"I seed a feller makin' tracks toward the river," said the seeming
countryman in answer to a query from a blue-coat.
"He's going to one of the low dives down near the dock," declared the
sergeant of police, and then he quickly hastened on his way.
The man for whom all this excitement was occasioned pursued his way
leisurely to the suburbs of the city, and entered a small house that
stood some rods back from the street.
It was not the cottage that he had occupied at the time Rose Alstine
mistook it for the Bordine residence. Soon after that untoward event, the
scheming Barkswell had changed his residence to a less respectable
neighborhood, against the protest of his wife, who was constantly urging
him to lead a better life.
All this time Barkswell was exceedingly anxious that Iris should leave
him for a better world, where she would be less troublesome.
He entered her presence to-night not in the best of humor.
Iris was reclining in a rocker, looking very pale and ill. She had been
suffering of late even more than usual, and to-night a deathly sickness
seemed stealing through her veins, rendering her weak and helpless.
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