Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
AUTHOR OF
"May Iverson—Her Book"
"Tales of the Cloister"
"Tales of Destiny"
Etc. Etc.
… "The state of man,
Like to a little kingdom, suffers then
The nature of an insurrection."
Varick laid down the book with which he had beguiled an hour of thenight, turned off the electric light in the shaded globe that hungabove his head, pulled the sheets a little nearer his chin, reversedhis pillow that he might rest his cheek more gratefully on the coolerlinen, stretched, yawned, and composed himself to slumber with anabsolutely untroubled conscience.
He was an eminently practical and almost rudely healthy young man, withan unreflecting belief in the existence of things he had seen, andconsiderable doubt concerning those which he had not seen. In his hearthe regarded sentiment as the expression of a flabby nature in a feeblebody. Once or twice he had casually redressing-case, with its array ofsilver toilet articles, the solid front of his chiffonnier, the carvedarms of his favorite lounging-chair, even the etchings and prints onthe walls. Suddenly, as he looked at these familiar objects, a lighthaze fell over them, giving him for an instant the impression that agauze curtain had been dropped between them and his eyes. They slowlymelted away, and in their place he saw the streets of a tiny village insome foreign country which he did not know. A moment later, in whatseemed at the time a perfectly natural transition from his bed in anAdirondack club-house, he was walking up the streets of the littletown, in correct tourist attire, looking in vain for a familiarlandmark, and with a strange sinking of the heart. How he got there, orwhy he was there, was equally incomprehensible to him. It was high noonof a warm summer day, and the red roofs of the old buildings seemed toglow in the heat. Before him, at the end of the street down which hewas walking, was a public square where marketing was going on in theopen. It was crowded with men and women in picturesque peasant costumeshe did not recognize, though he had travelled a great deal. As he drewnearer he heard them speaking, but discovered that their tongue was asunknown to him as their garb. He knew French, German, and Italian well;he had, in addition, a smattering of Spanish, and was familiar with theaccents of Slavic tongues. But this babel that met his ears wassomething new. Taken in connection with the rest of the experience, thediscovery sent a cold chill down the spinal column of Mr. LawrenceVarick. For the first time in his debonair life he was afraid, andadmitted it inwardly, with a sudden whitening of the lips.
"It's so infernally queer," he told himself, uneasily. "If I couldremember how I got here, or if I knew anything about the plac