The City of Fire

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"Yes. Nobody ever thought anybody in Sabbath Valley would ever be tried
for murder!"

"Oh!" said Mrs. Gibson sharply, drawing back her chair as if she were
in a hurry and rolling up her napkin quickly.

"Yes, poor Mark Carter! I remember his sweet little face and his long
yellow curls and his baby smile as if it were yesterday!" narrowing her
eyes and harrowing her voice, "I wonder if his poor mother knows yet."

"I should hope not!" said Mrs. Gibson rising precipitately and
wandering over to the window where hung a gilded canary cage. "Mrs.
Frost, did you remember to give the canary some seed and fresh water?"

"Yes, I b'lieve so," responded the fat lady, "But you can't keep her
from knowing it always. Whatt'll you do when he's _hung?_ Don't
you think it would be easier for; her to get used to it little by
little?"

"Mrs. Frost, if you were a dog would you rather have your tail cut off
all at once, or little by little?" said Mrs. Gibson mischievously.

"I shouldn't like to have it cut off at all I'm quite sure," said Mrs.
Frost frostily.

"Well, perhaps Mrs. Carter might feel that way too," said the lady
bending over a rose geranium and pinching a leaf to smell.

"I don't understand you," said Mrs. Frost from her coffee cup, "Oh, you
mean that perhaps Mark may not be convicted? Why, my dear lady, there
isn't a chance at all, not a chance in the world for Mark, and while
I'm real sorry I can't say I'd approve. Think of how he's carried on,
going with that little huzzy of a Cherry. Mrs. Harricutt says she saw
him have her out riding in his automobile one day--!"

"Oh,--_Mrs. Harricutt!"_ said Mrs. Gibson impatiently, "Mrs.
Frost, let's find something pleasanter to talk about. It's a wonderful
morning. The air's like wine. I wonder If I couldn't take a little
walk. I mean to ask the doctor."

"My dear woman," said Frost patronizingly, "You can't get away from the
unpleasant things in this world by just not talking about them!"

"It seems not," said the Gibson lady patiently, and wandered out on the
porch.

Down the street Marilyn lingered by her mother's chair:

"Are you--going to Economy to-day, mother?"

"Yes, dear, your father and I are both going. Did you--think you
ought--wanted to--go dear?"

"Oh, I should _hate it!"_ cried Lynn flinging out her hands with a
terrible little gesture of despair, "But I wanted to go just to stand
by Mark. I shall be there anyway, wherever I am, I shall see everything
and feel everything in my heart I know. But in the night it came to me
that some one ought to stay with Mrs. Carter!"

"Yes, dear! I had hoped you would think of that. I didn't want to
mention it because I wanted you to follow your own heart's leading, but
I think she needs you. If you could keep her from finding out until it
was over--"

"But suppose--!"

"Yes, dear, it is possible. I've thought of that, and if it comes there
will be a way I'm sure, but until it does--_then_ suppose--"

"Yes, mother, I'll go and make her have one happy day first anyway." If
any of those old vultures come around I'll play the piano or scream all
the while they are there and keep them from telling her a thing!"

"I think, dear, the vultures will all be in Economy to-day."

"All except Mrs. Frost, mother dear. She can't get away. But she can
always run across the street to borrow a cup of soda."

So Lynn knelt for a moment in her quiet room, then came down, kissed
her mother and father with a face of brave serenity, and went down the
maple shaded street with her silk work bag in her hand. And none too
soon. As she tapped at the door of the Carter house she saw Mrs. Frost
ambling purposefully out of the Gibson gate with a tea cup in her hand.

"Oh, hurry upstairs and stay there a minute till I get rid of Mrs.
Frost," Lynn whispered smiling as her hostess let her in. "I've come to
spend the day with you, and she'll stay till she's told you all the
news and there won't be any left for me."

Mrs. Carter, greatly delighted with Lynn's company, hurried obediently
up the stairs and Lynn met the interloper, supplied her with the cup of
salt she had come for this time, said Mrs. Carter was upstairs making
the beds and she wouldn't bother her to come down,--_beds,_ mind
you, as if Mark was at home of course--and Mrs. Frost went back across
the street puzzled and baffled and resolved to come back later for an
egg after that forward young daughter of the minister was gone.

Lynn locked the front door and ran up stairs. She tolled her hostess up
to the attic to show her some ancient gowns and poke bonnets that she
hadn't seen since she was a little girl in which she and Mark used to
dress up and play history stories.

