llard could do such a thing."

To most of the citizens it was drama; it broke the tedious monotony of
everyday life; it was more productive of interesting conversation than a
case of embezzlement or the burning of the county courthouse. There were
those who smiled while they said: "Too bad, too bad! Any p'ticlers?"

Some of the women recalled their dislike of the lazy, pink-and-white
creature whom they had often seen loitering on the streets or lying day
after day in a hammock reading "domestic novels." The young girls drew
together and conveyed the news in whispers. It seemed to overturn the
whole social world so far as they knew it, and some of them hastened to
disclaim any friendship with "the dreadful thing."

Of course the related persons came into the talk. "Poor Mrs. Willard and
Harry Excell!" Yes, there was Harry; for a moment, for the first time,
he was regarded with pity. "What will he do? He must take it very hard."

At about eleven o'clock, just as the discussion had reached this
secondary stage, where new particulars were necessary, a youth, pale and
breathless, with his right hand convulsively clasping his bloody
shoulder, rushed into the central drug store and fell to the floor with
inarticulate cries of fear and pain. Out of his mouth at last came an
astonishing charge of murderous assault on the part of Harold Excell.
His wounds were dressed and the authorities notified to arrest his
assailant.

When the officers found Harold he was pacing up and down the narrow
alley where the encounter had taken place. He was white as the dead, and
his eyes were ablaze under his knitted brows.

"Well, what do you want of me?" he demanded, as the officer rushed up
and laid hands upon him.

"You've killed Clint Slocum," replied the constable, drawing a pair of
handcuffs from his pocket.

"Oh, drop those things!" replied Harold; "I'm not going to run; you
never knew me to run."

Half ashamed, the constable replaced the irons in his pocket and seized
his prisoner by the arm. Harold walked along quietly, but his face was
terrible to see, especially in one so young. In every street excited
men, women, and children were running to see him pass. He had suddenly
become alien and far separated from them all. He perceived them as if
through a lurid smoke cloud.

On most of these faces lay a smile, a ghastly, excited, pleased grin,
which enraged him more than any curse would have done. He had suddenly
become their dra