"Are you going in?" he said sharply.
"Are you?"
"Yes."
"Then I shall not," said Waymark. "I'll go to your place, and wait
there."
But when Abraham, whose eyes had not moved from the prisoner
throughout the proceedings, rose at length to leave, a step or two
brought him to a man who was leaning against the wall, powerless
from conflicting excitement, and deadly pale. It was Waymark. Mr.
Woodstock took him by the arm and led him out.
"Why couldn't you keep away?" the old man exclaimed hoarsely, and
with more of age in his voice than any one had ever yet heard in it.
Waymark shook himself free, and laughed as one laughs under torment.
CHAPTER XXV
ART AND MISERY
One Monday afternoon at the end of October--three months had gone
by since the trial--Waymark carried his rents to St. John Street
Road as usual.
"I'm going to Tottenham," said Mr. Woodstock. "You may as well come
with me."
"By the by, I finished my novel the other day," Waymark said, as
they drove northward.
"That's right. No doubt you're on your way to glory, as the hymn
says."
Abraham was in good spirits. One would have said that he had grown
younger of late. That heaviness and tendency to absent brooding
which not long ago seemed to indicate the tightening grip of age,
was disappearing; he was once more active and loud and full of his
old interests.
Pages:
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388