FLIGHT
To reach the station, they must either penetrate the heart of the
town, or follow the dark streets of the outskirts. In the latter case,
their association would arouse surprise and comment, but in the
throng, reasonable safety might be expected. Once in the station, they
might hope to pass the hour of waiting in obscurity, since that was
the last place that a search would be made.
After the first intense moment of exaltation, both began to fear a
possible search. Grace apparently dreaded discovery as shrinkingly as
if her conscience were not clear, and Gregory, in the midst of his own
perturbation, found it incongruous that she who was always right,
wanted to hide. As they breasted the billows of jollity which in its
vocal stress became almost materialized, there grew up within him a
feeling uneasily akin to the shame of his past. Old days seemed rising
from their graves to chill him with their ghastly show of skeletons of
dead delights.
But Grace's hand was upon his arm, and the crowd pressed them close
together--and she was always beautiful and divinely formed. The
prospect of complete possession filled him with ecstasy, while Grace
herself yielded to the love that had outgrown all other principles of
conduct.
Grace could deceive herself about this love, could reassure her
conscience with specious logic, but she never lost her coolness of
judgment concerning Hamilton Gregory. His lapses from conventionality
did not come from deliberate choice, and she realized the danger of
letting his feverish impulse grow cold. Even the prospect of waiting
one hour at the station frightened her. She must save him from that
Fran who, it appeared, was his daughter--and from the worldly woman
who was not his wife--and he must be saved at once, or the happiness
of their lives would suffer shipwreck.
They gained the street before the court-house which by courtesy passed
under the name of "the city square". Grace's hand grew tense on
Gregory's arm--"Look!"
Her whisper was lost in the wind, but Gregory, following her
frightened glance, saw Robert Clinton elbowing his way through the
crowd, forcing his progress bluntly, or jovially, according to the
nature of obstruction. He did not see them and, by dodging, they
escaped.
The nearness of danger had paled Grace's cheeks. Gregory accepted his
own trembling as natural, but Grace's evident fear acted upon his
nebulous state of mind in a way to condense jumbled emotions and
deceptive longings into something like real thought. If they were in
the right, why did they feel such expansive relief when the crowd
swept them from the sidewalk to bear them far away from Robert
Clinton?
The merry-go-round, its very music traveling in a circle, clashed its
steam-whistlings and organ-wailings against a drum-and-trombone band,
while these distinct strata of sound were cut across by an outcropping
of graphophones and megaphones. Upon an open-air platform, a minstrel
troupe, by dint of falsetto inarticulateness, futile banjoes, and
convulsive dancing, demonstrated how little of art one might obtain
for a dime. Always out of sympathy with such displays, but now more
than ever repelled by them, Grace and Gregory hurried away to find
themselves penned in a court, surrounded on all sides by strident
cries of "barkers", cracking reports from target-practice, fusillades
at the "doll-babies", clanging jars from strength-testers and the
like; while from this horrid field of misguided energy, there was no
outlet save the narrow entrance they had unwittingly used.
"Horrible!" exclaimed Grace, half-stumbling over the tent-ropes that
entangled the ground. "We must get out of this."
It was not easy to turn about, so dense was the crowd.
Scarcely had they accomplished the manoeuver when Grace exclaimed
below her breath, "There he is!"
Sure enough, Robert Clinton stood at the narrowest point of their way.
He was clinging to an upright, and while thus lifted above the heads
of the multitude, sought to scan every face.
"I don't think he has seen us," muttered Hamilton Gregory,
instinctively lowering his head.
"We can't get out, now," Grace lamented. "No, he hasn't seen us--yet.
But that's the only place of--of escape--and he keeps looking so
curiously--he must have been to the store. He knows I'm away. He may
have gone to the house."
It was because every side-show of the carnival company had insisted on
occupying space around the court-house, and because this space was
meager, that the country folk and excursionists and townsmen showed in
such compressed numbers at every turn. In reality, however, they were
by no means countless; and if Robert's eagle glance continued to
travel from face to face, with that maddening thoroughness--
"We'd better separate," Gregory hoarsely whispered. "We'll meet at the
station."
"No. If he sees us, what would be the use? Anyway, he'll have to know
to-morrow...everybody will know--to-_morrow_! No," said Grace,
overcoming a slight indecision, "the important thing is not to be
stopped, whoever sees. Come this way."
"But there's no chance out, that way," Gregory returned, with the
obstinacy of the weak. "And if he does see us, it won't do to be
seeming to try to hide."
"But we _are_ hiding," Grace said definitely.
"Possibly we can keep moving about, and he will go away."
"Why should we hide, anyhow?" demanded Gregory, with sudden show of
spirit.
To that, she made no reply. If he didn't know, what was the use to
tell him?
Gregory moved on, but glanced back over his shoulder. "Now, he's
getting down," he said in agitation. "He's making his way right toward
us....All right, let him come!"
"In here--quick!" cried Grace, dragging him to one side. "Quick!"
A voice stopped them with, "Your tickets, please."
"Oh, no," wailed Gregory, "_not_ into a show, Grace. We can't go into
a _show_. It's--it's impossible."
She spoke rapidly: "We must. We'll be safe in there, because no one
would ever suppose we'd go into such a place."
"But Grace," said Gregory firmly, "I can not--I will not go into a
show."
The voice addressed them again: "It's first-class in every particular,
lady. There is nothing here to bring the blush of shame to the cheek
of the most fastidious. See those fierce man-eating lions that have
been captured in the remotest jungles of Africa--"
Gregory looked back.
Robert Clinton was drawing nearer. As yet he had not discovered them
but his eyes, grown fiercer and more impatient, were never at rest.
With a groan, Gregory thrust some money into the showman's hand, and
he and Grace mingled with the noisy sight-seers flocking under the
black tent.