CHAPTER XXI

O

I

N the day of the tragedy, Olga had followed
Richard to the plant with serious misgivings.

She was present when Sterling brought the news that Tony had gained the upper hand, and that the strikers were on their way to the office to demand a reckoning with James Norton. She had seen the angry color come in Richard's cheeks as he apprehensively left the flat, brushing her aside as she tried to argue against his going. She was with the mob at the rear of the office when James Norton denounced his son. She heard the fatal shot, and when the officer forced his way through the crowd, she slipped into his wake and gained a position near the front. She was just behind Richard when the revolver was shown him for identification, she heard his acknowledgment, and witnessed his arrest.

Then a glance at Richard's face took Olga's mind from the tragedy, for she knew what that look meant. Quickly separating herself from the crowd, she hastened to Dr. Thurber's office and implored him to go with her to the county jail, where they arrived only a few moments after the prisoner and his guard.

Richard's collapse in his cell made his removal to the imfirmary imperative. Dr. Thurber was permitted to act in consultation, and Olga was admitted under his protecting patronage. When the patient was made as comfortable as possible, the doctor turned to her.

"You gave me to understand that this man was your husband. Now I understand that he is Richard Norton."

"What difference does his name make so long as he needs you?" she pleaded, fearful lest the doctor give up the case.

"I'll look after him all right," he reassured her; "but where do you come in?"

"Never mind about me," she cried pitifully. "Will he live?"

"I don't know that it makes much difference," Dr. Thurber replied with unintentional cruelty. "From what they tell me we'll be simply saving him for the chair."

Olga stifled a scream, and her eyes filled with horror. Her mind had been so painfully occupied by Richard's collapse that the significance of his arrest for the moment entirely escaped her.

"He did it, didn't he?" the doctor demanded abruptly. "Of course," Olga answered proudly. "What else could he do when his father called us carrion? But they won't send him to the chair for sticking up for us. He fought for us in France."

Dr. Thurber shrugged his shoulders. Nothing could be gained by combating the girl's mistaken faith. There was no question in Olga's mind that Richard had fired

the fatal shot. It was what she would have done, and she considered the act as consummate self-abnegation and further evidence of his devotion to the cause. Tony Lemholtz might talk and rave, but it took a man to act as Richard had!

"Well," Dr. Thurber said finally, "there's enough to think about now without going into the family relations; but if you're not his wife this is no place for you."

"I may come back and see him?" Olga begged, terror-stricken at the thought that she would be separated from her charge.

"It depends on whether he wants you after he's strong enough to see any one. That won't be for a week or two at best."

"Who will nurse him as I have all this time?"

"The officials will look after that."

Olga regarded him with reproach, but there was no yielding in the doctor's face. His thoughts were centered on more than the case before him. The engagement existing between Richard Norton and Lola Stewart was well known throughout the town, and Dr. Thurber was trying to reconstruct the situation as it was affected by "Mr. and Mrs. Richards." As this was a case which could not be relieved by pills, powders, or prescriptions, the doctor found it somewhat baffling.

II

It was another fortnight before the patient's brain cleared. Dr. Thurber was sitting beside his cot, feel

ing his pulse, gratified by the steady improvement. As he turned, he saw that Richard's eyes were open, and in them was an expression of intelligence which announced to the doctor's trained sense that normal conditions had returned.

"Hello, doctor," Richard greeted him cheerfully. "I'm glad to see you I've just had a horrible

dream."

Before an answer could be made the patient's glance took in the surroundings. Richard raised himself on his elbow and the smile of greeting upon his face changed into ghastly realization.

"Then it wasn't a dream, doctor?" he demanded slowly.

As Dr. Thurber shook his head Richard sank back. but only for a moment.

"My father is really dead?" he asked old dad!" he added as the doctor nodded.

...

After a few moments' silence he continued.

"Poor

"I can't seem to think of my father as being dead, doctor. It doesn't seem possible that such a personality as his could ever cease to exist. He never understood me, and I don't suppose I understood him, but he was a wonderful man."

Dr. Thurber studied his patient carefully. This was no incoherent rambling. It was evident that the mind had entirely cleared; yet the words were surprising in view of the circumstances. The doctor carefully jotted them down for future reference.

"Don't think too much," he cautioned Richard. "You have been very ill, and you'll need all your

strength. You will be able to see some of your friends now within a day or two."

But a flood of thought once started is not thus easily checked by a word of caution. Richard's eyes again fell on the grey stone walls, and his mind leaped to reconstruct the present situation.

"I was accused of shooting my father!" he cried suddenly. "I was arrested and I am now in jail. Tell me, doctor, is all that true?"

"Yes, it is true," Dr. Thurber admitted; "but let us talk about that tomorrow. Your strength won't stand it all at once."

"It is too awful . . ." horror filled Richard's voice

"it is too awful even to think... that I would

do anything to harm my father!"

"He was shot with your revolver," the doctor said significantly, feeling it to be his duty to get the reaction of this moment.

"I haven't had that gun in my possession since I left home," Richard declared with such emphasis that Dr. Thurber started. He had dreaded this moment of awakening, for he felt certain that the prisoner would involuntarily make some damaging statement which would add to his own moral responsibility.

"If that is true, you have nothing to worry about," he replied reassuringly. "Now try to forget, and a little later Mr. Stewart will want you to tell him everything."

"Miss Stewart doesn't believe it, does she?"

"No; the Stewarts have absolute faith in you." "Thank God for that! Now I can forget it; but,