Half the morning she kept her up there looking at garments long folded
away, whose wearers had slept in the church yard many years; trinkets
of other days, quaint old pictures, photographs and daguerreotypes, and
a beautiful curl of Mark's--:

"Marilyn, I'm going to give that to you," the mother said as she saw
the shining thing lying in the girl's hand, "There's no one living to
care for it after I'm gone, and you will keep it I know till you're
sure there's no one would want it I--mean--!"

"I understand what you mean," said Marilyn, "I will keep it and love
it--for you--and for him. And if there is ever anybody else that--
deserves it--why I'll give it to them--!" Then they both laughed to
hide the tears behind the unspoken thoughts, and the mother added a
little stubbed shoe and a sheer muslin cap, all delicate embroidery and
hemstitching:

"They go together," she said simply, and Lynn wrapped them all
carefully in a bit of tissue paper and laid them in her silk bag. As
she turned away she held it close to her heart while the mother closed
the shutters. She shuddered to think of the place where Mark was
sitting now, being tried for his life. Her heart flew over the road,
entered the court and stood close by his side, with her hand on his
shoulder, and then slipped it in his. She wondered if he knew that she
was praying, praying, praying for him and standing by him, taking the
burden of what would have been his mother's grief if she had known, as
well as the heavy burden of her own sorrow.

The air of the court room was heavy for the place was crowded. Almost
everybody from Sabbath Valley that could come was there, for a great
many people loved Mark Carter, and this seemed a time when somehow they
must stand by him. People came that liked him and some that did not
like him, but more that liked him and kept hoping against hope that he
would not be indicted.

The hum of voices suddenly ceased as the prisoner was led in and a
breath of awe passed over the place. For until that minute no one was
quite sure that Mark Carter would appear. It had been rumored again and
again that he had run away. Yet here he was, walking tall and straight,
his fine head held high as had been his wont. "For all the world like
he walked when he was usher at Mary Anne's wedding, whispered Mrs.
Hulse, from Unity."

The minister and his wife kept their eyes down after the first glimpse
of the white face. It seemed a desecration to look at a face that had
suffered as that one had. Yet the expression upon it now was more as if
it had been set for a certain purpose for this day, and did not mean to
change whatever came. A hopeless, sad, persist look, yet strong withal
and with a hint of something fine and high behind it.

He did not look around as he sat down, merely nodded to a few close to
him whom he recognized. A number, pressed close as he passed, and
touched him, as if they would impress upon him their loyalty, and it
was noticeable that these were mostly of a humble class, working men,
boys, and a few old women, people to whom he had been kind.

Mrs. Severn wrote a little note and sent it up to him, with the
message, "Lynn is with your mother." Just that. No name signed. But his
eyes sought hers at once and seemed to light, and soon, without any
apparent movement on his part a card came back to her bearing the
words: "I thank you," But he did not look that way again all day it
seemed. His bearing was quiet, sad, aloof, one might almost have said
disinterested.

Mark's lawyer was one whom he had picked out of the gutter and
literally forced to stop drinking and get back on his job. He was a man
of fine mind and deep gratitude, and was having a frantic time with his
client, for Mark simply wouldn't talk:

"I wasn't there, I was on Stark mountain, I am, not guilty," he
persisted, "and that is all I have to say."

"But my dear friend, don't you realize that mere statements unadorned
and uncorroborated won't get you anywhere in court?"

"All right, don't try to defend me then. Let the thing go as it will.
That is all I have to say." And from this decision no one had been able
to shake him. His lawyer was nearly crazy. He had raked the county for
witnesses. He had dug into the annals of that night in every possible
direction. He had unearthed things that it seemed no living being would
have thought of, and yet he had not found the one thing of which he was
in search, positive evidence that Mark Carter had been elsewhere and
otherwise employed at the time of the shooting.

"Don't bother so much about it Tony," said Mark once when they were
talking it over, or the lawyer was talking it over and Mark was
listening. "It doesn't matter. Nothing matters any more!" and his voice
was weary as if all hope had vanished from him.

Anthony Drew looked at him in despair:

"Sometimes I almost think you _want_ to die," he said. "Do you
think I shall let you go when you pulled me back from worse than death?
No, Mark, old man, we're going to pull you through somehow, though I
don't know how. If I were a praying man I'd say that this was the time
to pray. Mark, what's become of that kid you used to think so much of,
that was always tagging after you? Billy,--was that his name?"

