For the second time the shadow of the
Great Mystery had fallen on the brightness of the perfect morning.
The car had stopped at Thirty-Fourth Street to allow the hurrying
crowds to cross the avenue. Kirk looked at them with a feeling of
sadness. It was not caused by John Bannister's death. He was too honest
to be able to plunge himself into false emotion at will. His feeling
was more a vague uneasiness, almost a presentiment. Things changed so
quickly in this world. Old landmarks shifted as the crowd of strangers
was shifting before him now, hurrying into his life and hurrying out of
it.
He, too, had changed. Ruth, though he had detected no signs of it,
must be different from the Ruth he had left a year ago. The old life
was dead. What had the new life in store for him? Wealth for one
thing--other standards of living--new experiences.
An odd sensation of regret that this stream of gold had descended upon
him deepened his momentary depression. They had been so happy, he and
Ruth and the kid, in the old days of the hermit's cell. Something that
was almost a superstitious fear of this unexpected legacy came upon
him.
It was unlucky money, grudgingly given at the eleventh hour. He seemed
to feel John Bannister watching him with a sneer, and he was afraid of
him. His nerves were still a little unstrung from the horror of his
wanderings, and the fever had left him weak.
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