"Dudley has departed. I believe they are on to me. He went to Boston this
afternoon, and he actually was gruff with me just before leaving. The size
of the matter is, some one has posted him, and they are all up to my game
as a spy. I wish I were out of it. Never was so ashamed of a thing in my
life; don't feel like looking any one in the face. They've all been nice
to me. But what's the difference? They're all interested. She went to the
train with him and--the rest of us. I'll never forget how sad she looked
as she held his hand and bade him good-by. I carried the parasol back to
the hotel, and I know I hurt her feelings when I maliciously said that it
would look well with a deep black border. She almost looked a hole through
me. Fine eyes. I don't know what is coming next. She is liable to slip out
from under my eye at any time and fly away to meet him somewhere else. I
telegraphed this message to Grover & Dickhut:
"He has gone. She still here. What shall I do?
"Got this answer:
"Stay there and watch. They suspect you. Don't let her get away.
"But how the devil am I to watch day and night?"
The next week was rather an uneventful one for Rossiter. There was no
sign of Havens and no effort on her part to leave Eagle Nest.
As the days went by he became more and more vigilant. In fact, his watch
was incessant and very much of a personal one. He walked and drove with
her, and he invented all sorts of excuses to avoid Mrs. Van Haltford and
Miss Crozier. The purple parasol and he had become almost inseparable
friends. The fear that Havens might return at any time kept him in a fever
of anxiety and dread. Now that he was beginning to know her for himself he
could not endure the thought that she cared for another man. Strange to
say, he did not think of her husband. Old Wharton had completely faded
from his mind; it was Havens that he envied. He saw himself sinking into
her net, falling before her wiles, but he did not rebel.
He went to bed each night apprehensive that the next morning should find
him alone and desolate at Eagle Nest, the bird flown. It hurt him to think
that she would laugh over her feat of outwitting him. He was not guarding
her for old Wharton now; he was in his own employ. All this time he knew
it was wrong, and that she was trifling with him while the other was away.
Yet he had eyes, ears, and a heart like all men, and they were for none
save the pretty wife of Godfrey Wharton.
He spoke to her on several occasions of Dudley and gnashed his teeth when
he saw a look of sadness, even longing, come into her dark eyes. At such
times he was tempted to tell her that he knew all, to confound her by
charging her with guilt. But he could not collect the courage. For some
unaccountable reason he held his bitter tongue. And so it was that
handsome Sam Rossiter, spy and good fellow, fell in love with a woman who
had a very dark page in her history.
She received mail, of course, daily, but he was not sneak enough to pry
into its secrets, even had the chance presented itself. Sometimes she
tossed the letters away carelessly, but he observed that there were some
which she guarded jealously.
Once he heard her tell Aunt Josephine that she had a letter from "Jim."
He began to discover that "Jim" was a forbidden subject and that he was
not discussed; at least, not in his presence. Many times he saw the two
women in earnest, rather cautious conversation, and instinctively felt
that Havens was the subject. Mrs. Wharton appeared piqued and discontented
after these little talks. He made this entry in his diary one night, a
week after Havens went away:
"I almost wish he'd come back and end the suspense. This thing is wearing
on me. I was weighed to-day and I've lost ten pounds. Mrs. Van Haltford
says I look hungry and advises me to try salt-water air. I'm hanged if I
don't give up the job this week. I don't like it, anyhow. It doesn't seem
square to be down here enjoying her society, taking her walking and all
that, and all the time hunting up something with which to ruin her
forever. I'll stick the week out, but I'm not decided whether I'll produce
any evidence against her if the Wharton _vs._ Wharton case ever does
come to trial. I don't believe I could. I don't want to be a sneak."
One day Rossiter and the purple parasol escorted the pretty trifler over
the valley to Bald Top, half a mile from the hotel. Mrs. Van Haltford and
Miss Crozier were to join them later and were to bring with them Colonel
Deming and Mr. Vincent, two friends who had lately arrived. The hotel was
rapidly filling with fashionable guests, and Mrs. Wharton had petulantly
observed, a day or two before, that the place was getting crowded and she
believed she would go away soon. On the way over she said to him:
"I have about decided to go down to Velvet Springs for the rest of the
month. Don't you think it is getting rather crowded here?"
"I have been pretty well satisfied," he replied, in an injured tone. "I
don't see why you should want to leave here."
"Why should I stay if I am tired of the place?" she asked demurely,
casting a roguish glance at his sombre face. He clenched the parasol and
grated his teeth.
"She's leading me on, confound her!" he thought. At the same time his
head whirled and his heart beat a little faster. "You shouldn't," he said,
"if you are tired. There's more of an attraction at Velvet Springs, I
suppose."
"Have you been there?"
"No."
"You answered rather snappishly. Have you a headache?"
"Pardon me; I didn't intend to answer snappishly, as you call it. I only
wanted to be brief."
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to change the subject."
"Shall we talk of the weather?"
"I suppose we may as well," he said resignedly. She was plainly laughing
at him now. "Look here," he said, stopping and looking into her eyes
intently and somewhat fiercely, "why do you want to go to Velvet Springs?"
"Why should you care where I go?" she answered blithely, although her
eyes wavered.
"It's because you are unhappy here and because some one else is there.
