Part 63 (1/2)

She hesitated, weighing her words. ”I have a plan, Tom, that I want to talk over with you. I'll tell you about it when we get home. I want to know what you think of it. Perhaps you will consider it a good one. It occurred to me this afternoon while I was making preparations to leave the city with you to-morrow.”

”You--you had it all thought out before you--”

”I had it all thought out. In fact, Tom, I have the railroad tickets at home in my desk,--two tickets, one way.”

”You are the most wonderful woman in all this world, Mary, I'd die for you a thousand times,” he cried. It was almost a sob.

She smiled. ”I wouldn't allow you to do it even once for me. Come! We will go back the way we came, only we will go in by the front door.”

As they turned onto the sidewalk he cast a swift, involuntary glance, as of terror, in the direction of North River. She distinctly heard the quick intake of his breath and the involuntary chatter of his teeth.

”You will sleep in a good, clean bed to-night,” she said, reading his thoughts.

He reached forth and touched her arm, timidly at first, as if he were afraid that ever so slight a sign of affection would be repulsed.

Finding that she did not shrink or draw away, he ventured to draw her arm through his. His figure was still bent, but the slouching, furtive movement was gone. Mechanically she fell into his stride and they moved swiftly up the street. A clock in a house across the way banged out the hour. Far away, in the neighborhood of Broadway, a raucous-voiced newsboy was crying his ”extra.” They knew that he was shouting:

”All about the murder!” in that unintelligible jargon of the night.

”We will get it all in the morning papers,” she said.

”I hope they don't try to connect me with it--Mary, I'm afraid of that!

You'd better let me get out of town to-night.”

She shook her head.

He walked with his eyes set straight ahead, trying to understand, trying to get control of his new emotions. Always there was the sharp, ugly little notion that she still despised him, that she was sacrificing herself that he might be drawn as far away as possible from the child she was so anxious to s.h.i.+eld.

”I'm going to try my best to make you care for me again,” he said, a vast hunger for sympathy and love taking possession of him.

”I hope you may, Tom,” she said drearily.

”You're doing this for Christine,” he said resentfully. ”Just to get me away, so's I can't trouble her. That's it, isn't it? Tell the truth, Mary.”

”I would not expect you to do anything for her sake if I were not willing to do a great deal myself,” was her enigmatic rejoinder.

”Don't hate me, Mary,” he burst out.

She pressed his arm. ”I am giving you a chance,” she reminded him.

There was still a dreariness in her voice, but he did not detect it. He returned the pressure, half hopeful that the beginning already had been made.

Brooks let them in. He had been waiting up for them.

”Mr. Braddock will be here over the night, Brooks.”

”Yes, Mrs. Braddock.” He opened the door into the library for them, and then silently hastened upstairs.

”You must have been pretty sure of yourself,” commented Braddock, in no little wonder. She threw off the shaker cloak.

”There is a cold supper for you in the dining-room, Tom--and a piece of a last-minute wedding cake. You must be hungry. While you are eating we will talk over my plan.”