Through the Wall | Page 5

know how to

meet it. Her red lips trembled, her eyes grew melting, and she sat there
silent and delicious in her perplexity. Kittredge thrilled under the spell
of her beauty; he longed to take her in his arms and comfort her.
"Suppose we go back a little," he said reassuringly. "About six months
ago, I think it was in January, a young chap in a fur overcoat drifted
into this old stone barn and took a turn around it. He saw the treasure
and the fake relics and the white marble French gentleman trying to get
out of his coffin. And he didn't care a hang about any of 'em until he
saw you. Then he began to take notice. The next day he came back and
you sold him a little red guidebook that told all about the twenty-five
chapels and the seven hundred and ninety-two saints. No, seven
hundred and ninety-three, for there was one saint with wonderful eyes
and glorious hair and----"
"Please don't," she murmured.
"Why not? You don't know which saint I was talking about. It was My
Lady of the Candles. She had the most beautiful hands in the world,
and all day long she sat at a table making stitches on cloth of gold.
Which was bad for her eyes, by the way."
"Ah, yes!" sighed Alice.
"There are all kinds of miracles in Notre-Dame," he went on playfully,
"but the greatest miracle is how this saint with the eyes and the hands
and the hair ever dropped down at that little table. Nobody could
explain it, so the young fellow with the fur overcoat kept coming back
and coming back to see if he could figure it out. Only soon he came
without his overcoat."
"In bitter cold weather," she said reproachfully.
"He was pretty blue that day, wasn't he? Dead sore on the game. Money
all blown in, overcoat up the spout, nothing ahead, and a whole year
of--of damned foolishness behind. Excuse me, but that's what it was.
Well, he blew in that day and--he walked over to where you were
sitting, you darling little saint!"

"No, no," murmured Alice, "not a saint, only a poor girl who saw you
were unhappy and--and was sorry."
Their eyes met tenderly, and for a moment neither spoke. Then
Kittredge went on unsteadily: "Anyhow you were kind to me, and I
opened up a little. I told you a few things, and--when I went away I felt
more like a man. I said to myself: 'Lloyd Kittredge, if you're any good
you'll cut out this thing that's been raising hell with you'--excuse me,
but that's what it was--'and you'll make a new start, right now.' And I
did it. There's a lot you don't know, but you can bet all your rosaries
and relics that I've made a fair fight since then. I've worked and--been
decent and--I did it all for you." His voice was vibrant now with
passion; he caught her hand in his and repeated the words, leaning
closer, so that she felt his warm breath on her cheek. "All for you. You
know that, don't you, Alice?"
What a moment for a girl whose whole soul was quivering with
fondness! What a proud, beautiful moment! He loved her, he loved her!
Yet she drew her hand away and forced herself to say, as if reprovingly:
"You mustn't do that!"
He looked at her in surprise, and then, with challenging directness:
"Why not?"
"Because I cannot be what you--what you want me to be," she
answered, looking down.
"I want you to be my wife."
"I know."
"And--and you refuse me?"
For a moment she did not speak. Then slowly she nodded, as if
pronouncing her own doom.
"Alice," he cried, "look up here! You don't mean it. Say it isn't true."

She lifted her eyes bravely and faced him. "It is true, Lloyd; I can never
be your wife."
"But why? Why?"
"I--I cannot tell you," she faltered.
He was about to speak impatiently, but before her evident distress he
checked the words and asked gently: "Is it something against me?"
"Oh, no!" she answered quickly.
"Sure? Isn't it something you've heard that I've done or--or not done?
Don't be afraid to hurt my feelings. I'll make a clean breast of it all, if
you say so. God knows I was a fool, but I've kept straight since I knew
you, I'll swear to that."
"I believe you, dear."
"You believe me, you call me 'dear,' you look at me out of those
wonderful eyes as if you cared for me."
"I do, I do," she murmured.
[Illustration: "'Alice,' he cried ... 'Say it isn't true.'"]
"You care for me, and yet you turn me down," he said bitterly. "It
reminds me