I'm not blind, Mrs.--Miss Dering."
"You have no right to talk to me in that manner, Mr. Rollins. Come, we
are to go back to the hotel at once," she said coldly. There was steel in
her eyes.
He met her contemptuous look for a moment and quailed.
"I beg your pardon. I am a fool, but you have made me such," he said
baldly.
"I? I do not understand you," and he could not but admire the clever,
innocent, widespread eyes.
"You will understand me some day," he said, and to his amazement she
flushed and looked away. They continued their walk, but there was a
strange shyness in her manner that puzzled him.
"When is Dudley expected back here?" he asked abruptly.
She started sharply and gave him a quick, searching look. There was a
guilty expression in her eyes, and he muttered something ugly under his
breath.
"I do not know, Mr. Rollins," she answered.
"When did you hear from him last?" he demanded half savagely.
"I do not intend to be catechized by you, sir," she exclaimed, halting
abruptly. "We shall go back. You are very ugly to-day and I am surprised."
"I supposed you had letters from him every day," he went on ruthlessly.
She gave him a look in which he saw pain and the shadow of tears, and then
she turned and walked swiftly toward the hotel. His conscience smote him
and he turned after her. For the next ten minutes he was on his knees,
figuratively, pleading for forgiveness. At last she paused and smiled
sweetly into his face. Then she calmly turned and resumed the journey to
Bald Top, saying demurely:
"We have nearly a quarter of a mile to retrace, all because you were so
hateful."
"And you so obdurate," he added blissfully. He had tried to be severe and
angry with her and had failed.
That very night the expected came to pass. Havens appeared on the scene,
the same handsome, tragic-looking fellow, a trifle care-worn perhaps, but
still--an evil genius. Rossiter ran plump into him in the hallway and was
speechless for a moment. He unconsciously shook hands with the new
arrival, but his ears were ringing so with the thuds of his heart that he
heard but few of the brisk words addressed to him. After the eager actor
had left him standing humbly in the hall he managed to recall part of what
had been said. He had come up on the express from Boston and could stay
but a day or two. Did Mr. Rossiter know whether Miss Dering was in her
room? The barrister also distinctly remembered that he did not ask for his
aunt, which would have been the perfectly natural query.
Half an hour later Havens was strolling about the grounds, under the lamp
lights, in and out of dark nooks, and close beside him was a slim figure
in white. Their conversation was earnest, their manner secretive; that
much the harassed Rossiter could see from the balcony. His heart grew sore
and he could almost feel the tears of disappointment surging to his eyes.
A glance in his mirror had shown him a face haggard and drawn, eyes
strange and bright. He had not slept well, he knew; he had worn himself
out in this despicable watch; he had grown to care for the creature he had
been hired to spy upon. No wonder he was haggard.
Now he was jealous--madly, fiendishly jealous. In his heart there was the
savage desire to kill the other man and to denounce the woman. Pacing the
grounds about the hotel, he soon worked himself into a fever, devilish in
its hotness. More than once he passed them, and it was all he could do to
refrain from springing upon them. At length he did what most men do: he
took a drink. Whisky flew down his throat and to his brain. In his mind's
eye he saw her in the other's arms--and he could bear it no longer!
Rushing to his room, he threw himself on the bed and cursed.
"Good heaven! I love her! I love her better than all the world! I can't
stay here and see any more of it! By thunder, I'll go back to New York and
they can go to the devil! So can old Wharton! And so can Grover & Dickhut!"
He leaped to his feet, dashed headlong to the telegraph office
downstairs, and ten minutes later this message was flying to Grover &
Dickhut:
Get some one else for this job. I'm done with it. Coming home.--SAM.
"I'm coming on the first train, too," muttered the sender, as he hurried
up-stairs. "I can pack my trunk for the night stage. I'd like to say
good-by to her, but I can't--I couldn't stand it. What's the difference?
She won't care whether I go or stay--rather have me go. If I were to meet
her now I'd--yes, by George--kiss her! It's wrong to love her, but--"
There was nothing dignified about the manner in which big Sam Rossiter
packed his trunk. He fairly stamped the clothing into it and did a lot of
other absurd things. When he finally locked it and yanked out his watch
his brow was wet and he was trembling. It had taken just five minutes to
do the packing. His hat was on the back of his head, his collar was
melting, and his cigar was chewed to a pulp. Cane and umbrella were yanked
from behind the door and he was ready to fly. The umbrella made him think
of a certain parasol, and his heart grew still and cold with the knowledge
that he was never to carry it again.
"I hope I don't meet any of 'em," he muttered, pulling himself together
and rushing into the hall. A porter had already jerked his trunk down the
stair steps.
As he hastened after it he heard the swish of skirts and detected in the
air a familiar odor, the subtle scent of a perfume that he could not
forget were he to live a thousand years. The next moment she came swiftly
around a corner in the hall, hurrying to her rooms. They met and both
started in surprise, her eyes falling to his travelling-bag, and then
lifting to his face in bewilderment. He checked his hurried flight and she
came quite close to him. The lights in the hall were dim and the elevator
car had dropped to regions below.
"Where are you going?" she asked in some agitation.
"I am going back to New York," he answered, controlling himself with an
effort. She was so beautiful, there in the dim hallway.
"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.