The truth flashed on him in lightning horror. The girl intended to commit suicide.
It was dark just there, and the conductor had not perceived her frantic deed. What was to save the poor girl from instant death as the swift engine of destruction rushed down upon her prostrate form?
Rolfe Maxwell’s heart seemed to stand still with horror. Was it possible to save her now? to save her or only to meet death in the effort?
He sprang after her with outstretched hand, clutching her skirts, dragging her back, clearing the way just as the car rushed past, grazing his bowed head, and knocking him down.
Strange to say no one had witnessed the terrible tragedy so bravely avoided. Only the silent stars looked down on the cold street upon Viola and her rescuer struggling to their feet, the girl uninjured, the man slightly dazed from a blow on the head.
He clutched her arm tightly and led her to the pavement, saying sternly:
“I have saved you from yourself at the risk of my own life; but, Miss Van Lew, why did you attempt this terrible deed?”
The girl trembled, shuddered, and her great somber eyes flared up to his face.
“Mr. Maxwell!” she exclaimed, in alarm.
“Yes, Rolfe Maxwell,” he answered. “I was just leaving your father’s house and I saw you go into the drug store, and when you failed to get morphine you threw yourself in front of that advancing car. Why did you do it, Miss Van Lew, you whom we supposed to be the happiest girl in the world?”