Two hours later, Laura, fully dressed for a journey, sat on a trunk,
nervously watching the clock, patiently awaiting John's return. Annie
was still on her knees, struggling with the key of an obstinate
suitcase.
A remarkable transformation had been effected in the apartment. The
entire place had been dismantled, and the elegantly appointed sitting
room was now littered with trunks, grips, umbrellas and the usual
paraphernalia that accompanies a woman when she is making a permanent
departure from her place of living.
All the _bric a brac_ had been removed from the sideboard and tables.
Some of the dresser drawers were half open, and pieces of tissue paper
and ribbons were hanging out. On the armchair was a small alligator
bag, containing toilet articles and a bunch of keys. The writing-desk
had all its contents removed, and was open, showing scraps of torn-up
letters. Lying on the floor, where it had been dropped, was a New York
Central timetable. Between the desk and the bay-window stood a
milliner's box, inside of which was a huge picture hat. Under the desk
were a pair of old slippers, a woman's shabby hat and old ribbons. The
picture frames and basket of flowers had been removed from the pianola,
while the music-stool was on top of the instrument, turned upside down.
Between the legs of this stool was an empty _White Rock_ bottle, with a
tumbler turned over it. The big trunk stood in front of the sofa, all
packed, and it had a swing-tray, in which lay a fancy evening gown. On
top of the lid was an umbrella, a lady's traveling-coat, hat, and
gloves. On the sofa was a large Gladstone bag, packed and fastened, and
close by a smaller trunk-tray with lid. In the end of the tray was a
revolver wrapped in tissue paper. The trunk was closed, and apparently
locked. The room had the general appearance of having been stripped of
all personal belongings. Old magazines and newspapers were scattered
all over the place.
Pale and perturbed, Laura sat nervously, starting at each little sound
she heard from the street. Every now and then she consulted the small
traveling clock which she held in her hand. Why didn't John come. She
was all ready. Everything was packed. All they had to do now was to
call a cab and drive to the railroad station. Thank God, she had got
rid of Brockton! That danger, at least, was removed. John knew nothing,
could hear nothing now until they were safely married. If afterwards he
heard things and demanded an explanation, she would tell him everything
and he would forgive her.
"Ain't yuh goin' to let me come to yuh at all, Miss Laura?" asked the
maid with a pout.
"I don't know yet, Annie. I don't even know what the place is like that
we're going to. Mr. Madison hasn't said much. There hasn't been time."
"Why, Ah've done ma best for yuh, Miss Laura; yes, Ah have. Ah've jest
been with yuh ev'ry moment of ma time, an' Ah worked for yuh an Ah
loved yuh, an, Ah doan wan' to be left 'ere all alone in dis town er
New York."
Laura turned to the door for a moment, and, while her back was turned
Annie stooped, grabbed up a ribbon, and hid it behind her back.
"Ah ain't the kind of culled lady knows many people. Can't yuh take me
along wid yuh, Miss Laura? Yuh all been so good to me."
Getting up from the trunk, Laura went to the outer door and listened.
Hearing nothing, she returned with a gesture of disappointment. With
some irritation, she said:
"Why, I told you to stay here and get your things together, and then
Mr. Brockton will probably want you to do something. Later I think
he'll have you pack up, just as soon as he finds I'm gone. I've got the
address that you gave me. I'll let you know if you can come on."
Hiding the ribbon inside her waist, the negress said suddenly:
"Ain't yuh goin' to give me anything at all, jes' to remembuh yuh by?
Ah've been so honest----"
"Honest?" echoed her mistress scornfully.
"Honest, Ah have."
"You've been about as honest as most colored girls are who work for
women in the position that I am in. You haven't stolen enough to make
me discharge you, but I've seen what you've taken."
"Now, Miss Laura!" protested the girl.
"Don't try to fool me!" cried Laura indignantly. "What you've got
you're welcome to, but for Heaven's sake don't prate around here about
loyalty and honesty. I'm sick of it."
"Ain't yuh goin' to give me no recommendation?"
Laura shrugged her shoulders impatiently.
"What good would my recommendation do? You can always go and get
another position with people who've lived the way I've lived, and my
recommendation to the other kind wouldn't amount to much."
Overcome by emotion and disappointment, Annie collapsed on a trunk.
"Ah can just see wheah Ah'm goin'!" she cried; "back to dat
boa'din-house fo' me."
"Now, shut your noise," cried Laura impatiently. "I don't want to hear
any more. I've given you twenty-five dollars for a present. I think
that's enough."
"Ah know," replied the negress, putting on a most aggrieved appearance,
"but twenty-five dollars ain't a home, and I'm losin' my home. Dat's
jest my luck--every time I save enough money to buy my weddin' clothes
to get married, I lose my job."
Laura paced nervously from window to door, from door to window, listening
for every footstep.
"I wonder why he doesn't come," she murmured anxiously. "We'll never be
able to make that train!"
Picking the timetable off the floor, she sat down in a chair and began
to study it intently. While thus engaged, she heard the elevator stop
on their floor. She jumped to her feet. There he was! After a few
seconds' interval, the bell rang. Yes--that was he. Without waiting for
Annie, she rushed to open the door, and fell back, visibly disappointed.
It was not John, after all.
"How-dy-do, Miss Laura?"
The visitor was her old friend, Jim Weston. The advance agent was
neatly dressed in black, and he had about him an appearance of
prosperity which she was not accustomed to see. He looked different,
more staid and respectable, but his drollness of speech and kindly
manner were the same as ever. He held out his hand to Laura, who
invited him in. He came at an inopportune time, but she could not
forget his kindness to her during those terrible days at Mrs. Farley's.
"I'm mighty glad to see you, Jim," she said cordially.
"Looks as if you were going to move," he grinned, looking around.
"Yes, I am going to move, and a long ways, too. How well you're
looking--fit as a fiddle."
"Yes; I am feelin' fine. Where yer goin'? Troupin'?"
"No, indeed."
"Thought not. What's comin' off now?"
"I'm going to be married this afternoon," she said proudly.
"Married?" he exclaimed in astonishment.
"And then I'm going West."
Leaving the trunks, which he had been inspecting, he walked toward her
and held out his hands.
"Now, I'm just glad to hear that," he said warmly. "Ye know when I
heard how--how things was breakin' for ye--well, I ain't knockin' or
anythin' like that, but me and the missis have talked ye over a lot. I
never did think this feller was goin' to do the right thing by yer.
Brockton never looked to me like a fellow who would marry anybody, but
now that he's going through just to make you a nice, respectable wife,
I guess everything must have happened for the best."
He looked at her, and paused, as if expecting she would take him more
into her confidence, but she made no reply, and averted her eyes.
Sitting on the trunk beside her, he went on:
"Ye see, I wanted to thank you for what you did a couple of weeks ago.
Burgess wrote me a letter, and told me I could go ahead of one of his
big shows if I wanted to come back, and offered me considerable money.
He mentioned your name, Miss Laura, and I talked it over with the
missis, and--well, I can tell ye now when I couldn't if ye weren't to
be hooked up--we decided that I wouldn't take that job, comin' as it
did from you, and the way I knew it was framed up."
"Why not?" she asked in surprise.
"Well, ye see," he said with some embarrassment, "there are three kids,
and they're all growing up, all of them in school, and the missis,
she's just about forgot the show business, and she's playing star part
in the kitchen, juggling dishes and doing flip-flaps with pancakes;
and we figured that as we'd always gone along kinder clean-like, it
wouldn't be good for the kids to take a job comin' from Brockton--because
you--you--well--you--you----"
Laura rose hastily, and her face reddened.
"I know. You thought it wasn't decent. Is that it?"
"Oh, not exactly; only--well, you see I'm gettin' along pretty good now.
I got a little one-night stand theatre out in Ohio--manager of it, too.
The town is called Gallipolis."
"Gallipolis?" she echoed, puzzled.
"Oh, that ain't a disease," he smiled. "It is the name of a town. Maybe
you don't know much about Gallipolis, or where it is."
"No."
"Well, it looks just like it sounds. We got a little house, and the old
lady is happy, and I feel so good that I can even stand her cookin'. Of
course, we ain't makin' much money, but I guess I'm getting a little
old-fashioned around theatres, anyway. The fellows from newspapers and
colleges have got it on me. Last time I asked a man for a job he asked
me what I knew about the Greek drama, and when I told him I didn't know
the Greeks had a theatre in New York, he slipped me a laugh and told me
to come in again on some rainy Tuesday. Then Gallipolis showed on the
map, and I beat it for the West."
Noticing that his words had hurt her, he stopped, and in an embarrassed
kind of way went on:
"Sorry if I hurt ye--didn't mean to; and now that yer goin' to be Mrs.
Brockton, well, I take back all I said, and while I don't think I want
to change my position, I wouldn't turn it down for--for that other
reason, that's all."
"But, Mr. Weston, I'm not going to be Mrs. Brockton!" she cried hastily,
with a note of defiance in her voice.
"No?" he exclaimed in surprise.
"No."
"Oh--oh----"
"I'm going to marry another man, and a good man."
"The h--ll you are!"
She rose and put her hand on his shoulder. Gently, she said:
"It's going to be altogether different. I know what you meant when you
said about the missis and the kids, and that's what I want--just a
little home, just a little peace, just a little comfort, and--and the
man has come who's going to give it to me. You don't want me to say any
more, do you?"
"No, I don't," he said emphatically, in a tone of hearty approval; "and
now I'm just going to put my mit out and shake yours and be real glad.
I want to tell ye it's the only way to go along. I ain't never been a
rival to Rockefeller, nor I ain't never made Morgan jealous, but since
the day my old woman took her make-up off for the last time and walked
out of that stage door to give me a little help and bring my kids into
the world, I knew that was the way to go along; and if you're goin' to
take that road, by Jiminy, I'm glad of it, for you sure do deserve it.
I wish yer luck."
"Thank you."
"I'm mighty glad you sidestepped Brockton," he went on. "You're young,
and you're pretty, and you're sweet, and if you've got the right kind
of a feller, there ain't no reason on earth why you shouldn't jest
forgit the whole business and see nothin' but laughs and a good time
comin' to you, and the sun sort o' shinin' every twenty-four hours in
the day. You know the missis feels just as if she knew you, after I
told her about them hard times we had at Farley's boarding-house, so I
feel that it's paid me to come to New York, even if I didn't book
anything but 'East Lynne' and 'Uncle Tom's Cabin'." Rising and moving
towards the door, he added: "Now, I'm goin'. Don't forget--Gallipolis's
the name, and sometimes the mail does get there. I'd be awful glad if
you wrote the missis a little note tellin' us how you're gettin' along,
and if you ever have to ride on the Kanawha and Michigan, just look out
of the window when the train passes our town, because that is about the
best you'll get."
"Why?"
"They only stop there on signal. And make up your mind that the Weston
family is with you, forty ways from the Jack, day and night. Good-by,
and God bless you!"
"Good-by, Jim," she said, with some emotion. "I'm so glad to know
you're happy."
"You bet," he grinned. "Never mind, I can get out all right. Good-by
again."
"Good-by," she said very softly.
The door closed behind him, and once more she took up her solitary
vigil at the window. If John would only come! The precious minutes were
slipping away. They would never be able to make that train. She
wondered what had detained him. Suddenly, a cold chill ran through her.
Suppose he had met some one downtown who had told him about her and
Brockton. Then he would never come back again, or, if he did, it would
be only to wreak his vengeance. In spite of herself she trembled at the
mere idea. To change her thoughts, she began to busy herself about the
room, collecting the small packages, counting the trunks, showing Annie
how to close the apartment when they had gone. Suddenly the front
doorbell rang. She gave a joyful exclamation.
"Hurry, Annie--there's Mr. Madison!"
The girl passed into the corridor and a moment later her voice was
heard saying:
"She's waitin' for yuh, Mr. Madison."
Laura hastened forward to greet him. John came in, hat in hand,
followed by Annie. He stopped short as he entered, and looked long and
searchingly at Laura, who had hurried joyously to embrace him.
Instinctively she felt that something had happened. That look of
suspicion and distrust was not in his eyes when he left her that
morning, She trembled but remained firm. Annie disappeared and Laura
took his hat and coat and placed them on a trunk.
"Aren't you a little late, dear?" she said timidly.
He remained gloomily silent for a moment. Then, he said:
"I--I was detained downtown a few minutes. I think that we can carry
out our plan all right."
"Has anything happened?" she inquired, trying to conceal her anxiety.
"No," he replied hesitatingly. "I've made all the arrangements. The men
will be here in a few minutes for your trunks." Feeling in his pocket,
he added: "I've got the railroad tickets and everything else, but----"
"But what, John?"
He went over to her. Instinctively she understood that she was about to
go through an ordeal. She seemed to feel that he had become acquainted
with something which might interfere with the realization of her
long-cherished dream. He looked at her long and searchingly. Evidently
he, too, was much wrought up, but when he spoke it was with a calm
dignity and force which showed the character of the man.
"Laura," he began.
"Yes?" she answered timidly.
"You know when I went downtown I said I was going to call on two or
three of my friends in Park Row."
"I know."
"I told them who I was going to marry."
"Well?"
"They said something about you and Brockton, and I found that they'd
said too much, but not quite enough."
"What did they say?"
"Just that--too much and not quite enough. There's a minister waiting
for us over on Madison Avenue. You see, then you'll be my wife. That's
pretty serious business, and all I want now from you is the truth."
She looked at him inquiringly, fearfully--not knowing what to say.
"Well?" she stammered.
"Just tell me what they said was just an echo of the past--that it came
from what had been going on before that wonderful day out there in
Colorado. Tell me that you've been on the level. I don't want their
word, Laura--I just want yours."
The girl shrank back a moment before his anxious face, then summoned up
all her courage, looked frankly into his eyes, and with as innocent an
expression as she was able to put on, said:
"Yes, John, I have been on the level."
He sprang forward with a joyful exclamation:
"I knew that, dear, I knew it!" he cried.
Taking her in his arms, he kissed her hotly. She clung to him in
pitiful helplessness. His manner had suddenly changed to one of almost
boyish happiness.
"Well," he went on joyfully, "now everything's all ready, let's get on
the job. We haven't a great deal of time. Get your duds on."
"When do we go?"
"Right away. The idea is to get away."
"All right," she said gleefully. Getting her hat off the trunk, she
crossed to the mirror and put it on.
He surveyed the room and laughed.
"You've got trunks enough, haven't you? One might think we're moving a
whole colony. And, by the way, to me you are a whole colony--anyway,
you're the only one I ever wanted to settle with."
"That's good," she laughed lightly.
Taking her bag off the bureau, she went to the trunk and got her purse,
coat and umbrella, as if ready to leave. Hurriedly gathering her things
together and adjusting her hat, she said, almost to herself, in a low
tone:
"I'm so excited. Come on!"
Madison went to get his hat and coat, and both were about to leave,
when suddenly they heard the outer door slam. Instinctively both halted
and waited. Who could it be? John looked questioningly at Laura, who
stood, pale as death and as motionless as if changed into marble. A
moment later Brockton entered leisurely, with his hat on and his coat,
half-drawn off, hanging loosely on his arm. He paid no attention to
either of them, but walked straight through the room, without speaking,
and disappeared through the _portieres_ into the sleeping apartments
beyond. His manner was that of a man who knows he is at home and has no
account to render to anyone either for the manner of his entrance or
what rooms he may enter. Laura, who at first had made a quick movement
forward, as if to bar his further progress, fell back, terrified.
Putting her coat, bag and umbrella down on a chair, she stood, dazed
and trembling, powerless to avert the crisis which she realized was at
hand. Madison, who had watched the broker's actions with amazement,
suddenly grew rigid as a statue. His square jaw snapped with a
determined click, and one hand slipped stealthily into his hip pocket.
No one spoke. The tense silence was ominous and painful.
It seemed like an hour, but less than a minute had elapsed when
Brockton reentered, with coat and hat off. Carelessly picking up a
newspaper, he took a seat in the armchair, and, leisurely crossing his
legs, looked over at the others, who still stood motionless, watching
him. Greeting John lightly, he said:
"Hello, Madison, when did you get in?"
Slowly John seemed to recover himself. Suddenly his hand went swiftly
to his hip pocket and he drew out a revolver. Eyeing the broker with
savage determination, he deliberately and slowly covered him with the
deadly weapon. Brockton, who had seen the movement, sprang quickly to
his feet. Laura, terror stricken, screamed loudly and threw herself
right in the line of fire.
"Don't shoot!" she pleaded hoarsely.
Madison kept his rival covered, but he did not shoot. There was an
uncertain expression in his face, as if he was wavering in his own mind
as to whether he would kill this man or not. Slowly his whole frame
relaxed. He lowered the pistol and quietly replaced it in his pocket,
much to the relief of Brockton, who, notwithstanding the danger that
confronted him, had stood his ground like a man. Turning to Laura, the
Westerner said slowly:
"Thank you. You said that just in time."
There was an awkward silence, broken only by the sound of Laura weeping
half hysterically. Finally Brockton, who had recovered his self-possession,
said:
"Well, you see, Madison--what I told you that time in Denver----"
John made another threatening gesture which brought him face to face
with the broker.
"Look out, Brockton," he said. "I don't want to talk to you----"
"All right," rejoined the broker, with a shrug of his shoulders.
Madison turned to Laura. Peremptorily he said:
"Now get that man out of here."
"John--I----" she protested cheerfully.
"Get him out!" he almost shouted. "Get him out before I lose my temper,
or they'll--or they'll take him out without his help!"
The girl laid a supplicating hand on the broker's arm.
"Go--go! Please go!" she pleaded.
"All right," he replied. "If that's the way you want it, I'm willing."
He turned and went into the inner room to get his hat and coat, while
John and Laura stood facing each other, without speaking. Brockton soon
reentered, and without a word moved in the direction of the door. The
others remained motionless. As the broker put his hand on the door,
Laura started forward. Turning to Madison, she pointed at the man who
was leaving.
"Before he goes," she cried, "I want to tell you how I learned to
despise him. John, I know you don't believe me, but it's true--it's
true. I don't love anyone in the world but just you. I know you don't
think that it can be explained--maybe there isn't any explanation. I
couldn't help it. I was so poor, and I had to live. He wouldn't let me
work. He's let me live only one way, and I was hungry. Do you know what
that means? I was hungry and didn't have clothes to keep me warm, and I
tried, oh, John! I tried so hard to do the other thing--the right
thing--but I couldn't."
He listened in silence. There was no anger in his eyes, no menace in
his attitude. He merely appeared dumbfounded, crushed; there was in his
face a look of mute, helpless astonishment, as a child might look when
it saw an edifice of sand carefully and lovingly erected, levelled to
the ground by the first careless wave. Almost apologetically he said:
"I--I know I couldn't help much, and perhaps I could have forgiven you
if you hadn't lied to me. That's what hurt."
