The knocking on the door became more insistent. I turned the lock, slowly, and a woman rushed into the room. Something about her 364 seemed familiar to me. I passed my hand over my forehead––but it was useless. I bowed low and started to walk out, but she seized me by the arm, calling my name, pleadingly. Her soft brown hair was all loose and hanging, and her big eyes swimming; her whole body trembled so that she could scarcely speak.
The grip of the white hand on my arm tightened.
“Oh! You must not go,” she cried; “you cannot.”
I tried gently to shake her off, but she clung more closely than before.
“You must let me explain,” she wailed. “I call God to witness, I was not to blame.” She drew a case from the bosom of her dress.
“Here are those stones; I never wore them. I wanted to, God knows, but I couldn’t. Take them, I beg of you.” She thrust the case into my pocket. “He made me take them, you understand; made me do everything from the first. I loved him once, long ago, and since then I couldn’t get away. I can’t explain.” She was pleading as I never heard woman plead 365 before. “Forgive me––tell me you forgive me––speak to me.” The grip on my arm loosened and her voice dropped.
“Oh! God, to have brought this on you when I loved you!”
The words sounded in my ears, but made no impression. It all seemed very, very strange. Why should she say such things to me? She must be mistaken––must take me for another.
I broke away from her grasp, and groped staggeringly toward the door. A weariness intense was upon me and I wanted to be home alone. As I moved away, I heard behind me a swift step as though she would follow, and my name called softly, then another movement, away.
Mechanically I turned at the sound, and saw her profile standing clear in the open window-frame. Realization came to me with a mighty rush, and with a cry that was a great sob I sprang toward her.