A wan smile flitted across Mark's face, and a stiff little drawing of
the old twinkle about eyes and lips:

"I think he'll turn up some time."

The lawyer eyed him keenly:

"Mark, I believe you've got something up your sleeve. I believe that
kid knows something and you won't let him tell. Where is he?"

"I don't know, Tony" and Mark looked at him straight with clear eyes,
and the lawyer knew he was telling the truth.

Just at the last day Anthony Drew found out about the session meeting.
But from Mark he got no further statement than the first one. Mark
would not talk. An ordinary lawyer, one that had not been saved
himself, would have given up the defense as hopeless. Anthony simply
wouldn't let Mark go undefended. If there were no evidence he would
make some somehow, and so he worked hoping against hope up to the very
last minute. He stood now, tall, anxious, a fine face, though showing
the marks of wreck behind him, dark hair silvered at the edges, fine
deep lines about his eyes and brows, looking over the assembled throng
with nervous hurrying eyes. At last he seemed to find what he wanted
and came quickly down to where the minister sat in an obscure corner,
whispering a few words with him. They went out together for a few
minutes and when they came back the minister was grave and thoughtful.
He himself had scoured the country round about quietly for Billy, and
he was deeply puzzled. He had promised to tell what he knew.

The business of the day went forward in the usual way with all the red
tape, the cool formalities, as if some trifling matter were at stake,
and those who loved Mark sat with aching hearts and waited. The Severns
in their corner sat for the most part with bended heads and praying
hearts. The witnesses for the prosecution were most of them companions
of the dead man, those who had drank and caroused with him, frequenters
of the Blue Duck, and they were herded together, an evil looking crowd,
but with erect heads and defiant attitude, the air of having donned
unaccustomed garments of righteousness for the occasion, and making a
great deal of it because for once every one must see that they were in
the right. They were fairly loud mouthed in their boasting about it.

There was the little old wizened up fellow that had been sitting with
the drinks outside the booth the night Billy telephoned. There were the
serving men who had waited on Mark and Cherry. There was the proprietor
of the Blue Duck himself, who testified that Mark had often been there
with Cherry, though always early in the evening. Once he had caught him
outside the window looking in at the dancers as late as two o'clock at
night, the same window from which the shot was fired that brought Dolph
to his death. They testified that Mark had been seen with Cherry much
of late driving in his car, and that she had often been in deep
converse as if having a hot argument about something.

The feeling was tense in the court room. Tears were in many eyes,
hopeless tears in the eyes of those who had loved the boy for years.

But the grilling order marched on, and witness after witness came,
adding another and another little touch to the gradually rising
structure that would shut Mark Carter away from the world that loved
him and that he loved forever.

Cherry was called, a flaunting bit of a child with bobbed golden hair
and the air of a bold young seraph, her white face bravely painted, her
cherry lips cherrier even than the cherry for which she had been named.
She wore a silk coat reaching to the bottom of her frock, which was
shorter than the shortest, and daring little high-heeled many strapped
shoes with a myriad of bright buckles. Her hat was an insolent affair
of cherry red. She made a blinding bit of color in the dreary court
room. She appeared half frightened, half defiant. Her sharp little face
seemed to have lost its round curves and childlike sweetness. She
testified that she had been with Mark on the night of the shooting, but
that he had taken her home early and she had seen no more of him that
night. She admitted that she had returned later to the Blue Duck Tavern
with Dolph and had danced late and eaten supper with him afterwards,
and that it was while they were eating that the shot was fired and
Dolph fell over on the table. No, she didn't see any face at the
window. She had covered her face with her hands and screamed. She
guessed she fainted. Questioned further she admitted that she had had
an argument with Mark earlier in the evening, but she "didn't remember
what it was about." They often argued. Yes, Dolph was jealous of Mark
and tried to stop her going with him. Yes, Mark had tried to stop her
going with Dolph too, but he never acted jealous--On and on through the
sorry little details of Cherry's career. The court room vultures
receiving it avidly, the more refined part of the company with distaste
and disgust. Mark sat with stern white face looking straight at Cherry
all the time she was on the stand as if he dared her to say other than
the truth. When she happened to look that way she gave a giggling
little shudder and half turned her shoulder away, avoiding his eyes.
But when she was done she had said nothing against Mark, and nothing to
clear him either.

