Through the Wall | Page 6

of a verse I read," and drawing a small volume from his
pocket he turned the pages quickly. "Ah, here it is," and he marked
some lines with a pencil. "There!"
Alice took the volume and began to read in a low voice:
"Je n'aimais qu'elle au monde, et vivre un jour sans elle Me semblait un
destin plus affreux que la mort. Je me souviens pourtant qu'en cette nuit
cruelle Pour briser mon lien je fis un long effort. Je la nommai cent fois
perfide et déloyale, Je comptai tous les maux qu'elle m'avait causés."
She stopped suddenly, her eyes full of pain.

"You don't think that, you _can't_ think that of me?" she pleaded.
"I'd rather think you a coquette than--" Again he checked himself at the
sight of her trouble. He could not speak harshly to her.
"You dear child," he went on tenderly. "I'll never believe any ill of you,
never. I won't even ask your reasons; but I want some encouragement,
something to work for. I've got to have it. Just let me go on hoping; say
that in six months or--or even a year you will be my own
sweetheart--promise me that and I'll wait patiently. Can't you promise
me that?"
But again she shook her head, while her eyes filled slowly with tears.
And now his face darkened. "Then you will never be my wife? Never?
No matter what I do or how long I wait? Is that it?"
"That's it," she repeated with a little sob.
Kittredge rose, eying her sternly. "I understand," he said, "or rather I
don't understand; but there's no use talking any more. I'll take my
medicine and--good-by."
She looked at him in frightened supplication. "You won't leave me?
Lloyd, you won't leave me?"
He laughed harshly. "What do you think I am? A jumping jack for you
to pull a string and make me dance? Well, I guess not. Leave you? Of
course I'll leave you. I wish I had never seen you; I'm sorry I ever came
inside this blooming church!"
"Oh!" she gasped, in sudden pain.
"You don't play fair," he went on recklessly. "You haven't played fair at
all. You knew I loved you, and--you led me on, and--this is the end of
it."
"No," she cried, stung by his words, "it's not the end of it. I _won't_ be
judged like that. I have played fair with you. If I hadn't I would have

accepted you, for I love you, Lloyd, I love you with all my heart!"
"I like the way you show it," he answered, unrelenting.
"Haven't I helped you all these months? Isn't my friendship
something?"
He shook his head. "It isn't enough for me."
"Then how about me, if I want your friendship, if I'm hungry for it, if
it's all I have in life? How about that, Lloyd?" Under their dark lashes
her violet eyes were burning on him, but he hardened his heart to their
pleading.
"It sounds well, but there's no sense in it. I can't stand for this
let-me-be-a-sister-to-you game, and I won't."
He turned away impatiently and glanced at his watch.
"Lloyd," she said gently, "come to the house to-night."
He shook his head. "Got an appointment."
"An appointment?"
"Yes, a banquet."
She looked at him in surprise. "You didn't tell me!"
"No."
She was silent a moment. "Where is the banquet?"
"At the Ansonia. It's a new restaurant on the Champs Elysées, very
swell. I didn't tell you because--well, because I didn't."
"Lloyd," she whispered, "don't go to the banquet."
"Don't go? Why, this is our national holiday. I'm down to tell some

stories. I've got to go. Besides, I wouldn't come to you, anyway. What's
the use? I've said all I can, and you've said 'No.' So it's all off--that's
right, Alice, _it's all off_." His eyes were kinder now, but he spoke
firmly.
"Lloyd," she begged, "come after the banquet."
"No!"
"I ask it for you. I--I feel that something is going to happen. Don't laugh.
Look at the sky, there beyond the black towers. It's red, red like blood,
and--Lloyd, I'm afraid."
Her eyes were fixed in the west with an enthralled expression, as if she
saw something there besides the masses of red and purple that crowned
the setting sun, something strange and terrifying. And in her agitation
she took the book and pencil from the bench, and nervously, almost
unconsciously wrote something on one of the fly leaves.
"Good-by, Alice," he said, holding out his hand.
"Good-by, Lloyd," she answered in a dull, tired voice, putting down the
book and giving him her own little hand.
As he turned to go he picked up the volume and his eye fell on the fly
leaf.
"Why," he started, "what is this?" He