"Would I tell her, and not tell you? It's you I've tried to shield. I married Josephine Derry, and Fran is our child. You know Fran. Well, her mother was just like her--frivolous, caring only for things of the world--irreligious. And I was just a boy--a mere college youth. When I realized the awful mistake I'd made, I thought it best just to go away and let her live her own life. Years after, I put all that behind me, and came to Littleburg. I married Mrs. Gregory and I wanted to put all my past life away--clear away--and live a good open life. Then you came. Then I found out I'd never known what love meant. It means a fellowship of souls, love does; it has nothing to do with the physical man. It means just your soul and mine...and it's too late!"

Grace, with hands locked upon her open ledger, stared straight before her, as if turned to stone. The little fenced-in box, hanging high above eager shoppers, was as a peaceful haven in a storm of raging noises. From without, gusts of merriment shrieked and whistled, while above them boomed the raucous cries of showmen, drowned in their turn by the indefatigable bra.s.s-band. The atmosphere of the bookkeeper's loft was a wedge of silence, splitting a solidarity of tumult.

Gregory covered his face with his hands. "Do you despise me, you pure angel of beauty? Oh, say you don't utterly despise me. I've not breathed this secret to any living soul but you, you whom I love with the madness of despair. My heart is broken. Tell me what I can do."

At last Grace spoke in a thin tone: "Where is that woman?"

"Fran's mother?"

She did not reply; he ought to know whom she meant.

"She died a few years ago--but I thought her dead when I married Mrs.

Gregory. I didn't mean any wrong to my wife, I wanted everything legal, and supposed it was. I thought everything was all right until that awful night--when Fran came. There'd been no divorce, so Fran kept the secret--not on my account, oh, no, no, not on her father's account! She gave _me_ no consideration. It was on account of Mrs.

Gregory."

"Which Mrs. Gregory?"

"You know--Mrs. Gregory."

"Can you believe that?" Grace asked, with a chilled smile. "You believe Fran really cares for your wife? You think any daughter could care for the woman who has stolen her mother's rightful place?"

"But Fran won't have the truth declared; if it weren't for her, Bob would have told you long ago."

"Suppose I were in Fran's place--would I have kept the secret to spare man or woman? No! Fran doesn't care a penny for your wife. She couldn't. It would be monstrous--unnatural. But she's always hated me.

_That's_ why she acts as she does--to triumph over me. I see it all.

_That_ is the reason she won't have the truth declared--she doesn't want me to know that you are--are _free_."

Grace started up from the desk, her face deathly white. She was tottering, but when Gregory would have leaped to her side, she whispered, "They would see us." Suddenly her face became crimson. He caught his breath, speechless before her imperial loveliness.

"Mr. Gregory!" her eyes were burning into his, "have you told me all the secret?"

"Yes--all."

"Then Mr. Clinton deceived me!"

"He agreed to hide everything, if I'd send you away."

"Oh, I see! So even _he_ is one of Fran's allies. Never mind--did you say that when you married the second time, your first wife was living, and had never been divorced?"

"But Grace--dear Grace! I thought it all right I believed--"

She did not seem to hear him. "Then _she_ is not your wife," she said in a low whisper.

"She believes--"

"_She_ believes!" Her voice rose scornfully. "And so that is the fact Fran wanted hidden; you are not really bound to Mrs. Gregory."

"Not legally--but--"

"In what way, then?"

"Why, in no regular way--I mean--but don't you see, there could be no marriage now to make it binding, without telling her--"

"You are not bound at all," Grace interrupted. "You are free--as free as air--as free as I am. Are you determined not to understand me?

Since you are free, there is no obstacle, in Heaven or on earth, to your wishes."

His pa.s.sage from despair to sudden hope was so violent that he grasped the desk for support. "What?--Then?--You--you--Grace, would you--But-- "

"You are free," said Grace, "and since Mr. Clinton's treachery, I do not consider myself bound."

"Grace!" he cried wildly, "Grace--star of my soul--go with me, go with me, fly with me in a week--darling. Let us arrange it for to-morrow."

"No. I will not go with you, unless you take me now."

"Now? Immediately?" he gasped, bewildered.

"Without once turning back," she returned. "There's a train in something like an hour."

"For ever?" He was delirious. "And you are to be mine--Grace, you are to be mine--my very own!"

"Yes. But you are never to see Fran again."

"Do I want to see her again? But Grace, if we stay here until train- time, Bob will come and--er--and find us--I don't want to meet Bob."

"Then let us go. There are such crowds on the streets that we can easily lose ourselves."

"Bob will hunt for you, Grace, if he gets back with Abbott before ourtrain leaves. Miss Sapphira said she was looking for him any minute, and that was a good while ago."

"If you can't keep him from finding me," Grace said, "let him find. I do not consider that I am acting in the wrong. When people are not bound, they are free; and if they are free, they have the right to be happy, if at the same time, while being happy together, they can be doing good."

"Still," said Gregory, looking over the railing, "you know it would look--it would look bad, darling."

"This is the beginning of our lives," she said, with sudden joy.

"And if Bob sees me with you, Grace, after what he knows, you can guess that something very unpleasant would--"

Grace drew back, to look searchingly into his face. "Mr. Gregory," she said slowly, "you make difficulties."

He met her eyes, and his blood danced. "I make difficulties? No!

Grace, you have made me the happiest man in the world. Yes, our lives begin with this night--our real lives. Grace, you're the best woman that ever lived!"

CHAPTER XXI

FLIGHT