The Dead Are Silent | Page 6

the
bridge, shivering at the sound of her own steps. Now she sees a figure
coming toward her; she slows her pace. It is a man in uniform. She
walks more slowly, she does not want to attract attention. She feels the
man's eyes resting on her--suppose he stops her! Now he is quite near;
it is a policeman. She walks calmly past him, and hears him stop
behind her. With an effort she continues in the same slow pace. She
hears the jingle of street-car bells--ah, it cannot be midnight yet. She
walks more quickly--hurrying toward the city, the lights of which begin
there by the railroad viaduct--the growing noise tells her how near she
is. One lonely stretch of street, and then she is safe. Now she hears a

shrill whistle coming rapidly nearer--a wagon flies swiftly past her. She
stops and looks after it; it is the ambulance of the Rescue Society. She
knows where it is going. "How quickly they have come," she thinks; "it
is like magic." For a moment she feels that she must call to them, must
go back with them. Shame, terrible, overwhelming shame, such las she
has never known before, shakes her from head to foot--she knows how
vile, how cowardly she is. Then, as the whistle and the rumble of
wheels fade away in the distance, a mad joy takes hold of her. She is
saved--saved! She hurries on; she meets more people, but she does not
fear them--the worst is over. The noise of the city grows louder, the
street is lighter, the skyline of the Prater street rises before her, and she
knows that she can sink into a flood tide of humanity there and lose
herself in it. When she comes to a street lamp she is quite calm enough
now to take out her watch and look at it. It is ten minutes to nine. She
holds the watch to her ear--it is ticking merrily. And she thinks: "Here I
am, alive, unharmed--and he--he--dead. It is Fate." She feels as if all
had been forgiven--as if she had never sinned. And what if Fate had
willed otherwise? If it were she lying there in the ditch, and he who
remained alive? He would not have run away--but then he is a man.
She is only a woman, she has a husband, a child--it was her right--her
duty--to save herself. She knows that it was not a sense of duty that
impelled her to do it. But what she has done was right--she had done
right instinctively--as all good people do. If she had stayed she would
have been discovered by this time. The doctors would question her.
And all the papers would report it next morning; she would have been
ruined forever, and yet her ruin could not bring him back to life. Yes,
that was the main point, her sacrifice would have been all in vain. She
crosses under the railway bridge and hurries on. There is the Tegethoff
Column, where so many streets meet. There are but few people in the
park on this stormy evening, but to her it seems as if the life of the city
was roaring about her. It was so horribly still back there. She had
plenty of time now. She knows that her husband will not be home
before ten o'clock. She will have time to change her clothes. And then
it occurs to her to look at her gown. She is horrified to see how soiled it
is. What shall she say to the maid about it? And next morning the
papers will all bring the story of the accident, and they will tell of a
woman. Who had been in the carriage, and who had run away. She

trembled afresh. One single carelessness and she is lost, even now. But
she has her latch-key with her; she can let herself in; no one will hear
her come. She jumps into a cab and is about to give her address, then
suddenly she remembers that this would not be wise. She gives any
number that occurs to her.
As she drives through the Prater street she wishes that she might feel
something--grief-horror--but she cannot. She has but one thought, one
desire--to be at home, in safety. All else is indifferent to her. When she
had decided to leave him alone, dead, by the roadside--in that moment
everything seemed to have died within her, everything that would
mourn and grieve for him. She has no feeling but that of fear for herself.
She is not heartless--she knows that the day will come when her sorrow
will be despair--it may kill her even. But she knows nothing now,
except the desire to sit quietly at home, at the supper table with