It was as though Providence, storing all the
anxiety which he might have felt throughout, let him have it with a
rush at the last moment. He put the bat back into its case, corked the
oil-bottle, and again stood looking at his household gods. None came to
his aid. And his thoughts were as they had nine times been before. 'I
ought not to go out. I ought to wait for Wilson. Suppose anything
were to happen. Still, nurse is with her, and I can do nothing. Poor
Rose--poor darling! It's my duty to----What's that? I'm better out of
the way.'
Softly, without knowing that it was softly, he opened the door; softly,
without knowing it was softly, he stepped to the hat-rack and took his
black straw hat; softly, without knowing it was softly, he went out,
and, unfaltering, hurried down the drive.
Three minutes later he appeared again, approaching the house faster than
he had set forth.
He passed the hall door, ran up the stairs, and entered his wife's room.
"Rose dear, Rose, can I do anything?"
Mrs. Barter put out her hand, a gleam of malice shot into her eyes.
Through her set lips came a vague murmur, and the words:
"No, dear, nothing. Better go for your walk."
Mr. Barter pressed his lips to her quivering hand, and backed from the
room. Outside the door he struck at the air with his fist, and, running
downstairs, was once more lost to sight.
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