Chapter 29

IN WHICH HERMIONE MAKES A FATEFUL DECISION

When Mrs. Trapes was gone, Hermione stood a long time to look at herself in her little mirror, viewing and examining each feature of her lovely, intent face more earnestly than she had ever done before; and sometimes she smiled, and sometimes she frowned, and all her thought was:

"Shall I make him happy, I wonder? Can I be all he wants--all he thinks I am?"

So, after some while, she combed and brushed out her glorious hair, shyly glad because of its length and splendour; and, having crowned her shapely head with it, viewed the effect with cold, hypercritical eyes.

"Can I, oh, can I ever be all he wants--all he thinks I am?"

And then she proceeded to dress; the holey stockings were replaced by others that had seen less service; the worn frills and laces were changed for others less threadbare. This done, Hermione, with many supple twists, wriggled dexterously into her best dress, pausing now and then to sigh mournfully and grieve over its many deficiencies and shortcomings, defects which only feminine eyes, so coldly critical, might hope to behold.

Scarcely was all this accomplished when she heard a soft knock at the outer door, and at the sound her heart leapt; she flushed and paled and stood a moment striving to stay the quick, heavy throbbing within her bosom; then breathlessly she hastened along the passage and, opening the door with trembling hands, beheld Bud M'Ginnis. While she stared, dumb and amazed, he entered and, closing the door, leaned his broad back against it.

"Goin' away, Hermy?" he enquired softly, looking her over with his slow gaze.

"Yes."

"Goin' far, Hermy?"

"I don't know."

"Goin'--alone, Hermy?"

"Why are you here? What do you want?"

"T' save ye from--hell!" he answered, his voice rising loud and harsh on the last word. "Oh, I know," he went on fiercely, "I know why you're all dolled up in your best. I know as you mean t' go away to-night with--him. But you ain't goin', girl--you ain't."

"To-night," she said gently, "is my wedding night."

M'Ginnis lifted a hand and wrenched at the silken neckerchief he wore as though it choked him.

"No!" he cried, "you ain't a-goin' t' get no wedding, Hermy; he don't mean t' give ye a square deal. He's foolin' ye--foolin' ye, girl! Oh," said he through shut teeth, "ye thought I was safe out o' the way, I guess. You ought t' known better; th' p'lice couldn't hold me, they never will. Anyway, I've kept tabs on ye--I know as you've been meeting him--in a wood! I know," here M'Ginnis seemed to choke again, "I know of you an' him--kissin' an' cuddlin'--oh, I've kept tabs on ye--"

"Yes," she said gently, "I saw your spy at work."

"But y' can't deny it. Y' don't deny it! Say, what kind o' girl are you?"

"The kind that doesn't fear men like you."

"But y' can't deny meetin' him," he repeated, his hoarse voice quivering; "you don't deny--kissin' him--in a wood! Only deny it, Hermy, only say you didn't, an' I'll choke th' life out of any guy as says you did--only deny it, Hermy."

"But I don't want to deny it. If your spy had ears he can tell you that we are going to be married. Now go."

Once more M'Ginnis reached up to his throat and trenched off the neckerchief altogether.

"Married!" he cried, "an' t' him! He's foolin' ye, Hermy, by God he is! Girl, I'm tellin' ye straight an' true--he'll never marry ye. His kind don't marry Tenth Av'ner girls--Nooport an' Fifth Av'ner's a good ways from Hell's Kitchen an' Tenth Av'ner, an' they can't ever come t'gether, I reckon."

"Ah!" sighed she, falling back a step, "what do you mean?"

"Why, I mean," said M'Ginnis, twisting the neckerchief in his powerful hands much as if it had been the neck of some enemy, "I mean as this guy as comes here bluffin' about bein' down an' out, this guy as plays at sellin' peanuts is--Geoffrey Ravenslee, the millionaire."

"But--he is--Arthur's friend!"

"Friend--nothin'!" said he, wringing and wrenching at the neckerchief, "I guess you ain't found out how th' Kid an' him came t' meet, eh? Well, I'll tell ye--listen! Your brother broke in to this millionaire's swell house--through the winder--an' this millionaire caught him."

"Oh," said she, smiling in bitter scorn, "what a clumsy liar you are, Bud M'Ginnis!"

"No," he cried eagerly, "no, I ain't tellin' ye no lies; it's God's own truth I'm givin' ye."

"No, you're just a liar, Bud M'Ginnis!" and she would have turned from him, but his savage grip stayed her.

"A liar, am I?" he cried. "Why, then, you're sister to a crook, see! Your brother's a thief! a crook! You ain't got much t' be s' proud over--"

"Let me go!"

"Listen! Your brother got into this guy's house t' steal, and this millionaire guy caught him--in the act! An' havin' nothin' better t' do, he makes young Spike bring him down here--just t' see th' kind o' folks as lives in Hell's Kitchen, see? Then he meets you--you look kind o' good t' him, so he says t' th' Kid, 'Look here,' he says, 'you help me game along with y'r sister, an' we'll call it quits--'"

Breaking from his hold, Hermione entered the little parlour, and sinking down beside the table, crouched there, hiding her face, while M'Ginnis, leaning in the doorway, watched her, his strong hands twisting and wrenching at the neckerchief.

