Part 6 (1/2)

”Do you remember the first time I ever wore it?” She was smiling up at him.

”Oh, yes!” he nodded his head slowly. ”It is strange, isn't it? That was a long time ago when our friends were married back there in the old State, and to-night again, way up here in New York, they have not forgotten us on this their anniversary.”

Silence fell for a moment between them.

Then he spoke again, a little sadly:

”Would you wish those days back again, if you could?”

She hesitated thoughtfully.

”I do not know,” she said at last. ”Sometimes I think so. We had John then.”

”Yes,” he said, and turned away his head.

Her hand, as Jimmie Dale watched, seemed to tighten over her husband's; and now, though her lips quivered, there came a little smile.

”But we have his memory now, dear,” she whispered.

Agitated, the old gentleman moved abruptly away from the chair, and Jimmie Dale could see that the blue eyes were moist.

”That is true--we have his memory.” The old colonel's voice trembled.

And then his shoulders squared like a soldier on parade. ”Tut, tut!” he chided. ”Why, we are to be gay to-night! And it is almost time for us to be going. We, too, shall celebrate. You shall wear the pendant, just as you did that other night.”

”Oh, colonel!” There was mingled delight and hesitation in her e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n. ”Do you really think I ought to--that it wouldn't be out of keeping with our present circ.u.mstances?”

”Of course, I think you ought to!” he declared. ”And see”--he started across the room--”I will get it for you, and fasten it around your throat myself.”

He reached the escritoire, opened a little drawer at the top, took out a key, stooped to the lower drawer, inserted the key, turned it once or twice in a puzzled way, then tried the drawer, pulled it open--and with a sharp, sudden cry, reached inside for the steel bond-box.

The little old lady rose hurriedly, in a startled way, from her chair.

”What is it? What is the matter?” she cried anxiously.

The box clattered from the colonel's hands to the floor.

”It is gone!” he said hoa.r.s.ely. ”It has been stolen!”

”_Gone!_” She ran wildly forward. ”Stolen! No, no--it cannot be gone!”

They stared for a moment into each other's faces, and from each other's faces stared at the rifled box upon the floor--and then a look of wan misery crept gray upon the little old lady, and she swayed backward.

With a cry, that to Jimmie Dale seemed one of more poignant anguish than he had ever heard before, the old gentleman caught her in his arms and supported her to a chair; then running quickly to the hall, called loudly for the maid below.

There was a merciless smile on Jimmie Dale's lips. He was retreating now further back into the room toward the door that gave on the hall.

”I wonder,” said Jimmie Dale to himself through set teeth, ”I wonder if a man wouldn't be justified in putting an end _for keeps_ to that devil Thorold for this!”

He heard the maid come rus.h.i.+ng up the stairs. He could no longer see into the other room now, but a confused mingling of voices reached him: