This thought occupied her brain to the exclusion of all else. She did not consider whether Dumain had spoken the truth, nor why she was going, nor what she would do: nor was she conscious of any feeling, one way or the other, concerning the revelation that the man she loved was a criminal. She only knew that she must see him.
At Thirtieth Street she turned westward. In another ten minutes of breathless, rapid steps she found herself at the address to which she had sent his letters.
She ascended the stoop and searched on the letterboxes for his name. There it was — the second on the left — John Knowlton.
For a moment she hesitated, half conscious for the first time of the recklessness and immodesty of what she was doing.
Then she pressed the bell button firmly.
Chapter XI
The Voice of the Law
The latch clicked; she entered and ascended the stairs. In an open door to the left, peering at her curiously in the dim light of the hall, stood a man. It was Knowlton. Back of him the room inside was dark.
Lila’s anxiety dropped from her as a cloak and gave way to a sudden and overwhelming embarrassment. She stood at the top of the stairs looking at him, unable to speak or move.
Knowlton advanced a step from the door, saying:
“Who is it?”
And then, as Lila did not answer, “Who is it?” he repeated, advancing toward her. “Did you want — why — not — Miss Williams! What does this mean? Why did you come? Speak... tell me—”
“I... I don’t know—” Lila stammered in confusion. “I thought — they told me — you had gone—”
She stood with one hand resting on the baluster, her breath coming in quick gasps.
Knowlton jerked himself together with an effort.
“But this will not do. You must go home at once.” He took her arm.
Lila shook her head.
“I want to talk to you. I must. You mean that I should not come to your rooms? Well — I trust you, and what else matters?”
Knowlton, taken by surprise and at his wits’ end, tried to insist, but Lila refused to listen. Finally, in despair, he led the way into his rooms. He lighted the gas and brought a chair for her, then seated himself on the trunk which he had just finished packing.
Lila looked at it.
“So what they said is true. You are going away.”
He attempted playfulness.
“Yes, I am taking some of my swamps out West to sell to some of my old friends. You must admit, though, I never tried to sell you one.”
“And you were going — without saying good-by?”
“I... I had to,” he stammered. “It was on very short notice. There was no time.”
Lila’s face colored, then grew very white. She could not know the effort it was costing Knowlton to play his role; to her his lightness seemed sincere. She rose to her feet uncertainly.
“I do not know why I came,” she said breathlessly. “But, yes, I do know. And now I am sorry. I cannot tell you how ashamed and sorry I am.”
Her lip was quivering, but her eyes were firm and her voice even.
“Mr. Dumain told me you were in trouble — but I have been very bold — and... and I am sorry—”
She was moving toward the door.
At such times and under such circumstances men forget promises and danger, and throw prudence to the winds. Knowlton sprang to his feet and turned to her.
“Lila!”
She stopped, trembling from head to foot. All that she had longed to hear was in his voice — anguish and entreaty and love.
And now that the gates were broken the flood burst forth.
“Lila! For God’s sake don’t leave me like this! I can’t bear it — I won’t! Oh, what a miserable coward I am!”
In another moment she was at his side and in his arms, laughing and crying at once, and placing her hands over his mouth to keep him from calling himself a coward.
“No, no, no!” she kept saying, while he held her closer and closer and covered her hands and wrists with kisses.
“Lila! Tell me — my darling — do you love me?”
She nodded.
“You do love me?”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I... love... you.”
“And I... oh, my dear little girl, I worship you. You have known — you must have known, but I want to tell you. And you love me! It can’t be true. Tell me.”
“I love you,” said Lila. And, oh, the curve of her lips and the light in her eyes and the clinging warmth of her arms!
Knowlton kissed her hair, saying:
“And see! You are my little girl.” He picked her up in his arms and carried her to a chair, then knelt before her, muttering, “My little girl!” over and over. He was intoxicated.
Lila’s eyes were swimming in tears of happiness. She stroked his hair and pronounced his name with a delightful shyness and made him tell her how long he had loved her.
He said, “Always,” and got his reward at once.
There was a long silence, while they gazed into each other’s eyes. Then Lila, happening to glance up, sighed and pointed to the trunk.
“And now, what about that?”
Knowlton turned sharply — and awoke. He sprang to his feet.
“My God! I had forgotten! And this — this is madness! Ah! You do not know — and I am a coward.”
Lila said simply:
“I know everything.”
Knowlton stared at her.
“Mr. Dumain told me why you were going away,” she continued. “Did you think I did not know? And I... I have been waiting for you to tell me—” She stopped, coloring.
Knowlton suppressed a groan of anguish and forced himself to speak. The words choked him.
“I am a counterfeiter.”
“I know it,” Lila smiled.
Still Knowlton could not believe, or would not accept. His hands opened and closed convulsively, his breath came in quick gasps, and his eyes were narrowed with misery. Again he forced himself to speak, and the words came with a painful pause between them.
“But — you don’t — understand. I am — a criminal. I am running away.”
Lila shivered involuntarily at the word, but the smile did not leave her face as she said:
“I love you.”
Then Knowlton burst forth:
“But, Lila, you do not know all! Ever since the day — the first time I was with you, I have been straight. And Heaven knows I have tried to make it up. But you humiliate me — you ask me nothing! Do you think there is no explanation? You do not even ask me why!”
“I guess there is no ‘why’ in love,” said Lila.
“But there is in — the other thing.” Knowlton drew nearer to her and spoke slowly and earnestly. “Do you remember I told you last night that I wanted to ask you something today? Well — I was going to ask you to marry me. I would have done that, and I would have kept my secret. But now that you know some of it you must know all.”
“No,” said Lila, “not that. Of the future, perhaps, but not of the past. What does it all matter now?”
But Knowlton insisted.
“Yes, I must. I want you to know it. It is not that I would give excuses; there can be none. But you must know my weakness and folly, and then if you can trust me—”
He paced the floor nervously as he continued:
“In the first place, my name is not Knowlton. It is John Norton. My father is the wealthiest citizen of a town named Warton, in Ohio. I am his only child. My mother died ten years ago.
“My father made his money in the manufacturing business, and he earned every cent of it. All his life he has worked like a slave. I can remember, when I was a little chap, how he used to come home late at night completely exhausted, and come to my room to kiss me good night. He would always reply to my mother’s expostulations with the words, ‘It is for him.’