"Ah, leave me now!" she pleaded, "you've done enough, so--go now--go!"

"Oh, I'll go. I come here t' put ye wise--an' I have! You're on to it all now, I guess. Nooport and Fifth Av'ner's a good ways from Hell's Kitchen and Tenth Av'ner, an' they can't never come together. I guess there's sure some difference between this swell guy with all his millions an' a Tenth Av'ner girl as is a--thief's sister--"

Slowly Hermione lifted her head and looked up at him, and M'Ginnis saw that in her face which struck him mute; the neckerchief fell from his nerveless fingers and lay there all unheeded.

"Hermione," he muttered, "I--girl, are ye--sick?"

"Go!" she whispered, "go!"

And turning about, M'Ginnis stumbled out of the place and left her alone. For a long time she sat there, motionless and crouched above the table, staring blindly before her, and in her eyes an agony beyond tears, heedless of the flight of time, conscious only of a pain sharper than flesh can know. Suddenly a key was thrust in the lock of the outer door, footsteps sounded along the passage accompanied by a merry whistling, and Spike appeared.

"Hello, Hermy, ain't tea ready yet?" he enquired, tossing aside his straw hat and opening a newspaper he carried, "say, the Giants are sure playin' great ball this season--what, are ye asleep?"

"No, dear!"

"Why, Hermy," he exclaimed, dropping the paper and clasping an arm about her, "Oh, Hermy--what is it?"

"Oh, boy--dear, dear boy--you didn't, did you?" she cried feverishly. "You are a little wild--sometimes, dear, just a little--but you are good--and honourable, aren't you?"

"Why, yes, Hermy I--I try t' be," he answered uneasily; "but I don't know what you mean."

"You're not a thief, are you? You're not a burglar? You never broke into any one's house. I know you didn't, but--tell me you didn't--tell me you didn't!"

"No--no, o' course not," stammered Spike and, averting his head, tried to draw away, but she clung to him all the closer.

"Boy--boy dear," she whispered breathlessly, "oh, boy, look at me!"

But seeing he kept his face still turned from her, she set a hand to his cheek and very gently forced him to meet her look. For a long moment she gazed thus--saw how his eyes quailed, saw how his cheek blanched, and as he cowered away, she rose slowly to her feet, and into her look came a growing horror; beholding which Spike covered his face and shrank away from her.

"Oh, boy--" her voice had sunk to a whisper now, "oh, boy--say you didn't!"

"Hermy--I--can't--"

"Can't?"

"It's--it's all--true. Yes, I did! Oh, Hermy, forgive me."

"Tell me!"

"Oh, forgive me, Hermy, forgive me!" he cried, reaching out and trying to catch her hand. "Yes, I'll tell ye. I--I got in--through th' winder, an' Geoff caught me. But he let me go again--he said he'd never tell nobody if--ah, don't look at me like that!"

"If--what?"

"If I'd bring him back here with me--Hermy, don't! Your eyes hurt me--don't look at me that way."

"So it--is--all--true!"

"Oh, forgive me, forgive me!" he pleaded, throwing himself on his knees before her and writhing in the anguish of remorse. "They doped me, Hermy, I--didn't know what I was doin'--they didn't give me no time t' think. Oh, forgive me, Hermy; Geoff forgave me, an' you must--oh, God, you must, Hermy!" Again he sought to reach her hand, but now it was she who shrank away.

"I loved you so--I--loved--you so!" she said dully.

"Hermy," he cried, catching hold of her dress, "forgive me--just this once, for God's sake! I ain't got nobody in the world but you--forgive me!" And now his pleading was broken by fierce sobs, and he sought to hide his tear-stained face in the folds of her dress, but she drew it quickly from him, shrinking away almost as if she feared him.

"A thief!" she whispered, "oh, God--my brother a thief! I don't seem--able to--think. Go away--go away, I--must be--alone!"

"Hermy, dear, I swear--oh, I swear I'll--"

"Go away!"

"Oh, Hermy, I didn't think you'd ever--turn away--from me."

"Go away!"

"Oh, Hermy--won't you listen?"

"I can't! Not now. Go away."

Sobbing, the boy got to his feet, and taking his hat, crossed slow-footed to the door; there he paused to look back at her, but her staring eyes gazed through him and, turning hopelessly away, he brushed his sleeve across his cheek and, treading slow and heavily along the passage, was gone.

Dry-eyed she stood awhile, then sank again beside the table and crouched there with face bowed between outstretched arms, and hands tight clenched. Evening began to fall, but still she sat huddled there, motionless, and uttering no sound, and still her eyes were tearless. At last she stirred, conscious of a quick, firm step near by, and, thrilling to that sound, rose and stood with her back to the fading light as Ravenslee entered.