He turned fiercely on Brockton, and approaching close so he could look
him straight in the eyes, he said contemptuously:
"I expected you to lie; you're that kind of a man. You left me with a
shake of the hand, and you gave me your word, and you didn't keep it.
Why should you keep it? Why should anything make any difference to you?
Why, you pup, you've no right to live in the same world with decent
folks. Now you make yourself scarce, or take it from me, I'll just kill
you, that's all!"
"I'll leave, Madison," replied the broker coolly; "but I'm not going to
let you think that I didn't do the right thing with you. She came to me
voluntarily. She said she wanted to come back. I told you she'd do that
when I was in Colorado; you didn't believe me. I told you that when she
did this sort of thing I'd let you know. I dictated a letter to her to
send to you, and I left it, sealed and stamped, in her hands to mail.
She didn't do it. If there's been a lie, she told it. I didn't."
Madison looked at Laura, who hung her head in mute acknowledgment of
her guilt. As he suddenly realized how she had tricked him he turned
pale, and with a smothered cry sank down on one of the trunks. Until
this very moment he still believed in her. He could have forgiven her
returning to Brockton, everything; but she had deliberately lied to him
and deceived him. That he could never forgive. There was a moment's
silence, and Brockton advanced towards him.
"You see! Why, my boy, whatever you think of me or the life I lead, I
wouldn't have had this come to you for anything in the world. No, I
wouldn't. My women don't mean a whole lot to me because I don't take
them seriously. I wish I had the faith and the youth to feel the way
you do. You're all in and broken up, but I wish I could be broken up
just once. I did what I thought was best for you because I didn't think
she could ever go through the way you wanted her to. I'm sorry it's all
turned out bad. Good-bye."
He looked at John for a moment, as if expecting some reply, but the big
Westerner maintained a dogged silence. With a shrug of his shoulders
and without so much as glancing at Laura, Brockton strode to the door
and slammed it shut behind him.
[Illustration: JOHN STOOD LOOKING AT HER IN SILENCE.
_Page 337._]
Madison stood looking at her in silence. There was nothing more to say
or do. The broker was right. He had been a poor fool; he had taken this
woman too seriously. She was no better than all of her kind. Yet it
seemed as if there was something wrong somewhere. It had ended so
differently to what he expected. He would never believe in womankind
again. Slowly he made his way toward the door, while she, her heart
breaking, her face white as death, the hot tears streaming down her
cheeks, stood still, not daring to say a word or make a movement. His
drawn face and haunted eyes looked as though some great grief had
suddenly come into his life, a grief he could not understand. But he
gave her no chance to speak. He seemed to be feeling around for
something to say, some way to get out and away without further delay.
He went towards the door, and with a pitiful gesture of his hand,
seemed to be saying farewell forever. With a stifled sob, she darted
forward.
"John, I----"
He turned and looked at her sternly.
"I'd be careful what I said if I were you. Don't try to make excuses. I
understand."
"It's not excuses," she sobbed. "I want to tell you what's in my heart,
but I can't; it won't speak, and you don't believe my voice."
"You'd better leave it unsaid."
"But I must tell," she cried hysterically. "I can't let you go like
this."
Going over to him, she made a weak attempt to put her arms around him;
but calmly, dispassionately, he took her hands and put them down.
Wildly, pleadingly, she went on:
"I love you! I--how can I tell you--but I do, I do, and you won't
believe me."
He remained silent for a moment, and then taking her by the hand, he
led her over to the chair and placed her in it. He drew back a few
steps, and in a gentle but firm tone, tinged with grief which carried
tremendous conviction with it, he said:
"I think you do as far as you are able; but, Laura, I guess you don't
know what a decent sentiment is. You're not immoral, you're just
unmoral, kind o' all out of shape, and I'm afraid there isn't a
particle of hope for you. When we met neither of us had any reason to
be proud, but I believed that you would see in this the chance of
salvation which sometimes comes to a man and a woman fixed as we were
then. What had been had been. It was all in the great to-be for us, and
now, how you've kept your word! What little that promise meant, when I
thought you handed me a new lease of life!"
