Chapter 18

It was five years since he had had any word from her, that woman who bore his name out there in the West, and whom he remembered with fierce shame, or put away from his thoughts with cold bitterness.

He sat all night in the chair in which he flung himself when he came back from the professor's house to his room. The fire died in his grate, he did not heed it; he was cold as ice, he did not know it. The stars paled and faded as he sat there. He was making no plan of life, raking no old memories; he was stunned, dazed.

The negro whose duty it was to kindle his fire, hurrying in at his unlocked door, found him there asleep, his face white and ghastly under the glare of the full light. The coal scuttle the boy held fell with a clatter to the floor. Lawson stirred and opened his eyes.

"Boss," the negro chattered, "'fo' Gawd, I thought yuh was daid!"

[Pg 234]

Lawson looked at him dully.

"I'se late, monstrous late dis mornin'," he blurted, still scared at Lawson's look. "I'll mek yo' fiah in no time!" He knelt before the grate and began cleaning it out with trembling hands.

Lawson still sat, the light shining full on him, his evening clothes, the wilted rose in his button-hole, his heavy coat enwrapping him.

"Pos'man done been long," said the darkey as he slapped on the blower and squatted on his heels to wait the fire's catching, "lef' yuh a lettah." He pointed to a white envelope just under Lawson's fingers. The postman had given it a shove through the slit in the door-panel made for such uses, and it had slidden almost to Lawson's fingers.

He took it listlessly, turned it over, and dropped it as if it had scorched him. Then he picked it up again, looked at it uncertainly; as he read it, all the ghastliness fled from his face.

He sprang to his feet, searched for his suit-case and wrenched open his closet door. He thrust some few clothes in the case.
 
"John," he commanded, "let that fire go out, lock up, and keep everything straight! Straight, now, you hear!" He felt for a bill and flung it to him.

John's fear fled at the sight of the money. "Dat I will, Marse Lawson, dat I will. I'll tend to ever'ting. Is yuh gwine erway fur Christmas?"

Lawson was locking his suit-case; he stopped and looked at the negro a moment, strangely. "Yes," he said, slowly, "yes, I'm going away for Christmas."

The professor only knew there was another locked door on the corridor.