“Say, Spider,” said he wearily, “old Geoff sure does play square—even to a worm like me—well, I guess! No, don’t go yet, I want yer to hear me try to explain the kind o’ dirty dog I been—I guess he won’t want t’ call me ‘brother’ after that; no, siree, he’ll cut me out same as you have an’ serve me right too.” Then turning toward where Ravenslee and Hermione stood he continued: “Geoff—Hermy, dear—ah, no, don’t touch me, I ain’t worth it. I’m too dirty—Spider says so—an’ I guess he’s right. Listen—I meant t’ go away t’day an’ leave you because I felt so mean, but th’ old man followed me, an’ I couldn’t run because my arm pained some—y’ see, I fell on it. So I let him bring me back because I guess it’s up t’ me t’ let you know as I ain’t fit t’ be your brother, Geoff—or Hermy’s.” For a moment Spike paused, then with an effort he continued but kept his face averted. “Geoff, it was me—in the wood that time! Yes, it was me, an’ I had a gun. I—I meant—t’ do you in, Geoff—”
Spike’s voice failed and he was silent again, plucking nervously at the sheet, while Hermione’s proud head drooped and her hands clasped and wrung each other in an agony of shame; but to these painfully rigid hands came another hand, big and strong yet very gentle, at whose soothing touch those agonised fingers grew lax and soft, then clung to that strong hand in sudden, eager passion.
“Poor old Spike!” said Ravenslee, and his tone was as gentle as his touch.
“But—but, Geoff,” stammered the boy. “I—oh, don’t you see? I meant to—kill you?”
“Yes, I understand; you thought I deserved it—why?”
“Oh, I was crazy, I guess! Bud told me lies—an’ I believed him—lies about you an’ Hermy—he said—you’d make Hermy go—the same road—little Maggie Finlay went—so I came t’ kill you—”
“Spike, if you believed that, if you really believed that, I don’t blame you for trying a shot—”
“But I didn’t—I couldn’t! When I saw you sittin’ there so unsuspectin’, I just couldn’t do it—I tried to, but I couldn’t. An’ somehow I dropped th’ gun, an’ then I heard a shot, an’ when I looked up I saw you throw out your arms an’ fall—my God, I’ll never forget that! Then I saw Bud starin’ down at you an’ th’ pistol smokin’ in his hand. I meant t’ do it but I couldn’t, so Bud did it himself. I’m as bad as him, I reckon, but it was Bud shot you—Soapy saw him an’ knows it was Bud—ask Soapy. An’ now I’ve told you all; I guess I ain’t fit t’ stay here any longer.”
Spike’s voice choked upon a sob, he buried his face in the pillow, and so there fell a silence—a strange, tense hush, a pause so unexpected that he looked up and saw that Hermione’s head was bowed no longer, but she stood, very proud and tall, gazing upon her husband, and in her eyes was a great and wondrous light; and as she looked on him so he gazed on her. They had no thought, no eyes for Spike just then, wherefore he hid his face again.
“I guess this about puts the kybosh on th’ brother business!” he sighed miserably, “an’ I sure ain’t fit t’ be th’ Spider’s pal, I reckon!”
But now the Spider spoke, rather quick and jerkily:
“Say, Kid—get onto this! I’m takin’ back—everything I says t’ you t’day, see? Because, oh, well—I guess you’ve sure woke up at last! So, Kid—give us your mitt!”
Eagerly Spike grasped the Spider’s big fist, and they shook hands gravely and very deliberately, looking into each other’s eyes the while. Then, still quick and jerkily, the Spider turned and hurried out of the room. Then Spike turned to Ravenslee.
“Geoff,” he sighed, “I’m not goin’ to ask you to forgive me yet, I can’t—I’m goin’ t’ wait an’ show you—”
But as he paused Ravenslee’s hand was upon the lad’s drooping shoulder.
“Arthur,” said he, “from now on—from to-night—you are going to be my brother more than ever—a brother we shall both be proud of—what do you say?”
But Spike’s eyes were wet, his mouth quivered, and instead of answering he buried his face in the pillow again.
“Say, Hermy,” he mumbled, “take him away before I do th’ tear-gushin’ act! Take him down-stairs—give him a drink—light him a cigarette—kiss him! Only take him away before I get mushy. But, say—when I’m in bed, you’ll—you’ll come an’—say good night like—like you used to, Hermy dear?”
Swiftly she stooped and kissed that curly head.
“I’ll come—oh, I’ll come, boy, dear!” she murmured, land left him with Mrs. Trapes.
Down-stairs the fire glowed, filling the room with shadows, and side by side they stood looking down into the heart of the fire and were silent awhile, and, though she was so near, he didn’t touch her.
“So it wasn’t Arthur, after all!” he said at last.
“No,” she answered softly, “it wasn’t Arthur—thank God!”
“Amen!” said he, so fervently that she glanced up at him swiftly, then looked into the fire again. Seeing how the colour deepened in her cheek, he came a little nearer; but still he didn’t touch her; instead, he took out tobacco pouch and pipe and began to fill it with strangely clumsy fingers, and Hermione saw that his hands were trembling.
“Let me!” she said gently. So he surrendered pipe and pouch and, watching, saw that her hands trembled also; when at last she had filled the pipe, he took it and laid it on the table.
“Aren’t you going to smoke, dear?”
“No, not now. You’ll remember that Arthur also suggested you should—”
“Give you something to drink!” she added a little breathlessly and crossed to the cellaret in the corner. “Will you have brandy and soda?”
“Thanks—yes—that will do,” he answered absently, and when she dutifully brought the filled glass he took it and set it down untasted beside the pipe.
“Why, Geoffrey!” she said in murmurous surprise, “aren’t you thirsty?”
“No, not now. You will probably remember that Arthur also suggested you should—”
“I know!” she breathed, “but, oh, Geoffrey, dear—wait—just a little longer.”
“Why?” he demanded hoarsely.
“Because!” she answered, staring down at her clasped hands.
“Why?”
“Because, my Geoffrey, if—if I let myself—kiss you now, I—shall never be able to—tear myself away, and I must say good night to Arthur and—”
She paused as a knock sounded on the door, and Mrs. Trapes appeared.
“Why, dear land o’ my fathers!” she exclaimed. “Ain’t you had time t’ take off your bonnet yet, Hermy?”
“Goodness me!” exclaimed Hermione, “I forgot it!” So saying, off it came, and there was the curl above her eyebrow more wantonly alluring than ever.
“An’ there’s that blessed b’y,” continued Mrs. Trapes, “a-layin’ up-stairs yearnin’ for you, Hermy, an’ him s’ pale an’ gentle—God bless him! An’ it now bein’ exackly twenty-two an’ a half minutes past ‘leven by my beautiful new watch as ticks most musical! Time as you was in bed—both of you! an’ that reminds me, Hermy, I sent your maid t’ bed like you told me, an’ with my own two hands I laid out one o’ them lovely noo nightdresses—the one with the short sleeves an’ lace as you showed me last night an’—Land sakes, she’s gone! Think o’ that now—my, my! Mrs. Ravenslee’s wonderful quick an’ light on her feet, Mr. Geoffrey!”
Here Mrs. Trapes raised the watch to her ear and hearkened to its tick again, smiling at Ravenslee’s broad back as he turned to reach his glass.
“Them nightdresses,” she sighed, “as is all fluffs an’ frills an’ openwork, may be all right when you’re young, but for true comfort give me—flannel, every time.”
Here Ravenslee, in the act of sipping his brandy and soda, choked; when at last he glanced around, Mrs. Trapes was gone.