She cowered before him, unable to say a word in her own defense, almost
wishing he would beat her.
"You're killing me--killing me!" she cried in anguish.
He shrugged his shoulders skeptically.
"Don't make such a mistake," he replied ironically. "In a month you'll
recover. There will be days when you will think of me, just for a
moment, and then it will be all over. With you it is the easiest way,
and it always will be. You'll go on and on until you're finally left a
wreck, just the type of the common woman. And you'll sink until you're
down to the very bed-rock of depravity. I pity you."
Laura quickly raised her head and looked at him. Her eyes were swollen,
her face haggard and drawn. Madison found himself wondering how he
could ever have thought her even good looking. Her voice was metallic
and hard.
"You'll never leave me to do that. I'll kill myself!" she cried
hoarsely.
"Perhaps that's the only thing left for you to do," he replied
cynically; "but you'll not do it. It's easier to live."
He went to get his hat and coat. Then he turned and looked at her.
Laura rose at the same time. There was an unnatural glitter in her
eyes. She breathed hard. Her bosom rose and fell spasmodically.
"John," she cried exaltedly, "I said I'd kill myself, and I mean every
word of it. If it's the only thing to do, I'll do it, and I'll do it
before your very eyes!"
Quickly she snatched up the satchel, opened it, and took out the
revolver. Then she stood facing him, waiting.
"You understand," she cried hysterically, "that when your hand touches
that door I'm going to shoot myself. I will, so help me God!"
He halted and looked back at her, a covert smile of contempt hovering
about his mouth.
"Kill yourself--before me!" he exclaimed ironically. "You'll wait a
minute, won't you?" Returning to the inner room, he called out: "Annie!
Annie!"
The colored maid came running in.
"Yessuh!"
Madison pointed to Laura.
"You see your mistress there has a pistol in her hand?"
The girl, frightened out of her wits, could only gurgle an incoherent:
"Yessuh!"
"She wants to kill herself," said Madison. "I just called you to
witness that the act is entirely voluntary on her part." Turning to the
frenzied, hysterical woman, he said indifferently: "Now go ahead!"
In a state bordering on collapse, Laura dropped the pistol on the
floor.
"John, I--can't----"
Madison waved the maid away.
"Annie, she's evidently changed her mind. You may go."
"But, Miss Laura, Ah----"
"You may go!" he cried peremptorily.
Bewildered and not understanding, the negress disappeared through the
_portieres_. In the same gentle tone, but carrying with it an almost
frigid conviction, he went on:
"You didn't have the nerve. I knew you wouldn't. For a moment you
thought the only decent thing for you to do was to die, and yet you
couldn't go through. I am sorry for you--more sorry than I can tell."
He took a step toward the door.
"You're going--you're going?" she wailed.
"Yes," he replied firmly.
She wept softly. Between her sobs she cried:
"And--and--you never thought that perhaps I'm frail, and weak, and a
woman, and that now, maybe, I need your strength, and you might give it
to me, and it might be better. I want to lean on you--lean on you,
John. I know I need some one." Coaxingly she entreated him; in her
tenderest, most seductive tones she made a last desperate effort to win
him back. "Aren't you going to let me? Won't you give me another
chance?" she pleaded tearfully.
He repelled her coldly.
"I gave you your chance, Laura," he replied.
"Give me another!" she cried, throwing her arms around his neck.
He struggled with her, disentangling himself from her frantic embrace.
Pulling away, he said determinedly:
"You leaned the wrong way. Good-bye."
Going quickly to the door before she could again stop him, he opened
the door and disappeared. An instant later she heard the outer corridor
door slam. He was gone--forever!
She uttered a shrill scream of despair.
