Part 24 (1/2)

He sank, half pushed down by her, into his chair. She saw the revolver, now exposed by his gaping pocket, and had an impulse to take it, but realized that the act would infuriate him anew. So she left it alone and stood squarely in front of him.

”You are not going to d.a.m.n your soul,” she went on, firmly. ”Jesus, your Saviour and mine, forgave the guilty and you are refusing to pardon _even the innocent_. You are going to take me home. You are going to sit quietly there till I pack my trunk, and then we'll take the cab to the train.”

He groaned under a vast inrolling wave of indecision, and stared at her like a helpless, thwarted child, and yet she knew that the flames smoldering within him were apt to burst at any moment.

”I want to go home,” she said. ”I'm giving you this chance to take me in a decent way. If you refuse, I don't know what I'll do, but you'd better take me. For your sake and mine, you'd better do it. Now, I am being driven to the wall, father, and down inside of me is your stubborn nature when it is roused. You harm my husband, and see what I'll do.

I'll swear against you at the court of man. I'll appear against you on the Day of Judgment.”

He stared at her helplessly. His great mouth fell open and he groaned.

”I understand, and--and you may be right,” he faltered. ”But you'd better hurry. I know myself, and I know that if I met him I'd put him out of the way if all h.e.l.l stood between me and him. He has dragged my name down into the mire and made me a laughing-stock before all men. I'm pointed at, sneered at--called a senile fool.”

”I'll hurry,” she promised. ”It won't take long.”

In the little bedroom she threw open her trunk and began hastily to pack. New fears were now a.s.sailing her. What if John should suddenly come home for something he had left, as he had done once or twice?

Indeed, there on the bureau lay the blue-and-white drawing which only the night before he had been studying. He might come for that, using Cavanaugh's horse and buggy, as he frequently did. The thought chilled her to the marrow of her bones. In her haste she all but tore her simple dresses from their hooks in the closet and stuffed them, unfolded, into the trunk. Now and then a little stifled sob escaped her. Her father sat still and soundless in the other room. She wanted to brush his clothes, tie his shoes, and fix his hatband before starting away, but time was too valuable.

There was a pad of writing-paper and a pencil on the bureau, and she told herself that she must write John a note and leave it. She closed and locked her trunk. Then she turned to the pad. She took up the pencil and started to write, but was interrupted. Her father crossed the hall and stood in the doorway.

”What are you doing?” he asked, a suspicious gleam in the eyes which took in the pad and pencil.

”Nothing. I am ready,” she replied, dropping the pencil and turning to a window. ”Come in and get the trunk,” she ordered the cabman.

Nothing was said by Whaley or herself now, for the negro, hat in hand, was entering. And when he had left with the trunk, Tilly said:

”Come on, father, let's go.”

Sullenly and still with a haunting air of indecision on him, he trudged ahead of her out into the yard. She closed the door but did not lock it.

”How can I get a message to John?” she asked herself. ”There is no way that I can see, and yet I must--oh, I must!”

Her father had gone to the cab, opened the door himself, and stood waiting for her. In the open suns.h.i.+ne, his unshaven face had a grisly, ashen look; his bloodshot eyes held flitting gleams of insanity. His lips moved. He was talking to himself. She saw him clench his fist and hammer the gla.s.s door of the cab.

The negro was immediately behind Tilly. She turned while her father's eyes were momentarily averted. ”Listen,” she said, in a low tone. ”See my husband when he returns home to-night; tell him that my father came for me and that I had to leave. Tell him not to come up home.”

The negro's bare pate nodded beside the trunk on his shoulder. He seemed to understand, but made no other response, for Whaley's suspicious eyes were now on him and his daughter.

”Get in! Get in!” Whaley gulped, and stood holding the cab door.

She obeyed, and he followed and crowded into the narrow seat beside her.

Through the gla.s.s of the opposite door she saw the white tombstones of the town's burial-place, the roof of Lizzie Trott's house above the trees, and the jagged, boulder-strewn hills beyond. The next moment the cab had turned toward the station and was trundling along the rutted, seldom-used street. Whaley's gaping pocket was within an inch of her hand, and Tilly could have taken out the revolver, but she did not dare do so, for that might fire him anew, and she had determined to run no risks whatever. The smoke of factory chimneys streaked the horizon above the town. She heard the bell of a switch-engine in the distant railway-yard. They met a grocer's delivery-wagon. It was taking some ordered things to the cottage, but Tilly dared not stop to explain, and, as the grocer's boy did not recognize her, the two conveyances pa.s.sed each other. In an open lot some boys were playing ball. How could they play so unconcernedly when to the young wife the whole universe seemed to be whirling to its doom?

A little street-car was rumbling down an incline not far away. It seemed to have a few pa.s.sengers. What if one of them should be John? And what if, on finding her gone, he should hasten to town and meet her father before the train left?

”What time is it?” she asked her father, with forced nonchalance. He made no answer, and she reached over and drew his open-faced silver watch from the pocket of his waistcoat; but he had forgotten to wind it, and it had stopped at three o'clock. She put the timepiece back with difficulty, for he was leaning forward and made no effort to aid her.

They were soon within sight of the station. Groups of men and boys stood about. She shuddered at the thought of meeting their gaze. Cavanaugh might be among them, and she feared the consequences of her father's ire on seeing him. And when the cab had stopped and they had alighted Tilly noticed that the men were exchanging remarks and staring at her and her father. Surely they suspected something, and why? she wondered. Some of them came closer and eyed her attentively while pretending not to do so.

Tilly had her purse, and she sent the cabman for the tickets and ordered him to check her trunk. There was a little waiting-room, and, desiring more seclusion, she led her father into it. But they were not thus to escape the stare of the bystanders, for many of them walked past the door and looked in curiously. One of them wore the uniform of a policeman, and it seemed as if he were about to address some inquiry to her, but decided not to do so when he saw the cabman delivering the tickets and trunk-check to her. The clock on the wall indicated twelve.