ue protruded slightly. Her husband turned away, his shoulders twitching. The nurse held

nly you give me more relief than they. They are afraid. They tr

loose sleeves of her gown fell back and disclosed

d," thought the doctor. "And sh

k the quiet. Despite the stillness, the doctor had to strain his ear to catch the irregular breathing of the sick woman. He had a singular feeling, although the most unimaginative of men, that this third floor, containing only himself and the woman, had been sliced from the rest of the house and hung suspended in space, independent of natural laws. It w

profile was straight and mathematical, the mouth a straight line, the chin as square as that of a chiselled Fate. The jaw was prominent, powerful, r

itched once and his lips compressed more firmly. Th

as much power as God. The idea strikes me that w

ockets, and walked up and down

prolific in brains; a distressing capacity for affection, human to the core. At the age of forty-two, in the maturity of his mental powers, he carries with him a constant sickening sense of humiliation; a proud man, he lives in daily fear of exposure and shame. At the age of forty-two, in the maturity o

then to resent, then to yawn at the general vanity of life, is suddenly swept out of her calm orbit by a man's passion; and, with the swiftness of decision natural to her, goes to Europe. She returns

She will not be able to remain; so proud a woman could not stand the position. Again he will go with her. In a word, my friend's career will be rui

th a woman who is not his wife, the world cognizant of all the facts of the case. They grow up at odds with society. Result, the

he bedside. He laid his f

A worthless wretch is sent where s

the arbiter of five destinies. It is for me to say whether four people shall be happy or wretched, saved or ruined. I might say, with Nero, 'I am God!'" He laughed. "I am famed for my power to save where other

sly for some time, twitched suddenly a

ded. Her voice, always querulous

ely, "you will have no m

im incredulousl

oughly. "Give it to me-qui

" he

es, her own gradually expanded with

that?" s

es

itically. She wou

with drastic measures, s

ssi

and she believed that he was going to experiment with her. But she ha

aid, imperiously. "If you don'

om the bed and flung herself upon him

amed. "Give it to me!" An

nd cursed. Her oaths might have been learned in the gutter. She kicked at him and strov

ght. "And what columns of rubbish have bee

shrieking an

d you! Give it to me! I am dying! I am dying! Help!

l. Her body was a net-work of hungry nerves. The diseased pulp of her brain had ejected every thought but one. She squirmed like an old autum

pulled open the drawers of a chest, rummaging among its harmless contents, gasping, quivering, bounding, as her tortured nerves commanded. When she had littered th

ly, tearing her night-gown into strips; then lay quivering, a hideous, speckled,

water. Then the doctor, intently watching her, saw an expression of hope leap into her bulging eyes. She scrambled past him towards the wash-stand. Before he

p at him pitifull

he red burned-out tear-ducts yawned. T

t is the physical agony of a night

kill me." Then, as he stood

on the bed. She remained as he placed her, too weak to move,

"She may live two hours," he thought. "Possibly

turned. He attempted to read, but could not. The sense of supreme po

o sit. She had been an invalid, and the most sinless and unworldly woman he had ever known. He recalled, with a touch of the old impatience, how she had irritated his active, aspiring, essentially modern mind with her cast-iron precepts of right and wrong. Her conscience flagellated her, and

nd taken refuge in an axiom: "Co

y normal man was conscientious by instinct, however he might outrage the sturdy little judge clinging tenaciously to his bench in the victim's brain

s cleverness would have put it aside with a smile of scorn. He had never scrupled to thrust from his path whoever or whatever stood in his way, and had s

for the groundling whose heredity had not been conquered b

hand. He rose and walked quickly to her side. Her eyes were closed, her face

be long now

ste for it, a desire for motion. He walked up an

haunt me to my death. Rot! A murderer I should be called if the facts were known, I suppose.

ness had been so absolute, the cry broke that stillness so abruptly and so horridly, that the doctor

ng the sound of his voice; "but I wish to Go

ight was quiet again, but still that cry rang through it and lashed his brain. He r

est good of the greatest number'-the principle that governs civil law. Has not even the worthy individual been sacrificed to it again and again? Does it not hang the criminal dangerous to the community? And is that called murder? What am I at this moment but law epitomized? Shall I hesitate? My God, am I hesitating? Conscience-is it that? A superfluous

finger toward her pulse, then hurriedly w

night repeat itself? Will that thing on the bed haunt me? Will that cry shriek in my ears? Oh, shame on my selfishness! What am I thinking of? To let that base, degraded wretch exist, that I may live peaceably with my

l the work of the generations that had preceded him. His iron jaw worked spasmodically, his

ill not yield! 'Conscience'-they shall be saved, and by me. 'The greatest'-I

Then he could reach the door in a bound and run

He opened it and stared at the hypodermic syringe. His trembling fingers closed about it and moved toward the woman. Then, with an effort so violent he fancied he could h