"Dear," said he, tender and eager, "I found the door open--did you leave it for me? Why, Hermione--oh, my love, what is it?" and he would have caught her to him, but she held him away and questioned him, quick-breathing:

"You are--Geoffrey Ravenslee--the millionaire--aren't you?"

"Why--er--I--I'm afraid I am," he stammered. "I'm sorry you found it out so soon, dearest; I wanted to tell you after we--"

"Oh, why didn't you tell me before--why didn't you? No--please wait! You--you caught my--brother, didn't you?" she went on breathlessly; "he had broken in--was burgling your house, wasn't he--wasn't he?"

"How in the world," began Ravenslee, flinching, "who told--"

"He broke into your house to--steal, didn't he--didn't he?"

"But, good heavens--that was all forgotten and done with long ago! They'd made the poor chap drunk--he didn't know what he was doing--it's all forgotten long ago! Dear heart, why are you so pale? God, Hermione--nothing can alter our love!"

"No, nothing can alter our love," she repeated in the same dull tones. "Oh, no, nothing can ever alter that; even though you deceived me I shall always love you, I can't help it. And just because I do love you so, and because I am a thief's sister, I--oh, I can never be your wife--I couldn't, could I?"

"By God, Hermione, but you shall!" As he spoke he caught her in his arms, passionate arms that drew and held her close. Very still and unresisting she lay in his embrace, uttering no word; and stooping, he kissed her fiercely--her lips, her eyes, her white throat, her hair, and, silent still, she yielded herself to his caresses.

"You are mine, Hermione, mine always and forever! You are the one woman I long for--the wife nature intended for me! You are mine, Hermione!"

Very softly she answered, her eyes closed:

"I felt at the first there was a gulf dividing us--and now--this gulf is wider--so wide it can never be crossed by either of us. Your world is not my world, after all--you are Geoffrey Ravenslee and I am only--what I am. Newport and Fifth Avenue are a long way from Hell's Kitchen and Tenth Avenue, and they can never--never come together. And I--am a thief's sister, so please, please loose me--oh, have mercy and--let me go."

His arms fell from her and, shivering, she sank beside the table, and the pale agony of her face smote him.

"But you love me, Hermione?" he pleaded.

"If I had only known," she sighed, "I might not have learned to love you--quite so much! If I had only known!" Her voice was soft and low, her blue eyes wide and tearless, and because of this, he trembled.

"Hermione," said he gently, "all this week I have been planning for you and Arthur. I have been dreaming of our life together, yours and mine, a life so big, so wonderful, so full of happiness that I trembled, sometimes, dreading it was only a dream. Dear, the gates of our paradise are open; will you shut me out? Must I go back to my loneliness?"

"I shall be lonely, too!" she murmured brokenly. "But better, oh, far better loneliness than that some day--" she paused, her lips quivering.

"Some day, Hermione?"

"You should find that you had married not only a scrubwoman but--the sister of a--thief!" Suddenly she sprang to her feet, her clinging arms held him to her bosom and, drawing down his head, she pressed her mouth to his; holding him thus, she spoke, her voice low and quick and passionate:

"Oh, my love, my love! I do love you with every thought, with every part of me--so much, so very much that my heart is breaking, I think. But, dearest, my love is such that I would be everything fair and beautiful for you, everything proud and good and noble for you if I could. But I am only Hermy Chesterton, a Tenth Avenue girl, and--my brother--So I'm going to send you away, back to your own world, back to your own kind because--because I do love you so! Ah, God, never doubt my love, but--you must go--"

"Never, Hermione, never!"

"You must! You will, I know, because your love is a big, generous love--because you are chivalrous and strong and gentle--because I beg and implore you if you have any pity for me--go--"

"But why?--Why?"

"Oh, must I tell you that--can't you understand?"

"Why must I go, Hermione?"

"Because," she murmured, her yearning arms close about him, her face close hidden against his breast, "because I'll never--marry you--now--but I love you--love you so much that I'm afraid--ah, not of you. So, I must be alone--quite alone--to fight my battle. And now--now that I've shown you all my heart, told you all my weakness, you'll go for my sake--just for my sake--won't you?"

"Yes--I'll--go!" he answered slowly.

"Away from here--to-night?"

"Yes," he answered hoarsely, "yes!"

Then Hermione fell suddenly before him on her knees, and, before he could stay her, had caught his hands, kissing them, wetting them with her tears, and pressing them passionately to her bosom.

"I knew," she cried, "I knew that you were strong and gentle and--good. Good-by--oh, my love--good-by!"

"Hermione," said he, kissing her bowed head, "oh, my Hermione, I love you with a love that will die only when I do. I want you, and I'll never lose hope of winning you--some day, never give up my determination to marry you--never, so help me God!"

Then swiftly he turned away but, reaching the door, stooped and picked up M'Ginnis's neckerchief and, recognising it, crumpled it in fierce hand; so, with it clenched in griping fingers, he hurried away and left her there upon her knees.