"If you are going to wash, you would better do it, Tommy," she said, calmly. "I shall be wanting to in a minute."
Mechanically, Stewart slipped out of his coat, his tie, took off his collar, pulled up his sleeves, and fell to. He was by a feeling of unreality which even the cold water did not dissipate. It couldn't be true—all this——
"I wish you would hurry, Tommy," said a voice behind him. "I am waiting for you to unhook my bodice."
Stewart started round as though stung by an . His companion's hair fell in beautiful dark waves about her shoulders, and he could see that her bodice was loosened.
"There are two hooks I cannot reach," she explained, in the most matter-of-fact tone. "I should think you would know that by this time!"
"Oh, so it's that bodice!" said Stewart, and dried his hands vigorously, resolved to play the game to the end, whatever it might be. "All right," and as she turned her back toward him, he began gingerly searching for the hooks.
"Come a little this way," she said; "you can see better," and, glancing up, Stewart suddenly understood.
They were so that their shadows fell upon the curtain. The comedy was being played for the benefit of the guard in the street outside.
The discovery that it was a comedy gave him back all his , and he found the hooks and disengaged them with a which no real husband could have improved upon.
"There," he said; "though why any woman should wear a gown so fashioned that she can neither dress nor undress herself passes my comprehension. Why not put the hooks in front?"
"And spoil the effect? Impossible! The hooks must be in the back," and still standing before the window, she slowly drew her bodice off.
Stewart had seen the arms of many women, but never a pair so rounded and and beautiful as those at this moment disclosed to him. Admirable too was the way in which the head was set upon the lovely neck, and the way the neck itself into the shoulders—the masterpiece of a great artist, so he told himself.
"I wonder if there is a to that window?" she asked, suddenly, starting round toward it. "If there is, you would better close it. Somebody might pass—besides, I do not care to sleep on the ground-floor of a strange house in a strange town, with an open window overlooking the street!"
"I'll see," said Stewart, and pulling back the curtains, stuck out his head. "Yes—there's a shutter—a heavy wooden one." He pulled it shut and pushed its bolt into place. "There; now you're safe!"
She motioned him quickly to lower the window, and this he did as noiselessly as possible.
"Was there anyone outside?" she asked, in a low tone.
He shook his head. The narrow street upon which the window opened had seemed quite deserted—but the shadows were very deep.
"I wish you would open the bags," she said, in her natural voice. "I shall have to a night-dress of some sort."
Although he knew quite well that the words had been uttered for foreign consumption, as it were, Stewart found that his fingers were trembling as he undid the and threw back the lids, for he was quite unable to guess what would be the end of this strange adventure or to what desperate straits they might be driven by the pressure of circumstance.
"There you are," he said, and sat down and watched her.
She knelt on the floor beside the bags and turned over their contents thoughtfully, laying to one side a soft outing shirt, a traveling cap, a lounging coat, a pipe and of tobacco, a handful of cigars, a pair of trousers, a belt, three handkerchiefs, a pair of scissors. She paused for a long time over a pair of Stewart's shoes, but finally put them back with a shake of the head.
"No," said Stewart, "I agree with you. Shoes are not necessary to a sleeping costume. But then neither is a pipe."
She laughed.
"You will find that the pipe is very necessary," she said, and rising briskly, stepped to the wash-stand and gave face and hands and arms a scrubbing so vigorous that she emerged, as it seemed to Stewart, more radiant than ever. Then she glanced into the with an of dismay. "There! I have used all the water! I wonder if our has gone to bed?"
up the pitcher, she crossed rapidly to the door and opened it. There was no one there, and Stewart, following with the candle, saw that the hall was empty. They stood for a moment listening, but not a sound disturbed the stillness of the house.
The girl motioned him back into the room and closed the door softly. Then, replacing the pitcher gently, she caught up a pile of Stewart's socks and stuffed them tightly under the door. Finally she set a chair against it—for there was no lock—and turned to Stewart with a little sigh of relief.
"There," she said in a low tone; "no one can see our light nor overhear us, if we are careful. Perhaps they really do not suspect us—but we must take no chances. What hour have you?"
Stewart glanced at his watch.
"It is almost midnight."
"There is no time to lose. We must make our plans. Sit here beside me," and she sat down in one corner against the wall. "We must not waste our candle," she added. "Bring it with you, and we will blow it out until we need it again."
Stewart sat down beside her, placed the candle on the floor and leaned forward and blew it out.
For a moment they sat so, quite still, then Stewart felt a hand touch his. He seized it and held it close.
