Part 42 (1/2)

”Oh! I had only got as far as your name,” he said, pointing to the empty page before him.

”Was it so difficult then,” she asked, ”to tell me everything?”

She had come forward into the room, and stood beside his desk, one hand resting upon it, her face looking down at the letter which he had not yet begun to write. He still made no attempt to rise, for now her face was in full golden light, and he could see its every feature.

”It is so difficult,” he said, ”not to write drivel when one is saying good-bye.”

”You are going away?” she asked.

”Yes.”

”To-night?”

”In half an hour.”

”You are going abroad?”

”Certainly.”

”Why?”

This last question came abruptly, in harsh, trenchant tones, altogether different to those of her smooth contralto voice. He turned his eyes away from her face, and looked down at his own hands, which were clasped in front of him.

”Because,” he replied without the slightest hesitation, ”I cannot face what lies before me if I remain.”

”Why not?”

”For many reasons. There's Uncle Rad to consider first and foremost, then Edie, and Jim, and Frank.”

”What have they to do with it?”

”Everything. After the evidence at the inquest to-day a warrant will be out for my arrest within the next few hours.”

”What of it?”

”The evidence against me is overwhelming. I should be tried, perhaps hanged, for murder, at best sent to penal servitude for life. I cannot chance that. I must think of Uncle Rad, of Edie, of Jim and of Frank.”

”You have yourself to think of first and foremost.”

”Well,” he retorted simply, ”I have thought of myself, and I do not see how with my own dagger-stick brought up in evidence against me, and my ill-feeling toward--toward the dead man so well-known, I can possibly escape condemnation.”

He spoke in such even and perfectly natural tones, that just for a moment--it was a mere flash--Louisa wondered if he were absolutely sane. It seemed impossible that any man could preserve such calm in face of the most appalling fate that ever threatened human being. She, too, like the indifferent, hide-bound official this afternoon was seized with an irrepressible desire to break through that surface of ice. The outer covering must be very thin, she thought; her presence must have melted all the coldness that lay immediately below the surface. Without saying another word, quietly and simply she came down on her knees. Her skirts had not swished as she did so, not a sound from her revealed the movement. When he looked up again, her face was on a level with his, and her eyes--those great luminous eyes that shed no tears at moments such as this--looked straight into his own.

”For pity's sake, Lou,” he said, ”don't make a drivelling coward of me now.”

And he rose, pus.h.i.+ng his chair aside, leaving her there, kneeling beside the desk, humbled and helpless. And he retreated within the shadow of the room.

”Luke,” she said, imploring him, ”you are going to tell me all that troubles you.”

”Nothing,” he replied curtly, ”troubles me. You are wasting your sympathy, you know. And I have a train to catch.”