He sat down on the side of the bed and dropped his chin to his hands, suddenly a prey to widely varying thoughts, desires and emotions. For many minutes he drooped there, thinking, wondering, doubting.
Over in a corner stood a small new leather-bound trunk. He did not get up to look at it, or into it. He knew without looking.
"It's like a fairy story," he murmured over and over again. "I'll do anything in the world for her, as long as I live!"
Suddenly he started up. He would go down to her. He would renew his pledges, his promises. As he opened the door to pass out to the stairs he heard her moving in the hall below. She tried the front door. Then the lower light went out. He heard her mounting the stairs slowly. She was coming up to him!
When she got to a point where she could see the streak of light from the partially open door she came to a stop. A slight shudder went over her body. Her steps were slower after that, dragging, dejected, with one or two complete pauses. Braddock understood. He had been listening to that pitiful approach of the woman who was his wife. He could almost see the expression in her face.
A sudden wave of pity swept over him. He gently closed the door and locked it on the inside.
She came on and turned the knob, feebly, timorously.
"Good-night," he called out from the most distant corner of the room.
Fully ten seconds passed before she responded. He felt somehow that she held her breath during that time.
"Good-night," she cried, a vibrant note in her voice. He heard her as she went down the hall. She was running.