"I am very unhappy, my friend," she said, softly, "to have involved you in all this."
"Why, I am having the time of my life!" Stewart protested.
"If I had foreseen what was to happen," she went on, "I should never have asked you to assist me. I would have found some other way."
"The deuce you would! Then I'm glad you didn't foresee it."
"It is good of you to say so; but you must not involve yourself further."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I am in great danger. It is absolutely necessary that I escape. I cannot remain till morning. I cannot face that . I should be denounced."
"Yes," agreed Stewart; "that's clear enough."
"Well, I will escape alone. When the police come for us, they will find only you."
"And will probably back me against a wall and shoot me out of hand."
"Oh, no; they will be rough and angry, but they will not dare to harm you. They know that you are an American—they cannot possibly suspect you of being a spy. You can prove the truth of all your statements."
"Not quite all," Stewart corrected.
"Of your statements, at least, so far as they concern yourself."
"Yes—but I will have considerable difficulty explaining my connection with you."
"Oh, no," said the girl, in a low voice; "that can be easily explained."
"How?"
"You will say," she answered, her voice lower still, "that you met me at the Kölner Hof, that I made advances, that you found me attractive, and that I readily agreed to accompany you to Paris. You can say that it was I who suggested altering your passport—that you saw no harm in it—and that you knew absolutely nothing about me except that I was a—a loose woman."
Stewart's lips were trembling so that it was a moment before he could control his voice.
"And do you really think I would say that, little comrade?" he asked, . "Do you really think anything on earth could compel me to say that!"
He heard the quick of her breath; then she raised his hand to her cheek and he felt the hot tears upon it.
"Don't you understand," he went on earnestly, "that we are in this together to the end—the very end? I know I'm not of much use, but I am not such a coward as you seem to think me, and——"
She stopped him with a quick pressure of the fingers.
"Don't!" she breathed. "You are cruel!"
"Not half so cruel as you were a moment ago," he retorted.
"Forgive me, my friend," she pleaded, and moved a little nearer. "I did not know—I am but a girl—I thought perhaps you would wish to be rid of me."
"I don't want ever to be rid of you," began Stewart, brokenly, drawing her closer. "I don't want ever——"
She yielded for an instant to his arm; for the fraction of an instant her head was upon his breast; then she drew herself away, and silenced him with a tap upon the lips.
"Not now!" she said, and her voice, too, was . "All we must think of now is to escape. Afterwards, perhaps——"
"I shall hold you to that!" said Stewart, and released her.
But again for an instant she close.
"You are a good man!" she whispered.
"Oh, no!" Stewart protested, though he was shaken by the words. "No better than the average!"
And then he suddenly found himself unable to go on, and there was a moment's silence. When he again, he had his self-control.
"Have you a plan?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, and drew a quick breath, as of one shaking away some weakness. "The first part is that you should sit quite still until I tell you to light the candle."
"But what——"
"A good soldier does not ask questions."
"All right, general," said Stewart, and settled back against the wall, completely, happy. Never before, he told himself, had he known what happiness was; never before had the joy of living surged through his as it was doing now. Little comrade! But what was she doing?
He could hear her moving softly about the room; he could hear the of what he took to be the bed-clothes; then the bed creaked as she sat down upon it. What was she doing? Why should she work in the dark, alone, without asking him to help? Was it because he could not help—was of so little use——
"You may light the candle now, my friend," she said, in a low voice.
Stewart had a match ready—had had it ready for long minutes!—and in a trice the wick was alight and the flame shot up clear and steady.
After one glance, he sprang in to his feet, for there before him stood a youth—the handsomest he had ever seen—Peter Pan come to earth again!—his hand at the visor of his traveling-cap in mock .
"Well!" said Stewart, after a moment of amazed and delighted silence. "I believe you are a witch! Let me look at you!" and he caught up the candle and held it above his head.
The face upturned to his flamed at the wonder and in his eyes, but the dimple was sparkling at the corner of her mouth as she turned obediently before him and stepped slowly across the room. There is at the heart of every woman, however virginal and innocent, a subtle delight in knowing that men find her beautiful, and there could be no question of what Stewart thought at this moment.
At last she came to a stop facing him.
"Well?" she asked. "Will I do?"
"Will you do?" Stewart echoed, and Meredith's phrase to him—"an in porcelain"—how it described her! "You are
Join or Log In!
You need to log in to continue reading
(Left Keyword <-) Previous:
CHAPTER VII IN THE TRAP
Back
Next:
CHAPTER IX THE FRONTIER
(Right Keyword:->)