The sharp unscrupulous lawyer who acted for the prosecution had secured
some fellows "of the baser sort" who testified that they had seen Mark
Carter buying a gun, that they had seen him creep softly to the window,
peer into the room, and take aim. They had been on their way home, had
seen Mark steal along in a very suspicious manner and had followed him
to find out what it meant. There were three of them; fellows whom Mark
had refused to play against on a County team because they were what is
called "dirty" players. There had been hot words between Mark and them
once when one of them had kicked a man in the face with spiked shoes
who was just about to make a goal. Mark had succeeded in winning the
umpire to his point of view and the others had lost their game and
incidentally some money, and they had a grudge against him. Moreover
there was money in this testimony for The Blue Duck Tavern could not
afford to have its habitues in the public eye, and preferred to place
the blame on a man who belonged more to the conservative crowd. The
Blue Duck had never quite approved of Mark, because though he came and
went he never drank, and he sometimes prevented others from doing so.
This was unprofitable to them. So matters stood when the noon-hour came
and court adjourned for lunch.

XXVI

And while the long morning dragged itself away in Economy listening to
a tale of shame, over on the bright Jersey coast the waves washed
lazily on a silver strand reflecting the blueness of the September sky,
and soft breezes hovered around the classic little hospital building
that stood in a grove of imported palms, and lifted its white columns
picturesquely like some old Greek temple.

There was nothing in the life he was living now to remind Billy of
either hell or Sabbath Valley, yet for long days and weeks he had
struggled through flames in a deep dark pit lighted only by lurid glare
and his soul had well nigh gone out under the torture. Once the doctors
and nurses had stood around and waited for his last breath. This was a
marked case. The Shaftons were deeply interested in it. The boy had
mysteriously brought back all their valuable papers and jewels that had
been stolen from them, and they were anxious to put him on his feet
again. It went sadly against the comfortable self-complacent grain of a
Shafton to feel himself under such mortal obligation to any one.

But Billy was tougher than anyone knew, and one night after he had made
the usual climb through the hot coals on his bare knees to the top of
the pit, and come to the place where he always fell back, he held on a
little tighter and set his teeth a little harder, and suddenly, with a
long hard pull that took every atom of strength in his wasted young
body, he went over the top. Over the top and out into the clean open
country where he could feel the sea breeze on his hot forehead and know
that it was good. He was out of hell and he was cooling off. The first
step in the awful fight that began that night in the old haunted house
on the mountain had been won.

For three days he lay thus, cooling off and resting. He was fed and
cared for but he took no cognizance of it except to smile weakly.
Swallowing things was like breathing. You had to do it and you didn't
think about it. The fourth day he began to know the nurses apart, and
to realize he was feeling better. As yet the past lay like a blurr of
pain on his mind, and he hadn't a care about anything save just to lie
and know that it was good to smell the salt, and see the shimmer of
blue from the window. At times when he slept the sound of bells in old
hymns came to him like a dream and he smiled. But on the fifth morning
he lifted his light head uncertainly and looked out of the window. Gee!
That was pretty! And he dropped back and slept again. When he awoke
there was a real meal for him. No more slops. Soup, and potato and a
bit of bread and butter. Gee! It tasted good! He slept again and it was
morning, or was it the same morning? He didn't know. He tried to figure
back and decided he had been in that hospital about three days, but
when the next morning dawned and he felt the life creeping back into
his veins he began to be uncertain. He asked the nurse how soon he
could get up and get dressed. She smiled in a superior way and said the
doctor hadn't said. It would likely be sometime yet, he had been pretty
sick. He told her sharply he couldn't spare much more time, and asked
her where his clothes were.

She laughed and said:

"Oh, put away. You'll have some new clothes when you get well. I heard
Mrs. Shafton talking about it this morning when she was in the office.
She's coming to see you pretty soon, and they mean to do a lot for you.
You brought back her jewels didn't you? Well, I guess you'll get your
reward all right."

Billy looked at her blankly. Reward! Gosh! Was that reward going to
meet him again?

"Say," said he frowning, "I want my own clothes. I don't want any new
ones. I want my own! Say, I got some stuff in my pockets I don't wantta
have monkeyed with!"

