She heard the door close, as the man before the sanctity of the revelation, had gone in reverence. Then suddenly a horror of the past, of the room, of the Dodo that had been, seized her. She wished now only to finish, to escape and never to return. She ran to the trunk, seized the bundle of letters and keepsakes and flung them in the fireplace. Then seizing a box, she struck several matches and applied them feverishly.
All at once the door opened and the voice of her husband cried gaily:
"Caught!"
She gave a scream, reeling against the mantelpiece. He sprang hurriedly to her side, gathering her into his arms, apologizing for the fright he had given her while she lay trembling and shivering, quite hysterical.
The horror of what might have been, the last gaping pit of fate to which she had subjected herself, left her sick unto weakness. He knew nothing. He suspected nothing, and yet he must have passed Massingale on the stairs themselves.
"Good heavens, what a fool I am! I didn't mean to scare you. I'm a brute—you poor child!" he cried.
"When did you come?" she said aghast—holding herself from him and gazing in his face fearfully.
"You promised—"
"I know, but I couldn't keep away," he said, smiling penitently. "Wanted to surprise the Missis! Steady."