“Who are you——what is it?” Then, “Keith! You!” she exclaimed; and in a moment more flung wide the wire screen that had divided them.
“Sh!”——he whispered. “I want to speak to you. But——hark! listen!” He laid his hand lightly on her lips.
She caught it quickly between both her own, and laid a hot cheek against it for an instant; then she pressed it tightly against her heart.
The night watchman patrolling the streets was passing; and they stood—he and she together—without movement, in the moist, dusky warmth of the rain-washed summer night, until the footsteps echoed faintly on the wet boards half a block away; the sound mingling with the croaking of the river frogs. Keith could feel the fast beating of her heart. The wet hop leaves shook down a shower of drops as they were touched by a passing breeze.
“Gloria,”——he spoke rapidly, but scarcely above his breath——“I am going away tonight——(he felt her start) away from this part of the country forever; and I have come to ask you to go with me. Will you? Tell me, Gloria, will you go?”
She did not reply, but laying a hand on his still damp coat-sleeve, tried to draw him closer, leaning her face towards his, and striving to read in his own face the truth of his words.
Had there been light enough for him to see, he would have marvelled at the varying expressions that followed in quick succession across her face. Surprise, incredulity, wonderment, a dawning of the real meaning of his words, triumph as she heard, and then—finally—a look of fierce, absorbing, tigerish love. For whatever else there might be to her discredit, her love for him was no lie in her life. She had for this man a passion as strong as her nature was intense.
“Gloria, Gloria, tell me! Will you leave all—everything and everybody—and go away with me?” he demanded impatiently. “Number Two is late—an hour late tonight, and you will have time to make yourself ready if you hasten. Come, Gloria, come!”
“Do——you——mean——it, Bayard Keith?” she breathed.
“I mean it. Yes.”