"All right," she said cheerily, "They're put away safe. You can have
them when you're well." But when he asked her suddenly what day it was
she said vaguely "Tuesday," and went away. He was so tired then he went
to sleep again and slept till they brought his dinner, a big one,
chicken and fixings and jelly, and a dish of ice cream! Oh, Gee! And
then he went to sleep again. But in the morning--how many days was it
then? He woke to sudden consciousness of what he had to do and to
sudden suspicion of the time. Billy was coming back to his own. His
wilyness had returned. He smiled at the nurse ravishingly and asked for
a newspaper, but when she brought it he pretended to be asleep, so she
laid it down and went away softly. But he nabbed that paper with a weak
hand as soon as her back was turned and read the date! His heart fell
down with a dull thud. The third! This was the day of the trial! It
couldn't be! He read again. Was it really the day of the trial? The
paper that had the court program had been in his trousers pocket. He
must have it at once. Perhaps he had made a mistake. Oh, gee! What it
was to be helpless! Why, he was weaker than Aunt Saxon!

He called the nurse crossly. She bustled in and told him the doctor had
just said he might sit up to-morrow if he kept on without a temperature
for twenty-four hours longer. But he paid no heed to her. He demanded
his clothes with a young roar of a voice that made her open her eyes.
Billy had heretofore been the meekest of meek patients. She was getting
the voice and manner now that he generally retained for family use. He
told her there was something in the pocket he must see right away, and
he made such a fuss about it that she was afraid he would bring up his
temperature again and finally agreed to get the clothes if he would lie
real still and rest afterward. Billy dropped his head back on the
pillow and solemnly said: "Aw'wright!" He had visions of going to court
in blue and white striped pajamas. It could be done, but he didn't
relish it. Still, if he had to--!

The nurse brought his jacket and trousers. The sweater was awfully
dirty she said, but she was finally prevailed upon to bring that too,
and Billy obediently lay down with closed eyes and his arm stretched
out comfortingly over the bundles. The nurse hovered round till he
seemed to be asleep and then slipped out for a moment, and the instant
her white skirt had vanished from the doorway Billy was alert. He
fumbled the bundles open with nervous fingers and searched eagerly for
the bit of paper. Yes, there it was and the date the third of
September. Aw Gee!

He flung back the neatly tucked sheets, poked a slim white foot that
didn't look like his at all into a trouser leg, paused for breath and
dove the other in, struggled into his jacket and lay down again quickly
under the sheet. Was that the nurse?

He had to admit that he felt queer, but it would soon pass off, and
anyhow if it killed him he had to go. Aw bah! What was a little
sickness anyhow? If he stayed in the hospital any longer they'd make a
baby out of him!

The nurse had not returned. He could hear the soft plunk, plunk of her
rubber heels on the marble steps. She was going down stairs. Now was
his time! Of course he had no shoes and stockings, but what was a
little thing like that? He grasped the bundle of sweater tightly and
slid out of bed. His feet felt quite inadequate. In fact he began to
doubt their identity. They didn't seem to be there at all when he stood
on them, but he was not to be foiled by feet. If they meant to stick by
him they'd gotta obey him.

Slowly, cautiously, with his head swimming lightly on ahead of him and
a queer gasp of emptiness in the region of his chest that seemed to
need a great deal of breath, he managed a passage to the door, looked
down the long white corridor with its open doors and cheerful voices,
saw a pair of stairs to the right quite near by, and with his steadying
hands on the cool white wall slid along the short space to the top
step. It seemed an undertaking to get down that first step, but when
that was accomplished he was out of sight and he sat down and slid
slowly the rest of the way, wondering why he felt so rotten.

At the foot of the long stairs there was a door, and strange it was
made so heavy! He wondered a nurse could swing it open, just a mere
girl! But he managed it at last, almost winded, and stumbled out on the
portico that gave to the sea, a wide blue stretch before him. He
stopped, startled, as if he had unexpectedly sighted the heavenly
strand, and gazed blinking at the stretch of blue with the wide white
shore and the boom of an organ following the lapping of each white
crested wave. Those palm trees certainly made it look queer like Saxy's
Pilgrim's Progress picture book. Then the panic for home and his
business came upon him and he slid weakly down the shallow white steps,
and crunched his white feet on the gravel wincing. He had just taken to
the grass at the edge and was managing better than he had hoped when a
neat little coupe rounded the curve of the drive, and his favorite
doctor came swinging up to the steps, eyeing him keenly. Billy started
to run, and fell in a crumpled heap, white and scared and crying real
tears, weak, pink tears!

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