"John--John--I----"
Only a dead silence answered her frenzied, pitiful call. John was no
longer there to hear her. He was gone from her--forever. She would
never look on his face again. She could not blame him. She alone was at
fault. But what a blow! Her dream of a life of happiness with the man
she loved, her dream of self-redemption and regeneration, all that was
blasted at one stroke! And now Will Brockton was gone also. She had
lost them both. Abandoned and despised by the man she loved and also by
the man to whom she owed everything, her future life was a blank. She
must begin her career all over again. She had sunk to what she was
before. For several minutes she crouched motionless on the trunk, her
entire body shaken by convulsive sobbing. Then suddenly she sat up and
looked wildly around her. Rising in a dazed fashion from the trunk, she
staggered a few steps across the room. All at once her eyes caught the
gleam of the pistol lying on the floor. With a loud cry of mingled
despair and anger, she picked the weapon up, and, crossing to the
bureau, threw it in a drawer. Then, with a sigh of intense relief, she
called out loudly:
"Annie! Annie!"
The negress put her head through the _portieres_, her eyes as big as
saucers. She had heard the loud talking, but had been afraid to come
near the room. Looking at her mistress with blank astonishment, she
exclaimed:
"Ain't yuh goin' away, Miss Laura?"
[Illustration: SHE CROUCHED DOWN MOTIONLESS ON THE TRUNK.
_Page 344._]
By a supreme effort, Laura pulled herself together. She was a fool to
show such weakness. Why should she allow these men to interfere with
her and dictate to her? Defiantly she cried:
"No, I'm not! I'm going to stay right here. Open these trunks. Take out
those clothes. Get me my prettiest dress. Hurry up!" Going to the
mirror, while Annie obeyed her orders, she added: "Get my new hat!
Dress up my body and paint up my face--it's all they've left of me." In
a lower, agonized tone, to herself, she added bitterly: "They've taken
my soul away with them!"
"Yes'm, yes'm," cried Annie, happy at anything which promised a change.
Opening the big trunk, the negress took out the handsome dresses which
had been so carefully packed only a few moments before. Then
unfastening a box, she lifted out the large picture hat with plumes
which her mistress took from her. As Laura stood in front of the
mirror, putting her hat on and touching up her complexion to hide the
traces of recent tears, she forced herself to hum.
"Doll me up, Annie!" she cried lightly, as if by sheer force of will
power compelling herself to be light hearted and gay.
"Yuh goin' out, Miss Laura?"
"Yes, I'm going to Broadway to make a hit, and to h--ll with the rest!"
As she spoke, a hurdy-gurdy in the street under her window began to
play the tune of "_Bon-bon Buddy, My Chocolate Drop_." Laura stopped
her humming and listened. There was something in this rag-time melody
which at that moment particularly appealed to her. It was peculiarly
suggestive of the low life, the criminality and prostitution that
constitute the night excitement of that section of New York City known
as "The Tenderloin." The common tune and its vulgar associations was
like the spreading before her eyes of a vivid panorama showing with
terrific realism the inevitable depravity that awaited her. Rudely torn
from every ideal which she had so weakly endeavored to grasp, she had
been, thrown back into the mire and slime at the very moment when her
emancipation seemed to be assured. Standing before the tall mirror,
with her flashy dress on one arm and her equally exaggerated type of
picture hat in the other, she recognized in herself the type of woman
depicted by the vulgar street melody, and the full realization of her
ignominy came to her now, perhaps for the first time.
The negress, in the happiness of continuing to serve her mistress in
her questionable career, picked up the tune as she started to unpack
the finery which only a short time before had been so carefully and
lovingly laid away in the trunk. Shaken by convulsive sobs, resigned to
what she was powerless to prevent, Laura turned and tottered towards
the bedroom. Then, as the true significance of her pitiful position
dawned upon her, she sank, limp and helpless, on the sofa, gasping
pathetically:
"Oh, God! Oh, my God!"
In the street below the hurdy-gurdy continued grinding out "_Bon-bon
Buddy, My Chocolate Drop_," with the negress idly accompanying it.