"Good God!" he soliloquized, "I look like a murderer already," and he
covered his face with his hands, and turned away from the glass. "But I am
wrong to be excited thus; men who accomplish great things approach them
coolly, so must I. I must plot, watch, and wait;" and thus speaking, he
put on his hat and left the office.
As Mr. Stevens approached his house, a handsome carriage drove up to the
door of his neighbour, and Mr. Garie and his wife, who had been enjoying a
drive along the bank of the river, alighted and entered their residence.
The rustle of her rich silk dress grated harshly on his ear, and the soft
perfume that wafted toward him as she glided by, was the very reverse of
pleasant to him.
Mr. Garie bowed stiffly to him as they stood on the steps of their
respective residences, which were only divided by the low iron fence; but,
beyond the slight inclination of the head, took no further notice of him.
"The cursed haughty brute," muttered Mr. Stevens, as he jerked the bell
with violence; "how I hate him! I hated him before I knew--but now I----;"
as he spoke, the door was opened by a little servant that Mrs. Stevens had
recently obtained from a charity institution.
"You've kept me standing a pretty time," exclaimed he savagely, as he
seized her ear and gave it a spiteful twist; "can't you manage to open the
door quicker?"
"I was up in the garret, and didn't hear the bell," she replied, timidly.
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