Man is a curious animal. I was not in love with Katherine Thurston. I had never come within hailing distance of her heart and would have been somewhat afraid of it if I had; I had even suspected that the artificial calm which lay between her and Clyde covered emotional possibilities, past, present, or to come; and yet, now that I saw the whole tale written on her unabashed face, I felt suddenly as though a rich and coveted galleon were sailing away, forever out of my reach!
It was probably only a bare moment that we were all held there silent, but the moment was so tense that its revelations were not to be counted by time. Then Jean, who stood beside me, suddenly clasped my arm with both her hands, in a gesture that I felt to be a warning. I looked down at her inquiringly. She nodded slightly toward the French window which opened from the library upon a side porch, and following her gesture I saw the shadow of a stooping man outside. Before I could reach the window, it was pushed open from without, and Kenneth Clyde stepped into the room. I don't think we were surprised,--we had reached a state of mind where the unexpected seemed natural,--but when Clyde stepped instantly aside from the window and stood in the shadow of the bookcase, we awoke to a realization of what his coming meant.
"I beg your pardon for entering in this unceremonious way," he said (and there was a thrill of excitement in his voice that went through us all like a laughing challenge) "but I have been dodging the police for an hour, and I know I am followed now. If you would draw the curtain, Hilton,--"
I drew the curtains over the windows, and Whyte closed the door into the hall. I think he locked it. The three women had followed us into the library, and though they stood silent and breathless, I do not think that Clyde could have had much doubt in his mind as to whether he held their sympathy.
"I had to come for just a moment before I got out of town," he said in a hurried undertone. He spoke to the room, but his eyes were on Katherine Thurston, who stood silent at a little distance.
"Tut, tut, man, you mustn't leave town," cried Whyte. "The worst thing you could possibly do! Ask Hilton here. He's a lawyer."
Clyde smiled at me, but went on rapidly. "I am not asking advice of counsel on this,--I am acting on my own responsibility. I cannot take the risk of giving myself up to the authorities. I know what that means. I am going away,--there is nothing else to do. But I could not go without coming here for a moment. You--my friends--have a right to ask an account of me." He paused for a second in his rapid speech, and then went on with a deeper ring in his voice. "The newspaper story is true, so far as my conviction by a Texas court fifteen years ago goes. But I was convicted through a mistake. I am innocent of murder. But I could not prove it. That--" He laughed somewhat unsteadily, and his eyes held Miss Thurston's,--"that is the story of my life."
We had none of us moved while he spoke, partly because he was so still himself, partly from a feeling of overshadowing danger which might descend if we stirred. But now Katherine Thurston moved toward him and he took a step to meet her. I think they had both forgotten all the rest of the world.
"Couldn't you have trusted me?" she asked, in tenderest reproach.
"I couldn't trust myself," he answered in a low voice.