"If I give you my word of honor that it depends only on yourself?"
"How?"
"Pull yourself together. Go downstairs quietly. Turn to your left.
You'll see a door. It opens on the street. Walk out with your head up,
and go home. You're as safe as though you'd never seen Ely Crouch.
There's no clue to you."
"No clue! Look down the fire escape!"
He crossed the room at a bound. Beneath him, its evil snout pointed
upwards, sat the dead man's familiar spirit.
"Good God! The ferret!"
"It's been sitting there, watching, watching, watching."
"The more reason for haste. Pull yourself together. Forward, _march_!"
he cried, pressing his will upon her.
"But you? When they come what will you say to them?"
"I'll fix up something." He drew back from the window, lowering his
voice. "Men in the garden. A policeman."
"They've found him!" She fell into Ned's chair, dropping her head in her
hands. For an instant he studied her. Then he took his great and tender
resolution. His hand fell warm and firm on her shoulder.
"Listen; suppose they suspect some one else?"
"Who?"
"Me."
"You? Why should they?"
"Circumstances. The place. The weapon here in my possession. My known
trouble with Ely Crouch. Don't you see how it all fits in?"
She recovered from the stupor of surprise into which his suggestion had
plunged her. "Are you mad? Do you think that I'd let you sacrifice
yourself? What am I to you that you should do this for me?"
"The woman I love," he said quietly. "I have loved you from the first
day that I saw you."
It was at this moment that I returned and halted at the door, an
unwilling witness to the rest, only half understanding, not daring to
move. I saw the splendid color mount and glorify her beauty. I saw her
hands go out to him half in appeal, half in rejection.
"Oh, it's madness!" she cried. "It's your life you're offering me."
"What else should I offer you--you who have given life its real meaning
for me?"
He caught her hands in his and held them. He caught her eyes in his and
held them. Then he began speaking, evenly, soothingly, persuasively,
binding her to his will.
"What does my life amount to? Think how little it means. A few more
weeks of waiting. Then the suffering: then the release. You heard Dr.
Smith. You know. You understand. Didn't you understand?"
"Yes," she breathed.
"Then you must see what a splendid way out this is for me. No more
waiting. No pain. Death never came to any one so kindly before. It's my
chance, if only you'll make it worth while. Will you?" he pleaded.
"Oh, the wonder of it!" she whispered, gazing on him with parted lips.
But he did not understand, yet. He pressed what he thought to be his
advantage.
"Here," he cried, suddenly dropping her hands and catching up the bills
from the valise. "Here's safety. Here's life. For you and your sister,
both. You spoke of Providence a moment ago. Here's Providence for you!
Quick! Take it."
"What is it?" she asked, drawing away as he sought to thrust the money
into her hands.
"Twenty thousand dollars. More. It doesn't matter. It's life for both of
you. Have you the right to refuse it? Take it and go."
She let the bank-notes fall from her hands unnoticed.
"Do you think I would leave you _now_?" she cried in a voice of thrilled
music. "Even if they weren't sure to trace me, as they would be."
This last she uttered as an unimportant matter dismissed with
indifference.
"There will be nothing to trace. My confession will cover the ground."
"Confession? To what?"
"To the murder of Ely Crouch."
Some sort of sound I was conscious of making. I suppose I gasped. But
they were too engrossed to hear.
"You would do even that? But the penalty--the shame--"
"What do they matter to a dying man?" he retorted impatiently.
She had fallen back from him, in the shock of his suggestion, but now
she came forward again slowly, her glorious eyes fixed on his. So they
stood face to face, soul to soul, deep answering unto deep, and, as I
sit here speaking, I saw the wonder and the miracle flower in her face.
When she spoke again, her words seemed the inevitable expression of that
which had passed silently between them.
"Do you love me?"
"Before God I do," he answered.
"Take me away! There's time yet. I'll go with you anywhere, anywhere!
I'm all yours. I've loved you from the first, I think, as you have loved
me. All I ask is to live for you, and when you die, to die with you."
Fire flashed from his face at the call. He took a step toward her. A
shout, half-muffled, sounded from outside the window. Instantly the
light and passion died in his eyes. I have never seen a face at once so
stern and so gentle as his was when he caught the outreaching hands
in his own.
"You forget that they must find one of us, or it's all no use. Listen
carefully, dear one. If you truly love me, you must do as I bid you.
Give me my chance of fooling fate; of making my death worth while. It
won't be hard." He took the little box from his pocket. "It will be
very easy."
"Give it to me, too," she pleaded like a child. "Ah, Ned, we can't part
now! Both of us together."
He shook his head, smiling. The man's face was as beautiful as a god's
at that moment or an angel's. "You must go back to your sister," he said
simply. "You haven't the right to die."
He turned to the table, drew a sheet of paper to him and wrote four
words. You all know what they were; his confession. Then his hand went
up, a swift movement, and a moment later he was setting back the glass
of water upon the desk whence he had taken it.
"Love and glory of my life, will you go?" he said.
"Yes," she whispered.
Not until then did the paralysis, which had gripped me when I saw Ned
turn the pellets into his hand, relax. I ran forward. The girl cried
out. Ned met me with his hand against my breast.
"How much have you heard?" he said quickly.
"Enough."
"Then you'll understand." His faith was more irresistible than a
thousand arguments. "Take her home, Chris."