The outburst of cursings seemed to steady him, as the earthquake subsides when the volcano finds vent. He closed the window carefully and fastened it, and then went to spread the dust-cloth over his work on the drawing-board, folding it smoothly down at the corners, as one might drape the pall over the corpse of a thing dead. Some thought of the simile must have suggested itself, since he broke out in bitter speech: “That is precisely what I am doing; it is a pall, and it covers the corpse of my little nursling of decency. God help me! Two hours ago--two minutes ago, I thought I had a chance for my life; and now it is all done and over with, and I am banished like an unclean thing. I’ll go. She knew I’d go when she thonged that whip for me. I’ll go to my own place.” Thereupon one may conceive that all the good in him would rise up and plead strenuously for a little respite, for a few hours of sober second thought in which the soul-destroying possibilities of such a relapse might be weighed and measured; but to such a plea such a man must needs harden his heart and drive out the better prompting with muttered curses, as thus: “No, by God! I have listened to that song for the last time! From now on there is nothing to do but to forget, if I can. And I shall forget, I will forget, if I have to smother myself in the reek of the bottomless pit to do it!” As he passed the colonel’s desk on his way to the door his hand sought the train mail box mechanically and from force of habit. There were two letters in the box, letters written by the chief engineer before going out with the party in the private car, and Brant slipped them into his pocket, excusing himself to himself for letting the bit of routine obtrude itself into the presence chamber of desperate resolves. “I’ll take them down and put them on the train. It is my last day of honest work, and I’ll round it out fairly.” The masthead electric lamps over the platform at the Union Depot lighted the customary train-time pandemonium when he passed through the archway and made one in the jostling crowd under the arc lamps. It was before the day of gates and gate keepers, and the unquiet throng filled the open space opposite the archway. From the open space as a fountain head little rivulets of humanity filtered away to trickle up and down between the trains headed in either direction. A symphony of sound, pitched in the key of preparation, rose upon the still air of the outer night. The hum of human voices; the rumblings of the baggage trucks piled mountain-high with outgoing luggage; the monotonous “Look out!” of the baggagemen as they steered the rumbling mountains slowly through the throng; the measured beat of the air-brake pumps on the waiting engines, drowned at irregular intervals by a cacophonous blast from some overloaded safety valve--these contributed to a din which was rather harmonious than discordant.