tore it open. He was thinking of the cowering woman in thehallway and he was cursing himself for his brutality.
He read the despatch with dizzy eyes and drooping jaw, once, twice,thrice. Then he leaned heavily against the counter and a coldness assailedhis heart, so bitter that he felt his blood freezing. It read:
What have you been doing? The people you were sent to watch sailed forEurope ten days ago.
GROVER & DICKHUT.
The paper fell from his trembling fingers, but he regained it, naturalinstinct inspiring a fear that the clerk would read it.
"Good Lord!" he gasped.
"Bad news, Mr. Rollins?" asked the clerk sympathetically, but thestricken, bewildered man did not answer.
What did it mean? A vast faintness attacked him as the truth began topenetrate. Out of the whirling mystery came the astounding, ponderousrealization that he had blundered, that he had wronged her, that he hadaccused her of--Oh, that dear, stricken figure in the hallway above!
He leaped to the staircase. Three steps at a time he flew back to thescene of the miserable tragedy. What he thought, what he felt as he rushedinto the hallway can only be imagined. She was gone--heartbroken, killed!And she had kissed him and said she loved him!
A light shone through the transoms over the doors that led into herapartments. Quaking with fear, he ran down the hall and beat a violenttattoo upon her parlor door. Again he rapped, crazed by remorse, fear,love, pity, shame, and a hundred other emotions.
"Who is it?" came in stifled tones from within.
"It is I--Rossiter--I mean Rollins! I must see you--now! For pity's sake,let me in!"
"How dare you--" she began shrilly; but he was not to be denied.
"If you don't open this door I'll kick it in!" he shouted. "I must seeyou!"
After a moment the door flew open and he stood facing her. She was like aqueen. Her figure was as straight as an arrow, her eyes blazing. But therehad been tears in them a moment before.
"Another insult!" she exclaimed, and the scorn in her voice waswithering. He paused abashed, for the first time realizing that he hadhurt her beyond reparation. His voice faltered and the tears flew to hiseyes.
"I don't know what to say to you. It has been a mistake--a frightfulmistake--and I don't know whether you'll let me explain. When I gotdownstairs I found this telegram and--for heaven's sake, let me tell youthe wretched story. Don't turn away from me! You shall listen to me if Ihave to hold you!" His manner changed suddenly to the violent, imperiousforcefulness of a man driven to the last resort.
"Must I call for help?" she cried, thoroughly alarmed, once more the weakwoman, face to face, as she thought, with an insane man.
"I love you better than my own life, and I've hurt you terribly. I'm notcrazy, Helen! But I've been a fool, and I'll go crazy if you don't give mea chance to explain."
Whether she gave the chance or no he took it, and from his eager,pleading lips raced the whole story of his connection with the Whartonaffair from first to last.
He humbled himself, accused himself, ridiculed himself, and wound up bythrowing himself upon her mercy, uttering protestations of the love whichhad really been his undoing.
She heard him through without a word. The light in her eyes changed; thefear left them and the scorn fled. Instead there grew, by stages, wonder,incredulity, wavering doubt and--joy. She understood him and she lovedhim! The awful horror of that meeting in the hallway was swept away likeunto the transformation scene in the fairy spectacle.
When he fell upon his knee and sought to clasp her fingers in his coldhand she smiled, and, stooping over, placed both hands on his cheeks andkissed him.
What followed her kiss of forgiveness may be more easily imagined thantold.
"You see it was perfectly natural for me to mistake you for Mrs.Wharton," he said after awhile. "You had the gray jacket, the sailor hat,the purple parasol, and you are beautiful. And, besides all that, you werefound red-handed in that ridiculous town of Fossingford. Why shouldn't Ihave suspected you with such a preponderance of evidence against you?Anybody who would get off of a night train in Fossingford certainly oughtto be ashamed of something."
"But Fossingford is on the map, isn't it? One has a perfect right to getoff where she likes, hasn't she, provided it is on the map?"
"Not at all! That's what maps are for: to let you see where you don't getoff."
"But I was obliged to get off there. My ticket said 'Fossingford,' and,besides, I was to be met at the station in a most legitimate manner. Youhad no right to jump at conclusions."
"Well, if you had not descended to earth at Fossingford I wouldn't be inheaven at Eagle Nest. Come to think of it, I believe you did quite theproper thing in getting off at Fossingford--no matter what the hour."
"You must remember always that I have not taken you to task for a mostflagrant piece of--shall I say indiscretion?"
"Good Heavens!"
"You stopped off at Fossingford for the sole purpose of seeing anotherwoman."
"That's all very fine, dear, but you'll admit that Dudley was anexcellent substitute for Havens. Can't you see how easy it was to bemistaken?"
"I won't fall into easy submission. Still, I believe I could recommendyou as a detective. They usually do the most unheard of things--just asyou have. Poor Jim Dudley an actor! Mistaken for such a man as you sayHavens is! It is even more ridiculous than that I should be mistaken forMrs. Wharton."
"Say, I'd like to know something about Dudley. It was his confoundeddevotion to you that helped matters along in my mind. What is he to you?"
"He came here to-night to repeat a question that had been answeredunalterably once before. Jim Dudley? Have you never heard of James Dudley,the man who owns all of those big mines in South America, the man who--"
"Who owns the yachts and automobiles and--and the railroad trains? Is hethe one? The man with the millions? Good Lord! And you could have had himinstead of me? Helen, I--I don't understand it. Why didn't you take him?"
She hesitated a moment before answering brightly:
"Perhaps it is because I have a fancy for the ridiculous."
THE END
The Purple Parasol Page 6
