THE HEART OF MAN

XXIII Doris
XXIV suspense
XXV the oval hut
XXVI Sweetwater returns
XXVII the image of dread
XXVIII I hope never to see that man
XXIX do you know my brother? 
XXX chaos
XXXI what is he making? 
XXXII tell me, tell it all
XXXIII alone! 
XXXIV the hut changes its name
XXXV silence—­and A knock
XXXVI the man within and the man without
XXXVII his great hour
XXXVIII night
XXXIX the avenger
XL desolate
XLI five o’clock in the morning
XLII at six

BOOK I

AS SEEN BY TWO STRANGERS

I

“A remarkable man!”

It was not my husband speaking, but some passerby.  However, I looked up at George with a smile, and found him looking down at me with much the same humour.  We had often spoken of the odd phrases one hears in the street, and how interesting it would be sometimes to hear a little more of the conversation.

“That’s a case in point,” he laughed, as he guided me through the crowd of theatre-goers which invariably block this part of Broadway at the hour of eight.  “We shall never know whose eulogy we have just heard.  ‘A remarkable man!’ There are not many of them.”

“No,” was my somewhat indifferent reply.  It was a keen winter night and snow was packed upon the walks in a way to throw into sharp relief the figures of such pedestrians as happened to be walking alone.  “But it seems to me that, so far as general appearance goes, the one in front answers your description most admirably.”

I pointed to a man hurrying around the corner just ahead of us.

“Yes, he’s remarkably well built.  I noticed him when he came out of the Clermont.”  This was a hotel we had just passed.

“But it’s not only that.  It’s his height, his very striking features, his expression—­” I stopped suddenly, gripping George’s arm convulsively in a surprise he appeared to share.  We had turned the corner immediately behind the man of whom we were speaking and so had him still in full view.

“What’s he doing?” I asked, in a low whisper.  We were only a few feet behind.  “Look! look! don’t you call that curious?”

My husband stared, then uttered a low, “Rather.”  The man ahead of us, presenting in every respect the appearance of a gentleman, had suddenly stooped to the kerb and was washing his hands in the snow, furtively, but with a vigour and purpose which could not fail to arouse the strangest conjectures in any chance onlooker.