Quill's Window

by George Barr McCutcheon

"Be good enough to remember where you are," cried Alix, lowering her voice as she glanced over her shoulder. "I can say all I have to say to you in a very few words, Mr. Thane. Don't interrupt me. I have been a fool,—a stupid fool. We need not go into that. Thank heaven, I happen to be made of a little stronger stuff than others who have come under your influence. You would have MARRIED me,—yes, I believe that,—because it would have been the only way. I have the complete history of your betrayal of the Ritter girl. I know how your leg was injured. I know that you were kicked out of the American Ambulance and advised to leave France. I don't believe you ever served in the British Army. I have every reason to believe that you poisoned my dog, and that you,—were the man who came to my window the other night. And I suspect that you are the cause of poor Rosabel Vick's suicide. Now you know what I think of you. My God, how could you have come here tonight? These people trusted you,—they still trust you. Until now I did not believe such men as you existed. You—"

"I had nothing, absolutely nothing to do with Rosabel," he cried hoarsely. He was trembling like a leaf. "Don't you go putting such ideas into their heads. Don't you—"

"Oh, I am not likely to do that," she interrupted scornfully. "I shall not add to their misery. If I could prove that you betrayed that poor, foolish child,—then I would see to it that you paid the price. But I cannot prove it. I only know that she would have been helpless in your hands. Oh, I know your power! I have felt it. And I did not even pretend to myself that I loved you. What chance would she have had if she loved and trusted you? I shudder at the thought of—If Amos Vick should even suspect you of wronging his child, he would not wait for proof. He would tear you to pieces. You may be innocent. That is why I am giving you your chance. Now, go!"

"You certainly will give me the opportunity to defend myself, Alix. Am I to be condemned unheard? If you will allow me to walk to the ferry with you—"

"And who is to act as my bodyguard?" she inquired with a significant sneer. "Go! I never want to see your face again."

With that, she left him. He stood perfectly still, staring after the slender, boyish figure until it was hidden from view by the bend of the stairway.

His eyes were glassy. Fear possessed his soul. Suddenly he was aroused to action.

"I'd better get out of this," he muttered.

His hand clutched the weapon in his coat pocket as he strode swiftly toward the front door. Once outside he paused to look furtively about him before descending the porch steps. Several men were standing near the gate. The porch was deserted. He wondered if Amos Vick was down there waiting for him. Then he remembered what Alix had said to him: "These people trust you,—they still trust you." What had he to fear? He laughed,—a short, jerky, almost inaudible laugh,—and went confidently down the walk. As he passed the little group he uttered a brief "good night" to the men, and was rewarded by a friendly response from all of them.

Down the moonlit road he trudged, his brain working rapidly, feverishly. In his heart was the rage of defeat, in his soul the clamour of fear,—not fear now of the dark strip of woods but of the whole world about him. He communed aloud.