And so close were we now, that I knew she did not think my reply inept.
She looked at her watch, then soberly reflected. “It is half past one, Anthony,” she said. Conscious that I still found some difficulty in talking, she added: “Would it do any good for me to go—with you, or alone?”
“No,” said I, shaking my head. “Not now. It would only excite him. And that would help nobody.”
“I know,” said she. “I hate to be passive, this way. I feel as if I were shirking—”
“You are n't. It will take some courage to do what you must do.”
“I know,” she said again. “Be patient, keep steady; help you that way I know, Anthony.”
It had occurred to me, when I left Crocker in the morning, that, in the event of any actual physical encounter, there would be a quite unnecessary danger to me in wearing my glasses. I thought of this again, now; and going to the bureau I got my spectacle case and slipped it into my coat pocket.
Heloise watched me, but asked no questions. I put on my hat, and took my stick from the corner by the door.
“Good-by, Heloise,” I said. I knew that unless we parted swiftly my will would weaken and I should take her in my arms. So I only said good-by, and opened the door.
But she came right forward, and took my hand. Our eyes met. What I saw in hers reassured me. She seemed very steady and strong.