The Definite Object Part 73

"You were moaning."

"Oh, well, I--I'm all right, I guess. Got a headache, that's all."

"Why have you avoided me lately, Arthur? I'm not angry any more, I'm only--disappointed."

"Y' mean because I lost me job? They don't want my kind; I--oh, I'm too mean--too rotten, I guess."

"I heard you cry out in the night, Arthur. What was it?"

"Nothin'--I didn't cry out las' night, I tell ye."

"I heard you!"

"Oh, well, I--I was only dreamin', I guess."

"Why have you acted so strangely lately? You don't eat, you don't go out; you sit around staring and seem to be listening--almost as if you were afraid--"

"I ain't--I ain't afraid. Who says I'm afraid? An' I don't want you to go worryin' y'self sick over me--I ain't a kid no more."

"No, I'm afraid you're not." And sighing, she turned away. But as she crossed the room, her step slow and listless, he spoke, his head down-bent and face hidden between clenched hands, voicing, almost despite himself, the questions that had tortured him so long.

"Say, Hermy, where's--Geoff? How is he--I mean you--you ain't--heard anything--have you?"

"No," she answered softly, without turning, "what should I hear? I only know he's--gone. How should I hope to hear anything any more?"

"I--I thought he was--goin' t' marry you."

"So he was, but I--couldn't let him--marry--a thief's sister," she said in the same low, even voice.

"Ah!" cried Spike, writhing, "why did he go an' tell ye about me after he told me he never would--why did he tell ye?"

"He didn't tell me!" cried Hermione, with curling lip.

"Didn't he--oh--didn't he?" said Spike, his voice high and quivering, "didn't Geoff tell ye? Then--say, Hermy, who--who did?"

"It was Bud M'Ginnis, and for once it seems he told the truth!"

"Bud!" cried Spike, stumbling to his feet. "Oh, my G.o.d!" At sound of his voice she turned, and seeing his face, cried out in sudden fear: "Arthur--oh, Arthur, what is it?"

"Bud told ye?" he gasped. "Wasn't it Geoff--oh, wasn't it Geoff?"

"No!"

Spike was down on his knees. "Oh, G.o.d! Oh, Geoff--dear old Geoff, forgive me!" He was huddled upon the floor, his face pressed to the worn rug, his clenched fingers buried in his curls, while from his lips issued gasping sobs harshly dry and awful to hear.

"Forgive me, Geoff, forgive me! I thought you told her! I thought you meant t' steal her from me! Oh, forgive me, Geoff--I wish I was dead like you."

"Arthur!"

She was down beside him on her knees, shaking him with desperate hands.

"Arthur! Arthur! What--are you saying?"

"Nothin'--nothin'!" he stammered, staring up into her face, suddenly afraid of her. "Nothin', I--I was only--thinkin'--I--"

"What did you mean?" she cried, her grasp tightening. "Tell me what you meant--tell me, tell me!"

"Nothin'," he mumbled, trying to break her hold. "Lemme go, I--I didn't mean anything--"

"Tell me what you meant--tell me, tell me!"

"No--I can't--I--"

His voice failed suddenly, his whole frame grew tense and rigid, and lifting a stiff arm he pointed a trembling finger toward the open doorway.

"Hush--hush!" he panted, "oh, for G.o.d's sake, hush! There--don't you hear--there's some one outside on th' landing--footsteps--hark! They're coming to our door! They're stoppin' outside--oh, my G.o.d, it's come at--"

The word ended in a scream, drowned all at once in a thunderous knocking on the outer door, and Spike, crouching upon his knees, clutched at her as she rose.

"Don't,--don't open--the door!" he gasped, while Hermione gazed at him, terrified by his terror, as again the thunderous summons was heard.

Then, despite the boy's pa.s.sionate prayers and desperate, clutching hands, she broke from him, and hastening into the little pa.s.sage, opened the door.

Upon the threshold stood a little old man, very smartly dressed, who saluted her with a gallant flourish of his dapper straw hat and bowed with his two small and glittering patent leather shoes posed at position number one in waltzing.

"Ma'am," said he, "miss, respectful greetin's. Your name's Hermione, ain't it?"

"Yes," she answered, wondering.

"Knowed it was. And a partic'ler fine gal too! Though not 'oldin' wi'

marridge, I don't blame the Guv--'e always 'ad a quick eye for beauty--like me."

"But who are you? What do you want--"

"Miss, I want you--leastways--'e does. Been callin' for you the last three days 'e has, ever since 'e ketched one as fair doubled 'im up--"

"I--I don't understand. Who are you?"

"A admirer of the Guv, ma'am. A trusted friend of 'is, miss--come t'

take ye to 'is poor, yearnin' arms, lady--"

"But who--oh, what do you mean?"

"Mr. Ravenslee, ma'am."

"Mr. Ravenslee!" she echoed, her colour changing.

"Yes. Y' see--he's dyin', miss!"

Hermione gasped and leaned against the wall as if suddenly faint and sick, perceiving which, the Old Un promptly set his arm about her waist and led her unresisting into the parlour. There, having aided her tenderly into a chair and nodded to pale-faced Spike, he sighed, shook his ancient head, and continued: