“I’ll go with you,” he said.
Whether this was the best thing for him to do, he could not tell. But he could see no way of preventing Donnelly from going, and he would not let him go alone. He meant to be there, with Eddy and the little girl.
Donnelly had already gone to the head of the stairs, and Ross followed him, impatient to be gone. But the other’s burly form blocked the way. He was listening. Some one was opening the door of the garage.
Ross made an attempt to get by, but Donnelly laid a hand on his arm.
“Wait!” he whispered.
Light, quick footsteps sounded on the cement floor below, and then a voice, so clear, so sweet:
“Jim-my!”
“Miss Solway!” he cried. “Jimmy’s not here. Only me—Moss—and a friend of mine!”
This was his warning to her, and he hoped with all his heart that she would understand, and would go. Donnelly had begun to descend the stairs. If she would only go, before that man saw her!
But she had not gone. When he reached the foot of the stairs, and looked over Donnelly’s shoulder, he saw her there. She was wearing her fur coat, with the collar[Pg 473] turned up, and a black velvet tam; the cold air had brought a beautiful color into her cheeks; her hair was clinging in little damp curls to her forehead; he had never seen her so lovely, so radiant. And for all that he knew against her, and all that he suspected, he saw in her now a pitiful and terrible innocence.