PAGE 14
The Purple Parasol
by
“To-night?” she asked in very low tones.
“In half an hour.”
“And were you going without saying good-by to–to us?” she went on rapidly.
He looked steadily down into her solemn eyes for a moment and an expression of pain, of longing, came into his own.
“It couldn’t make any difference whether I said good-by to you, and it would have been hard,” he replied unsteadily.
“Hard? I don’t understand you,” she said.
“I didn’t want to see you. Yes, I hoped to get away before you knew anything about it. Maybe it was cowardly, but it was the best way,” he cried bitterly.
“What do you mean?” she cried, and he detected alarm, confusion, guilt in her manner.
“You know what I mean. I know everything–I knew it before I came here, before I saw you. It’s why I am here, I’m ashamed to say. But, have no fear–have no fear! I’ve given up the job–the nasty job–and you can do as you please. The only trouble is that I have been caught in the web; I’ve been trapped myself. You’ve made me care for you. That’s why I’m giving it all up. Don’t look so frightened–I’ll promise to keep your secret.”
Her eyes were wide, her lips parted, but no words came; she seemed to shrink from him as if he were the headsman and she his victim.
“I’ll do it, right or wrong!” he gasped suddenly. And in an instant his satchel clattered to the floor and his arms were straining the slight figure to his breast. Burning lips met hers and sealed them tight. She shivered violently, struggled for an instant in his mad embrace, but made no outcry. Gradually her free arm stole upward and around his neck and her lips responded to the passion in his. His kiss of ecstasy was returned. The thrill of joy that shot through him was almost overpowering. A dozen times he kissed her. Unbelieving, he held her from him and looked hungrily into her eyes. They were wet with tears.
“Why do you go? I love you!” she whispered faintly.
Then came the revulsion. With an oath he threw her from him. Her hands went to her temples and a moan escaped her lips.
“Bah!” he snarled. “Get away from me! Heaven forgive me for being as weak as I’ve been to-night!”
“Sam!” she wailed piteously.
“Don’t tell me anything! Don’t try to explain! Be honest with one man, at least!”
“You must be insane!” she cried tremulously.
“Don’t play innocent, madam. I know.” In abject terror she shrank away from him. “But I have kissed you! If I live a thousand years I shall not forget its sweetness.”
He waved his hands frantically above her, grabbed up his suit-case and traps, and, with one last look at the petrified woman shrinking against the wall under the blasts of his vituperation, he dashed for the stairway. And so he left her, a forlorn, crushed figure.
Blindly he tore downstairs and to the counter. He hardly knew what he was doing as he drew forth his pocket-book to pay his account.
“Going away, Mr. Rollins?” inquired the clerk, glancing at the clock. It was eleven-twenty and the last stage-coach left for Fossingford at eleven-thirty, in time to catch the seven o’clock down train.
“Certainly,” was the excited answer.
“A telegram came a few moments ago for you, sir, but I thought you were in bed,” and the other tossed a little envelope out to him. Mechanically Rossiter tore it open. He was thinking of the cowering woman in the hallway and he was cursing himself for his brutality.
He read the despatch with dizzy eyes and drooping jaw, once, twice, thrice. Then he leaned heavily against the counter and a coldness assailed his heart, so bitter that he felt his blood freezing. It read:
What have you been doing? The people you were sent to watch sailed for Europe ten days ago.
GROVER & DICKHUT.
The paper fell from his trembling fingers, but he regained it, natural instinct inspiring a fear that the clerk would read it.