"You're wondering what my little game is, Johnny, ain't you? Well, I'll tell you.What with being hunted from pillar to post, putting my old pards to no end of trouble, and then slipping up on it whenever I think I've got a sure thing like this,"--he cast an almost affectionate glance at the bed,--"I've come to the conclusion that it's played out, and I might as well hand in my checks.It's only a question of my being RUN OUT of 'Frisco, or hiding until I can SLIP OUT myself; and I've reckoned I might as well give them the trouble and expense of transportation.And if I can put a good thing in your way in doing it--why, it will sort of make things square with you for the fuss I've given you."Even in the stupefaction and helplessness of knowing that the man before him was the notorious duellist and gambler George Dornton, one of the first marked for deportation by the Vigilance Committee, Herbert recognized all he had heard of his invincible coolness, courage, and almost philosophic fatalism.For an instant his youthful imagination checked even his indignation.When he recovered himself, he said, with rising color and boyish vehemence:
"Whoever YOU may be, I am neither a police officer nor a spy.You have no right to insult me by supposing that I would profit by the mistake that made you my guest, or that I would refuse you the sanctuary of theroof that covers your insult as well as your blunder."The stranger gazed at him with an amused expression, and then rose and stretched out his hand.
"Shake, Mr.Bly! You're the only man that ever kicked George Dornton when he deserved it.Good-night!" He took his hat and walked to the door.
"Stop!" said Herbert impulsively; "the night is already far gone; go back and finish your sleep.""You mean it?" "I do."
The stranger turned, walked back to the bed, unfastening his coat and collar as he did so, and laid himself down in the attitude of a moment before.
"I will call you in the morning," continued Herbert."By that time,"-- he hesitated,--"by that time your pursuers may have given up their search.One word more. You will be frank with me?""Go on."
"Tappington and you are--friends?" "Well--yes.""His mother and sister know nothing of this?""I reckon he didn't boast of it.I didn't.Is that all?" sleepily."Yes.""Don't YOU worry about HIM.Good-night." "Good-night."But even at that moment George Dornton had dropped off in a quiet, peaceful sleep.
Bly turned down the light, and, drawing his easy-chair to the window, dropped into it in bewildering reflection.This then was the secret-- unknown to mother and daughter--unsuspected by all! This was the double life of Tappington, half revealed in his flirtation with the neighbors, in the hidden cards behind the books, in the mysterious visitor--still unaccounted for--and now wholly exploded by this sleeping confederate, for whom, somehow, Herbert felt the greatest sympathy! What was to be done? What should he say to Cherry--to her mother--to Mr.Carstone?Yet hehad felt he had done right.From time to time he turned to the motionless recumbent shadow on the bed and listened to its slow and peaceful respiration.Apart from that undefinable attraction which all original natures have for each other, the thrice-blessed mystery of protection of the helpless, for the first time in his life, seemed to dawn upon him through that night.
Nevertheless, the actual dawn came slowly.Twice he nodded and awoke quickly with a start.The third time it was day.The street-lamps were extinguished, and with them the moving, restless watchers seemed also to have vanished.Suddenly a formal deliberate rapping at the door leading to the hall startled him to his feet.
It must be Ellen.So much the better; he could quickly get rid of her.He glanced at the bed; Dornton slept on undisturbed.He unlocked the door cautiously, and instinctively fell back before the erect, shawled, and decorous figure of Mrs.Brooks.But an utterly new resolution and excitement had supplanted the habitual resignation of her handsome features, and given them an angry sparkle of expression.
