Judgment

Judgment A Novel by Alice Brown- 1903 - ILLUSTRA TIONS THE GIRL STARTED TO HER FEET . . Frontisispiece NOW, SAID SHE, LETS TALK ABOUT KENT .......... Facing p. 3 2 THEY WERE LOOKING DOWN INTO THE VOID BELOW THEM ...... 94 ROSAMOND BLURRED THROUGH SNATCHES OF ENGLISH BALLADS . . . YOU ARE A HARD MAN, JOHN MARK- HAM. . . . . 104 I50 THEN THEY WERE SILENT .... 170 JUDGMENT JUDGMENT T HE house John Markham had built for himself, out of his manufacturing business, stood near the park, fronting an avenue of trees. A vacant lot on either side had been sown down to make a breadth of lawn, and the river was at the back. No other city house had such big breathing-space. It signified a bewildering sum of money in the real estate it had absorbed but in itself it was only a square, solid structure filled with comforts of the simpler sort. There was the plainest furnishing consistent with width of wall and height of ceiling. The rooms had no paucity of convenience yet at every point they told the story of people who lived plainly. The one telltale lux- ury about the place lay in the adornment given by natural beauties for there were flowers in profusion, and open fires burned in every room. This snowy evening of the early spring Mrs. Markham sat in the library be- tween lamp and fire, as if she craved the fellowship of both. She was a slen- der woman, in a white dress. Her face wore a natural pallor, and her move- ments had a rhythm. Her body thought it seemed to be the instru- ment of a spirit so keen as to demand continuous expression. Her pure pro- file had an aspiring look, half mystical, half loving her gray eyes were deeply set, and the black hair above was brush- ed back in a loose abundance.She was waiting. When the clock struck the quar- ter-hour she turned to it in quick im- patience, though she knew it was no later. Then the lower door opened to a latch-key, and she rose with an expect- ant grace, tremling yet controlled. A step ran up the stair, and a young wom- an appeared in the doorway. She was dark, with the poise of Diana, and her clothes, in their commonplace cut, flouted her beauty. Mrs. Markham put out both her hands. Come here, child, she called, in her soft contralto. Come here, Elizabeth. The girl walked up to her step-mother, and stood there, smiling and pulling off her gloves. She was not a creature of outspoken greetings but her face, full of an almost brooding interest in the woman, made up for silence. What is it, Helen she asked. What made you send The settlement is quite agog, your messenger was so urgent. She had tossed off her jacket and drawn up another chair, a straight one. There she seated herself and waited, her hands on her knees. Her brows drew to- gether in a watchful intensity. She look- ed like a doctor preparedto pass sentence on a case. Mrs. Markham had awakened to the alertness of a person who has something to tell. Her face warmed rather with expression than with color. I must let you understand the situa- tion first, she said. Your father is in the West, fighting out the strike. Yes. He hasnt yielded. That was on the bulletins when I came by. Your brother is on his way home. He sailed from Cape Colony on the ninth. The girl drew her brows together and narrowed her gaze. She was puzzled. Yes, dear, yes, she answered. But why do you remind me of things I know What makes you so queer about it Why do you say your brother, and not justKent Whats the matter, Helen Mrs. Markham sat straighter and held the arms of her chair, as if to steady