"You see, this friend of
mine was not of the vacillating and irresolute sort. I had always given
him credit for that--credit for being a man who would measure up to a
situation. He was quite an athlete, and enjoyed boxing and fencing and
swimming. If at any time in his life he could have conceived of a
situation such as he encountered in his wife's room, he would have lived
in a moral certainty of killing the man. And when the situation did come
was it not a miracle that he should walk out into the night leaving them
not only unharmed, but together? I ask you, Father--was it not a
miracle?"
Father Roland's eyes were gleaming strangely under the shadow of his
broad-brimmed black hat. He merely nodded.
"Of course," resumed David, "it may be that he was too stunned to act. I
believe that the laughter--_her_ laughter--acted upon him like a
powerful drug. Instead of plunging him into the passion of a murderous
desire for vengeance it curiously enough anesthetized his emotions. For
hours he heard that laughter. I believe he will never forget it. He
wandered the streets all that night. It was in New York, and of course
he passed many people. But he did not see them. When morning came he was
on Fifth Avenue many miles from his home.
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