Dorothy had hastened to the stairs before him, and continued down to the hall. Her face was intensely white again as she turned about, drawing from her dress a neat, flat parcel, wrapped in paper.
"I told you to-day that I trust you absolutely," she said, in a nervous undertone. "I wish you'd take care of this package."
Garrison took it, finding it heavy in his hand. "What is it?" he said.
"Don't try to talk—they'll listen," she cautioned. "Just hurry and go."
"If you need me, write or wire," he said.
"Good-night!"
She retreated a little way from him, as if she felt he might exact a husband's right of farewell, which the absence of witnesses made quite unessential.
"Good-night," she answered, adding wistfully; "I am very grateful, believe me."
She gave him her hand, and his own hand trembled as he took it.
A moment later he was out upon the street, a wild, sweet pleasure in his veins.