l:ei-iew of Reciewa, 119106. 



in the Days of the Gomet. 



3°3 



myself to do it. I don't remember how it was 1 

 decided not to do this, at last, but in the end I 

 didn't. 



When the train stopped at the next station, I had 

 given up all thoughts of going back. I was sitting 



CHAPTER THE THIAD- 

 j I pushed and threaded my way through the by- 



standers and went on, and his curious, harsh, flat 



in the comer of the carriage with my bruised and 

 wounded hand pressed under my arm, and still in- 

 sensible to its pain, trying to think out clearly a 

 scheme of action — action that should express the 

 monstrous indignation that possessed me. 



-THE REVOLVER. 



' That comet is going to hit the earth !" 



So said one of the two men who got into the 

 train and settled down. 



" Ah !' said the other man. " They do say it is 

 made of gas, that comet. We shan't blow up, shall 

 us?" 



What did it matter to me? 



I was thinking of re\'enge — revenge against the 

 primary conditions of my being. I was thinking of 

 Nettie and her lover. I was firmly resolved he 

 should not have her — though I had to kill them 

 both to prevent it. I did not care what else might 

 happen, if only that end were insured. All my 

 thwarted passions had turned to rage. I would have 

 accepted eternal torment that night without a second 

 thought, to be certain of revenge. A hundred pos- 

 sibilities of action, a hundred stormy situations, a 

 whirl of violent schemes, chased one another 

 through mv shamed, exasperated mind. The sole 

 prospect I could endure was of some gigantic, 

 inexorably cruel vindication of my humiliated self. 



And Nettie? I loved Nettie still, but now with 

 the intensest jealousy, with the keen, unmeasuring 

 hatred of wounded pride and baffled, passionate 

 desire. 



II. 



As I came down the hill from Clayton Crest — for 

 my shilling and a penny only permitted my travel- 

 ling by train as far as Two-Mile Stone, and thence 

 I had to walk over the hill — I remember very vividly 

 a little man with a shrill voice who was preaching 

 under a gas lamp against a hoarding to a thin crowd 

 of Sunday evening loafers. He was a short man. 

 bald, with a little, fair, curly beard and hair and 

 watery blue eyes, and he was preaching that the 

 end of the world drew near. 



I think that is the first time I heard anyone link 

 the comet with the end of the world. He had got 

 that jumbled up with international politics and 

 prophecies from the Book of Daniel. 



I stopped to hear him onlv for a moment or so. 

 T do not think I should have halted at all but his 

 crowd blocked my path, and the sight of his queer, 

 wild expression, the gesture of his upward-pointing 

 finger, held me. 



" There is the end of all your sins and follies," 

 he bawled. " There ! There is the star of judgments, 

 the judgments of the mo.st High God ! It is ap- 

 pointed unto all men to die — unto all men to die " 

 — his voice changed to a curious flat chant — " and 

 after death, the judgment ! The judgment I" 



voice pursued me. I went on with the thoughts that 

 had occupied me before — where I could buy a re- 

 volver, and how I might master its use — and pro- 

 bably I should have forgotten all about him had he 

 not taken a part in the hideous dream that ended 

 the Uttle sleep I had that night. For the most 

 part I lay awake thinking of Nettie and her lover. 



Then came three strange days — three days that 

 seem now to have been wholly concentrated upon 

 one business. 



This dominant business was the purchase of my 

 revolver. I held myself resolutely to the idea that 

 I must either restore myself by some extraordinary 

 act of vigour and violence in Nettie's eyes or I 

 must kill her. I would not let myself fall away 

 from that. I felt that if I let this matter pass, my 

 last shred of pride and honour would pass with it, 

 that for the rest of my life I should never deserve, 

 the slightest respect or any woman's love. Pride 

 kept me to my purpose between my gusts of pas- 

 sion. 



Yet it was not easy to buy that revolver. 



I had a kind of shyness of the moment when I 

 should have to face the shopman, and 1 was particu- 

 larly anxious to have a story ready if he should 

 see fit to ask questions why I bought such a thing. 

 1 determined to say I was going to Texas, and I 

 thought it might prove useful there. Texas, in those 

 days, had the reputation of a wild, lawless land. As 

 I knew nothing of calibre or impact, I wanted also 

 to be able to ask with a steady face at what dis- 

 tance a man or woman could be killed by the 

 weapon that might be offered me. I was pretty 

 cool-headed in relation to such practical aspects of 

 my affair. I had some little difficulty in finding a 

 gunsmith. In Clayton there were some rook-rifles 

 and so forth in a cycle shop, but the only revolvers 

 these people had impressed me as being too small 

 and toylike for my purpose. It was in a pawnshop 

 window in the narrow High-street of Swathinglea 

 that I found my choice, a reasonably clumsy and 

 serious-looking implement ticketed, •' As used in the 

 American army." 



I had drawn out my balance from the savings 

 bank, a matter of two pounds and more, to make 

 this purchase, and I found it at last a very easy 

 transaction. The pawnbroker told me where I could 

 get ammunition, and I went home that night with 

 bulging pockets, an armed man. 



The purchase of my revolver was, I say, the chief 

 business of those davs. but vou must not think I 



