Cobwebs and Cables | Page 2

hours ago, looking out with grave childish eyes on the
sunset. The broad, shallow steps of the oaken staircase, trodden so
many years by the feet of all who were dearest to him; the quiet
chambers above where his mother, his wife, and his children were at
this moment sleeping peacefully. How unutterably and painfully sweet
all his home was to him!
Very prosperous his life had been; hardly overshadowed by a single
cloud. His father, who had been the third partner in the oldest bank in
Riversborough, had lived until he was old enough to step into his place.
The bank had been established in the last century, and was looked upon
as being as safe as the Bank of England. The second partner was dead;
and the eldest, Mr. Clifford, had left everything in his hands for the last
five years.
No man in Riversborough had led a more prosperous life than he had.
His wife was from one of the county families; without fortune, indeed,
but with all the advantages of high connections, which lifted him above
the rank of mere business men, and admitted him into society hitherto
closed even to the head partner in the old bank; in spite even of the fact
that he still occupied the fine old house adjoining the bank premises.
There was scarcely a townsman who was held to be his equal; not one
who was considered his superior. Though he was little over thirty yet,
he was at the head of all municipal affairs. He had already held the
office of mayor for one year, and might have been re-elected, if his
wife had not somewhat scorned the homely bourgeois dignity. There

was no more popular man in the whole town than he was.
But he had been building on the sands, and the storm was rising. He
could hear the moan of the winds growing louder, and the rush of the
on-coming floods drawing nearer. He must make good his escape now,
or never. If he put off flight till to-morrow, he would be crushed with
the falling of his house.
He lifted himself up heavily, and looked round the room. It was his
private office, at the back of the bank, handsomely furnished as a bank
parlor should be. Over the fire-place hung the portrait of old Clifford,
the senior partner, faithfully painted by a local artist, who had not
attempted to soften the hard, stern face, and the fixed stare of the cold
blue eyes, which seemed fastened pitilessly upon him. He had never
seen the likeness before as he saw it now. Would such a man overlook
a fault, or have any mercy for an offender? Never! He turned away
from it, feeling cold and sick at heart; and with a heavy, and very bitter
sigh he locked the door upon the room where he had spent so large a
portion of his life. The place which had known him would know him
no more.
As noiselessly and warily as if he was a thief breaking into the quiet
house, he stole up the dimly-lighted staircase, and paused for a minute
or two before a door, listening intently. Then he crept in. A low shaded
lamp was burning, giving light enough to guide him to the cot where
Felix was sleeping. It would be his birthday to-morrow, and the child
must not lose his birthday gift, though the relentless floods were
rushing on toward him also. Close by was the cot where his baby
daughter, Hilda, was at rest. He stood between them, and could lay a
hand on each. How soundly the children slept while his heart was
breaking! Dear as they had been to him, he had never realized till now
how priceless beyond all words such little tender creatures could be. He
had called them into existence; and now the greatest good that could
befall them was his death. It was unutterable agony to him.
His gift was a Bible, the boy's own choice; and he laid it on the pillow
where Felix would find it as soon as his eyes opened. He bent over him,
and kissed him with trembling lips. Hilda stirred a little when his lips

touched her soft, rosy face, and she half opened her eyes, whispering
"Father," and then fell asleep again smiling. He dared not linger another
moment, but passing stealthily away, he paused listening at another
door, his face white with anguish. "I dare not see Felicita," he
murmured to himself, "but I must look on my mother's face once
again."
The door made no sound as he opened it, and his feet fell noiselessly on
the thick carpet; but as he drew near his mother's bed, her eyes opened
with a clear steady gaze as if