it a note and read it; it was from Burgess:
“You saved me, in a difficult time. I saved you last night. It was
at cost of a lie, but I made the sacrifice freely, and out of a
grateful heart. None in this village knows so well as I know how
brave and good and noble you are. At bottom you cannot respect me,
knowing as you do of that matter of which I am accused, and by the
general voice condemned; but I beg that you will at least believe
that I am a grateful man; it will help me to bear my burden.
[Signed] ‘BURGESS.'”
“Saved, once more. And on such terms!” He put the note in the
lire. “I–I wish I were dead, Mary, I wish I were out of it all!”
“Oh, these are bitter, bitter days, Edward. The stabs, through
their very generosity, are so deep–and they come so fast!”
Three days before the election each of two thousand voters suddenly
found himself in possession of a prized memento–one of the renowned
bogus double-eagles. Around one of its faces was stamped these
words: “THE REMARK I MADE TO THE POOR STRANGER WAS–” Around the
other face was stamped these: “GO, AND REFORM. [SIGNED]
PINKERTON.” Thus the entire remaining refuse of the renowned joke
was emptied upon a single head, and with calamitous effect. It
revived the recent vast laugh and concentrated it upon Pinkerton;
and Harkness’s election was a walk-over.
Within twenty-four hours after the Richardses had received their
cheques their consciences were quieting down, discouraged; the old
couple were learning to reconcile themselves to the sin which they
had committed. But they were to learn, now, that a sin takes on new
and real terrors when there seems a chance that it is going to be
found out. This gives it a fresh and most substantial and important
aspect. At church the morning sermon was of the usual pattern; it
was the same old things said in the same old way; they had heard
them a thousand times and found them innocuous, next to meaningless,
and easy to sleep under; but now it was different: the sermon
seemed to bristle with accusations; it seemed aimed straight and
specially at people who were concealing deadly sins. After church
they got away from the mob of congratulators as soon as they could,
and hurried homeward, chilled to the bone at they did not know what-
-vague, shadowy, indefinite fears. And by chance they caught a
glimpse of Mr. Burgess as he turned a corner. He paid no attention
to their nod of recognition! He hadn’t seen it; but they did not
know that. What could his conduct mean? It might mean–it might–
mean–oh, a dozen dreadful things. Was it possible that he knew
that Richards could have cleared him of guilt in that bygone time,
and had been silently waiting for a chance to even up accounts? At
home, in their distress they got to imagining that their servant
might have been in the next room listening when Richards revealed
the secret to his wife that he knew of Burgess’s innocence; next
Richards began to imagine that he had heard the swish of a gown in
there at that time; next, he was sure he HAD heard it. They would
call Sarah in, on a pretext, and watch her face; if she had been
betraying them to Mr. Burgess, it would show in her manner. They
asked her some questions–questions which were so random and
incoherent and seemingly purposeless that the girl felt sure that
the old people’s minds had been affected by their sudden good
fortune; the sharp and watchful gaze which they bent upon her
frightened her, and that completed the business. She blushed, she
became nervous and confused, and to the old people these were plain
signs of guilt–guilt of some fearful sort or other–without doubt
she was a spy and a traitor. When they were alone again they began
to piece many unrelated things together and get horrible results out
of the combination. When things had got about to the worst Richards
was delivered of a sudden gasp and his wife asked: