Number Seventeen, and she don't even whistlehere. I can't set up here all night."
"Oh, you wouldn't lock me out in the night, would you?" she cried in suchpretty despair that he faltered.
"I got to git home to my wife. She's--"
"That's all right, agent," broke in Rossiter hastily. "I'll take yourplace as agent. Leave the doors open and I'll go on watch. I have to stayup anyway."
There was a long silence. He did not know whether she was freezing orwarming toward him, because he dared not look into her eyes.
"I don't know who you are," she said distinctly but plaintively. It wasvery dark out there on the platform and the night air was growing cold.
"It is the misfortune of obscurity," he said mockingly. "I am a mosthumble wayfarer on his way to the high hills. If it will make you feel anymore comfortable, madam, I will say that I don't know who you are. So, yousee, we are in the same boat. You are waiting for a man and I am waitingfor daylight. I sincerely trust you may not have as long to wait as I.Believe me, I regard myself as a gentleman. You are quite as safe with meas you will be with the agent, or with Mr.--Mr. Dudley, for that matter."
"You may go home to your wife, Mr. Agent," she said promptly. "Mr.Rollins will let the trains through, I'm sure."
The agent stalked away in the night and the diminutive station was leftto the mercy of the wayfarers.
"And now, Mr. Rollins, you may go over in that corner and stretch out onthe bench. It will be springless, I know, but I fancy you can sleep. Iwill call you for the--for breakfast."
"I'm hanged if you do. On the contrary, I'm going to do my best to fix acomfortable place for you to take a nap. I'll call you when Mr. Dudleycomes."
"It's most provoking of him," she said, as he began rummaging through hissteamer trunk. "What are you doing?"
"Hunting out something to make over into a mattress. You don't mindnapping on my clothes, do you? Here's a soft suit of flannels, a heavysuit of cheviot, a dress suit, a spring coat, and a raincoat. I can rig upa downy couch in no time if--"
"Ridiculous! Do you imagine that I'm going to sleep on your best clothes?I'm going to sit up."
"You'll have to do as I say, madam, or be turned out of the hotel," saidhe, with an infectious grin.
"But I insist upon your lying down. You have no reason for doing this forme. Besides, I'm going to sit up. Good-night!"
"You are tired and ready to cry," he said, calmly going on with hispreparations. She stood off defiantly and watched him pile his bestclothes into a rather comfortable-looking heap on one of the long benches."Now, if you don't mind, I'll make a pillow of these negligee shirts.They're soft, you know."
"Stop! I refuse to accept your--" she was protesting.
"Do you want me to leave you here all alone?" he demanded. "With thecountry full of tramps and--"
"Don't! It's cowardly of you to frighten me. They say the railroads areswarming with tramps, too. Won't you please go and see if Mr. Dudley isanywhere in sight?"
"It was mean of me, I confess. Please lie down. It's getting cold. Pullthis raincoat over yourself. I'll walk out and--"
"Oh, but you are a determined person. And very foolish, too. Why shouldyou lose a lot of sleep just for me when--?"
"There is no reason why two men should fail you to-night, Mrs.--Miss--"
"Miss Dering," she said, humbled.
"When you choose to retire, Miss Dering, you will find your room quiteready," he said with fine gallantry, bowing low as he stood in thedoorway. "I will be just outside on the platform, so don't be uneasy."
He quickly faded into the night, leaving her standing there, petulant,furious, yet with admiration in her eyes. Ten minutes later he heard hercall. She was sitting on the edge of the improvised couch, smilingsweetly, even timidly.
"It must be cold out there. You must wear this."
She came toward him, the raincoat in one hand, the purple parasol in theother. He took the parasol only and departed without a word. She gaspedand would have called after him, but there was no use. With a perplexedfrown and smile she went slowly, dubiously toward the folded bed.
Rossiter smoked three cigars and walked two miles up and down theplatform, swinging the parasol absent-mindedly, before he ventured to lookinside the room again. In that time he had asked and answered manyquestions in his mind. He saw that it would be necessary to change hisplans if he was to watch her successfully. She evidently gave out EagleNest to blind her husband. Somehow he was forgetting that the task beforehim was disagreeable and undignified. What troubled him most was how tofollow them if Havens--or Dudley--put in an appearance for thethree-thirty train. He began to curse Everett Havens softly but potently.
When he looked into the waiting-room she was sound asleep on the bench.It delighted him to see that she had taken him at his word and was lyingupon his clothes. Cautiously he took a seat on the door-sill. The nightwas as still as death and as lonesome as the grave. For half an hour hesat gazing upon the tired, pretty face and the lithe young figure of thesleeper. He found himself dreaming, although he was wide awake--never moreso. It occurred to him that he would be immensely pleased to hear thatHavens's reason for failing her was due to an accident in which he hadbeen killed.
"Those clothes will have to be pressed the first thing to-morrow," hesaid to himself, but without a trace of annoyance. "Hang it all, shedoesn't look like that sort of woman," his mind switched. "But just thinkof being tied up to an old crocodile like Wharton! Gee! One oughtn't toblame her!"
Then he went forth into the night once more and listened for the sound ofbuggy wheels. It was almost time for the arrival of the belated man fromthe country, and he was beginning to pray that he would not appear at all.It came to his mind that he should advise her to return to New York in themorning. At last his watch told him that the train was due to pass in fiveminutes. And still no buggy! Good! He felt an exhilaration that threatenedto break into song.
Softly he stole back into the waiting-room, prepared to awaken her beforethe train shot by. Something told him that the rumble and roar wouldterrify her if she were asleep. Going quite close to her he bent forwardand looked long and sadly upon the perfect face. Her hair was somewhatdisarranged, her hat had a very hopeless tilt, her lashes swept low overthe smooth cheek, but there was an almost imperceptible choke in herbreathing. In her small white hand she clasped a handkerchief tightly,and--yes, he was sure of it--there were tear-stains beneath her lashes.There came to him the faint sob which lingers long in the breath of onewho has cried herself to sleep. The spy passed his hand over his brow,sighed, shook his head and turned away irresolutely. He remembered thatshe was waiting for a man who was not her husband.
Far down the track a bright star came shooting toward Fossingford. Heknew it to be the headlight of the flyer. With a breath of relief he sawthat he was the only human being on the platform. Havens had failed again.This time he approached the recumbent one determinedly. She was awake theinstant he touched her shoulder.
"Oh," she murmured, sitting erect and looking about, bewildered. "Isit--has he--oh, you are still here? Has he come?"
"No, Miss Dering, he is not here," and added, under his breath, "damnhim!" Then aloud, "The train is coming."
"And he didn't come?" she almost wailed.
"I fancy you'd better try to sleep until morning. There's nothing to stayawake for," although it came with a pang.
"Absolutely nothing," she murmured, and his pride took a respectful tumble.
As she began to rearrange her hair, rather clumsily spoiling a charmingeffect, he remonstrated.
"Don't bother about your hair." She looked at him in wonder for aninstant, a little smile finally creeping to her lips. He felt that sheunderstood something. "Maybe he'll come after all," he added quickly.
"What are you doing with my parasol?" she asked sleepily.
"I'm carrying it to establish your identity with Dudley if he happens tocome. He'll recognize the purple parasol, you know."
"Oh, I see," she said dub
iously. "He gave it to me for a birthday present."
"I knew it," he muttered.
"What?"
"I mean I knew he'd recognize it," he explained.
The flyer shot through Fossingford at that juncture, a long line ofroaring shadows. There was silence between them until the rumble was lostin the distance.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to go out on the platform for awhile," shesaid finally, resignation in her eyes. "Perhaps he's out there, wonderingwhy the train
The Purple Parasol Page 3
