walked away from him and sat down in one of the big chairs, as if her limbs suddenly had lost the power to support her. He pulled his crumpled hat from his pocket and fumbled it for a few moments. She sat there, looking at him, her lips parted.
"Well," he began, "I guess I'd better be going."
"Going? Where are you going?" she demanded, suddenly alert.
"Oh, out somewhere. I've got ten or twelve hours to kill."
She struggled to her feet.
"Tom, you are not going to leave this house until to-night."
He drew back, amazed.
"What?"
"I am going down to the river with you."
Comprehension was slow in filtering into his brain. A ghastly pallor spread over his face.
"What did you say?"
"I am going to the river with you. But you must stay here until to-night. You are not to go out into the streets. Do you understand?"
"You can't mean that— Why, you must be crazy. You? Why—why, I'm doing it so that you can live. You can't mean what you're thinking of—" He could not complete the sentence. A heavy sweat broke out on his forehead.
She forced a miserable smile to her lips. "You do not understand me, Tom. I am going down to the river with you, but I am coming back alone."
He slowly grasped the meaning of it.
"You—you're going down to see that I do make an end of it?" he cried.
"I want to be sure, for Christine's sake," she said, quite steadily.
He was glaring at her now. "Oh, I see. You don't trust me," he exclaimed bitterly. He put out his hand to steady himself against the library table. "I can't say that I blame you, either. But I won't stay here. I would, if it would do any good, but how can it? The police are likely to pile in here any minute with a warrant for me. That would be fine, wouldn't it?" He strode to the window and tried to look through the passage into the street. "I don't want to be pinched now. Go and look out of the front windows—go on! See if there's any one out there."
She did not move.
"Ain't you going to look?" he demanded.
"The police?" dropped from her lips dully. She had overlooked the danger from that direction, although her mind had been so full of it a little while before. "He won't send them here, Tom—"
"Of course, he will," he broke in irascibly. "He's crazy mad, and he'll act quickly to head off Jenison's warrant. I can't stay here—not another minute. Can't I get out the back way? They may be laying for me in front. Don't look like that, Mary! I can give 'em the slip. It won't do to have them nab me here. Just think of the newspapers! Wake up! Don't you see? And listen: I'll do what I said I would—to-night. I swear it. You can trust me, Mary. Now, quick, show me the way out—and don't let me bump into Christine. I—I couldn't stand that. I don't want to lose my nerve."
She left him and ran into the next room to look out into the avenue. He followed rapidly.
"There are two men standing at the corner," she whispered in alarm. He would have looked out if she had not dragged him away.
"It would be terrible if they were to come in here," she was saying distractedly. "Yes, you must go." She grasped his arm. "Tom, you may go if you'll promise to come back tonight."
"What's that for?"
"Because I insist. At ten o'clock—or any time you may choose. Only you must come back."
He studied her face curiously. Something stirred in his heart, but it had been so long since anything had touched that organ that he failed to credit himself with an emotion. Whatever it was, it impelled him to submit to her demand.
"I'll come," he said uneasily. "I don't see any use in it, though. We can say good-by now."
"No!" she exclaimed. "It must be to-night."
"All right, then. I'll come at ten,—the back way."
Without another word she hurried him through the intervening rooms to the servants' entrance. They passed Brooks in the rear hall. He bowed stiffly to Braddock. Brooks had been listening at a keyhole.
She opened the door and pointed the way with a trembling hand.
"There is the alley, Tom,—through the little gate. Be very careful."
He did not respond. Turning his face away resolutely, he stalked down the narrow steps, and, without so much as a glance behind, hurried off toward the alley-gate. She watched him pass through it, a strange cramp of disappointment in her heart because he had resisted the temptation to look back at his judge. How long she stood there stark and silent she did not know.
Brooks, the footman, was speaking to her.
"Miss Christine is ill, ma'am," he said, from somewhere behind her. "The housekeeper thinks she has fainted, ma'am."