In The Bishop's Carriage [12]
yet. It's for five o'clock at the church on the corner."
"How do you know?" She turned on me, suddenly suspicious.
"Well--I do know. And I'm the only person in the house that does."
"I don't believe you."
She took out her key and opened the door, and I followed her in with the suit-case. But before I could get it set down on the floor, she had swooped on a letter that was lying in the middle of the table, had torn it open, and then with a cry had come whirling toward me.
"Where is this church? Come, help me to get to it before five and I'll--oh, you shall have anything in the world you want!"
She flew out into the hall, I after her. And first thing you know we were down in the street, around the corner, and there in front of the church was a carriage with Moriway just helping Mrs. Kingdon out.
"Mother!"
At that cry the old lady's knees seemed to crumble under her. Her poor old painted face looked out ghastly and ashamed from her wedding finery. But Evelyn in her red coat flew to her and took her in her arms as though she was a child. And like a child, Mrs. Kingdon sobbed and made excuses and begged to be forgiven.
I looked at Moriway. It was all the pay I wanted--particularly as I had those little diamonds.
"You're just in time, Miss Kingdon," he said uneasily, "to make your mother happy by your presence at her wedding."
"I'm just in time, Mr. Moriway, to see that my mother's not made unhappy by your presence."
"Evelyn!" Mrs. Kingdon remonstrated.
"Come, Sarah." Moriway offered his arm.
The bride shook her head.
"To-morrow," she said feebly.
Moriway breathed a swear.
Miss Kingdon laughed.
"I've come to take care of you, you silly little mother, dear . . . . It won't be to-morrow, Mr. Moriway."
"No--not to-morrow--next week," sighed Mrs. Kingdon.
"In fact, mother's changed her mind, Mr. Moriway. She thinks it ungenerous to accept such a sacrifice from a man who might be her son--don't you, mother?"
"Well, perhaps, George--" She looked up from her daughter's shoulder--she was crying all over that precious red coat of mine--and her eyes lit on me. "Oh--you wicked boy, you told a lie!" she gasped. "You did read my letter."
I laughed; laughed out loud, it was such a bully thing to watch Moriway's face.
But that was an unlucky laugh of mine; it turned his wrath on me. He made a dive toward me. I ducked and ran. Oh, how I ran! But if he hadn't slipped on the curb he'd have had me. As he fell, though, he let out a yell.
"Stop thief! stop thief! Thief! Thief! Thief!"
May you never hear it, Mag, behind you when you've somebody else's diamonds in your pocket. It sounds--it sounds the way the bay of the hounds must sound to the hare. It seems to fly along with the air; at the same time to be behind you, at your side, even in front of you.
I heard it bellowed in a dozen different voices, and every now and then I could hear Moriway as I pelted on--that brassy, cruel bellow of his that made my heart sick.
And then all at once I heard a policeman's whistle.
That whistle was like a signal--I saw the gates of the Correction open before me. I saw your Nance, Tom, in a neat striped dress, and she was behind bars--bars--bars! There were bars everywhere before me. In fact, I felt them against my very hands, for in my mad race I had shot up a blind alley--a street that ended in a garden behind an iron fence.
I grabbed the diamonds to throw them from me, but I couldn't--I just couldn't! I jumped the fence where the gate was low, and with that whistle flying shrill and shriller after me I ran to the house.
I might have jumped from the frying-pan? Of course, I might. But it was all fire to me. To be caught at the end is at least no worse than to be caught at the beginning. Anyhow, it was my one chance, and I took it as unhesitatingly as a rat takes a leap into a trap to escape a terrier. Only--only, it was my luck that the trap wasn't set! The room was empty. I pushed open a glass door, and fell over an open trunk that
"How do you know?" She turned on me, suddenly suspicious.
"Well--I do know. And I'm the only person in the house that does."
"I don't believe you."
She took out her key and opened the door, and I followed her in with the suit-case. But before I could get it set down on the floor, she had swooped on a letter that was lying in the middle of the table, had torn it open, and then with a cry had come whirling toward me.
"Where is this church? Come, help me to get to it before five and I'll--oh, you shall have anything in the world you want!"
She flew out into the hall, I after her. And first thing you know we were down in the street, around the corner, and there in front of the church was a carriage with Moriway just helping Mrs. Kingdon out.
"Mother!"
At that cry the old lady's knees seemed to crumble under her. Her poor old painted face looked out ghastly and ashamed from her wedding finery. But Evelyn in her red coat flew to her and took her in her arms as though she was a child. And like a child, Mrs. Kingdon sobbed and made excuses and begged to be forgiven.
I looked at Moriway. It was all the pay I wanted--particularly as I had those little diamonds.
"You're just in time, Miss Kingdon," he said uneasily, "to make your mother happy by your presence at her wedding."
"I'm just in time, Mr. Moriway, to see that my mother's not made unhappy by your presence."
"Evelyn!" Mrs. Kingdon remonstrated.
"Come, Sarah." Moriway offered his arm.
The bride shook her head.
"To-morrow," she said feebly.
Moriway breathed a swear.
Miss Kingdon laughed.
"I've come to take care of you, you silly little mother, dear . . . . It won't be to-morrow, Mr. Moriway."
"No--not to-morrow--next week," sighed Mrs. Kingdon.
"In fact, mother's changed her mind, Mr. Moriway. She thinks it ungenerous to accept such a sacrifice from a man who might be her son--don't you, mother?"
"Well, perhaps, George--" She looked up from her daughter's shoulder--she was crying all over that precious red coat of mine--and her eyes lit on me. "Oh--you wicked boy, you told a lie!" she gasped. "You did read my letter."
I laughed; laughed out loud, it was such a bully thing to watch Moriway's face.
But that was an unlucky laugh of mine; it turned his wrath on me. He made a dive toward me. I ducked and ran. Oh, how I ran! But if he hadn't slipped on the curb he'd have had me. As he fell, though, he let out a yell.
"Stop thief! stop thief! Thief! Thief! Thief!"
May you never hear it, Mag, behind you when you've somebody else's diamonds in your pocket. It sounds--it sounds the way the bay of the hounds must sound to the hare. It seems to fly along with the air; at the same time to be behind you, at your side, even in front of you.
I heard it bellowed in a dozen different voices, and every now and then I could hear Moriway as I pelted on--that brassy, cruel bellow of his that made my heart sick.
And then all at once I heard a policeman's whistle.
That whistle was like a signal--I saw the gates of the Correction open before me. I saw your Nance, Tom, in a neat striped dress, and she was behind bars--bars--bars! There were bars everywhere before me. In fact, I felt them against my very hands, for in my mad race I had shot up a blind alley--a street that ended in a garden behind an iron fence.
I grabbed the diamonds to throw them from me, but I couldn't--I just couldn't! I jumped the fence where the gate was low, and with that whistle flying shrill and shriller after me I ran to the house.
I might have jumped from the frying-pan? Of course, I might. But it was all fire to me. To be caught at the end is at least no worse than to be caught at the beginning. Anyhow, it was my one chance, and I took it as unhesitatingly as a rat takes a leap into a trap to escape a terrier. Only--only, it was my luck that the trap wasn't set! The room was empty. I pushed open a glass door, and fell over an open trunk that