He pushed the box away from him and crossed over to the upper window. His voice came to me from behind the enshrouding curtains.
“Our friend has finished his promenade. The air is the sweeter for it. I’ll stay here and breathe it.”
“Good!” said I. “I’ve five minutes of telephoning to do. Then I’ll be back.”
Nobody can ever tell me again that there’s an instinct which feels the presence of persons unseen. On my way to the door I passed within arm’s-length of a creature tense and pulsating with the most desperate emotions. I could have stretched out a hand and touched her as she crouched, hidden in the embrasure of the lower window. It would seem as if the whole atmosphere of the room must have been surcharged with the terrific passion of her newborn and dreadful hopes. And I felt—nothing. No sense, as I brushed by, of the tragic and concentrated force of will which nerved and restrained her. I went on, and out unconscious. Afterward she was unable to tell me how long she had been there. It must have been for some minutes, for what roused her from her stupor of terror was the word “Suicide.” It was like an echo, a mockery to her, at first; and then, as she listened with passionate attention to what followed, my instructions about the poison took on the voice of a ministering providence. The draperies had shut off the view of Ned, nor had she recognized his voice, already altered by the encroachments of the disease. But she heard him walk to the upper window, and saw me pass on my way to the telephone, and knew that the moment had come. From what she told me later, and from that to which I was a mazed witness on my return, I piece together the events which so swiftly followed.
A wind had risen outside or Ned might have heard the footsteps sooner. As it was, when he stepped out from behind the draperies of the upper window those of the lower window were still waving, but the swift figure had almost reached the desk. The face was turned from him. Even in that moment of astonishment he noticed that she carried her left arm close to her body, with a curious awkwardness.
“Hello!” he challenged.
She cried out sharply, and covered the remaining distance with a rush. Her hand fell upon the box of pellets. She turned, clutching that little box of desperate hopes to her bosom.
“Good God! Virginia!” he exclaimed. “Miss Kingsley!”
“Mr. Worth! Was it you I heard? Why—how are you here?”
“This is my house.”