“Let me go!”
“Listen! Your brother got into this guy’s house t’ steal, and this millionaire guy caught him—in the act! An’ havin’ nothin’ better t’ do, he makes young Spike bring him down here—just t’ see th’ kind o’ folks as lives in Hell’s Kitchen, see? Then he meets you—you look kind o’ good t’ him, so he says t’ th’ Kid, ‘Look here,’ he says, ‘you help me game along with y’r sister, an’ we’ll call it quits—’”
Breaking from his hold, Hermione entered the little parlour, and sinking down beside the table, crouched there, hiding her face, while M’Ginnis, leaning in the doorway, watched her, his strong hands twisting and wrenching at the neckerchief.
“Ah, leave me now!” she pleaded, “you’ve done enough, so—go now—go!”
“Oh, I’ll go. I come here t’ put ye wise—an’ I have! You’re on to it all now, I guess. Nooport and Fifth Av’ner’s a good ways from Hell’s Kitchen and Tenth Av’ner, an’ they can’t never come together. I guess there’s sure some difference between this swell guy with all his millions an’ a Tenth Av’ner girl as is a—thief’s sister—”
Slowly Hermione lifted her head and looked up at him, and M’Ginnis saw that in her face which struck him mute; the neckerchief fell from his nerveless fingers and lay there all unheeded.
“Hermione,” he muttered, “I—girl, are ye—sick?”
“Go!” she whispered, “go!”
And turning about, M’Ginnis stumbled out of the place and left her alone. For a long time she sat there, motionless and crouched above the table, staring blindly before her, and in her eyes an agony beyond tears, heedless of the flight of time, conscious only of a pain sharper than flesh can know. Suddenly a key was thrust in the lock of the outer door, footsteps sounded along the passage accompanied by a merry whistling, and Spike appeared.
“Hello, Hermy, ain’t tea ready yet?” he enquired, tossing aside his straw hat and opening a newspaper he carried, “say, the Giants are sure playin’ great ball this season—what, are ye asleep?”
“No, dear!”
“Why, Hermy,” he exclaimed, dropping the paper and clasping an arm about her, “Oh, Hermy—what is it?”
“Oh, boy—dear, dear boy—you didn’t, did you?” she cried feverishly. “You are a little wild—sometimes, dear, just a little—but you are good—and honourable, aren’t you?”
“Why, yes, Hermy I—I try t’ be,” he answered uneasily; “but I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re not a thief, are you? You’re not a burglar? You never broke into any one’s house. I know you didn’t, but—tell me you didn’t—tell me you didn’t!”
“No—no, o’ course not,” stammered Spike and, averting his head, tried to draw away, but she clung to him all the closer.
“Boy—boy dear,” she whispered breathlessly, “oh, boy, look at me!”
But seeing he kept his face still turned from her, she set a hand to his cheek and very gently forced him to meet her look. For a long moment she gazed thus—saw how his eyes quailed, saw how his cheek blanched, and as he cowered away, she rose slowly to her feet, and into her look came a growing horror; beholding which Spike covered his face and shrank away from her.
“Oh, boy—” her voice had sunk to a whisper now, “oh, boy—say you didn’t!”
“Hermy—I—can’t—”
“Can’t?”
“It’s—it’s all—true. Yes, I did! Oh, Hermy, forgive me.”
“Tell me!”
“Oh, forgive me, Hermy, forgive me!” he cried, reaching out and trying to catch her hand. “Yes, I’ll tell ye. I—I got in—through th’ winder, an’ Geoff caught me. But he let me go again—he said he’d never tell nobody if—ah, don’t look at me like that!”
“If—what?”
“If I’d bring him back here with me—Hermy, don’t! Your eyes hurt me—don’t look at me that way.”
“So it—is—all—true!”
“Oh, forgive me, forgive me!” he pleaded, throwing himself on his knees before her and writhing in the anguish of remorse. “They doped me, Hermy, I—didn’t know what I was doin’—they didn’t give me no time t’ think. Oh, forgive me, Hermy; Geoff forgave me, an’ you must—oh, God, you must, Hermy!” Again he sought to reach her hand, but now it was she who shrank away.
“I loved you so—I—loved—you so!” she said dully.
“Hermy,” he cried, catching hold of her dress, “forgive me—just this once, for God’s sake! I ain’t got nobody in the world but you—forgive me!” And now his pleading was broken by fierce sobs, and he sought to hide his tear-stained face in the folds of her dress, but she drew it quickly from him, shrinking away almost as if she feared him.
“A thief!” she whispered, “oh, God—my brother a thief! I don’t seem—able to—think. Go away—go away, I—must be—alone!”
“Hermy, dear, I swear—oh, I swear I’ll—”
“Go away!”
“Oh, Hermy, I didn’t think you’d ever—turn away—from me.”
“Go away!”
“Oh, Hermy—won’t you listen?”
“I can’t! Not now. Go away.”
Sobbing, the boy got to his feet, and taking his hat, crossed slow-footed to the door; there he paused to look back at her, but her staring eyes gazed through him and, turning hopelessly away, he brushed his sleeve across his cheek and, treading slow and heavily along the passage, was gone.
Dry-eyed she stood awhile, then sank again beside the table and crouched there with face bowed between outstretched arms, and hands tight clenched. Evening began to fall, but still she sat huddled there, motionless, and uttering no sound, and still her eyes were tearless. At last she stirred, conscious of a quick, firm step near by, and, thrilling to that sound, rose and stood with her back to the fading light as Ravenslee entered.
“Dear,” said he, tender and eager, “I found the door open—did you leave it for me? Why, Hermione—oh, my love, what is it?” and he would have caught her to him, but she held him away and questioned him, quick-breathing:
“You are—Geoffrey Ravenslee—the millionaire—aren’t you?”
“Why—er—I—I’m afraid I am,” he stammered. “I’m sorry you found it out so soon, dearest; I wanted to tell you after we—”
“Oh, why didn’t you tell me before—why didn’t you? No—please wait! You—you caught my—brother, didn’t you?” she went on breathlessly; “he had broken in—was burgling your house, wasn’t he—wasn’t he?”
“How in the world,” began Ravenslee, flinching, “who told—”
“He broke into your house to—steal, didn’t he—didn’t he?”
“But, good heavens—that was all forgotten and done with long ago! They’d made the poor chap drunk—he didn’t know what he was doing—it’s all forgotten long ago! Dear heart, why are you so pale? God, Hermione—nothing can alter our love!”
“No, nothing can alter our love,” she repeated in the same dull tones. “Oh, no, nothing can ever alter that; even though you deceived me I shall always love you, I can’t help it. And just because I do love you so, and because I am a thief’s sister, I—oh, I can never be your wife—I couldn’t, could I?”
“By God, Hermione, but you shall!” As he spoke he caught her in his arms, passionate arms that drew and held her close. Very still and unresisting she lay in his embrace, uttering no word; and stooping, he kissed her fiercely—her lips, her eyes, her white throat, her hair, and, silent still, she yielded herself to his caresses.
“You are mine, Hermione, mine always and forever! You are the one woman I long for—the wife nature intended for me! You are mine, Hermione!”
Very softly she answered, her eyes closed:
“I felt at the first there was a gulf dividing us—and now—this gulf is wider—so wide it can never be crossed by either of us. Your world is not my world, after all—you are Geoffrey Ravenslee and I am only—what I am. Newport and Fifth Avenue are a long way from Hell’s Kitchen and Tenth Avenue, and they can never—never come together. And I—am a thief’s sister, so please, please loose me—oh, have mercy and—let me go.”