The Broad Highway

"Oh, Peter!" she whispered, "oh, Peter!" and that was all, but,

moved by something in her tone, I glanced up. Her eyes were wide

and staring--not at me, but at that which lay between us--her

face was pallid; even her lips had lost their color, and she

clasped one hand upon her bosom--the other was hidden in the

folds of her gown hidden as I remembered to have seen it once

before, but now it struck me with a horrible significance.

Wherefore I reached out and caught that hidden hand, and drew the

weapon from her nerveless fingers, holding it where the light

could play upon it. She started, shivered violently, and covered

her eyes, while I, looking down at the pistol in my hand, saw

that it had lately been discharged.

"He has kept his word!" she whispered; "he has kept his word!"

"Yes, Charmian--he has kept his word!"

"Oh, Peter!" she moaned, and stretched out her hands towards me,

yet she kept her face turned from that which lay across the path

between us, and her hands were shaking pitifully. "Peter?" she

cried with a sudden break in her voice; but I went on wiping the

soot from the pistol-barrel with the end of my neckerchief.

Then, all at once, she was beside me, clasping my arm, and she

was pleading with me, her words coming in a flood.

"No, Peter, no--oh, God!--you do not think it--you can't--you

mustn't. I was alone--waiting for you, and the hours passed--and

you didn't come--and I was nervous and frightened, and full of

awful fancies. I thought I heard some one--creeping round the

cottage. Once I thought some one peered in at the lattice, and

once I thought some one tried the door. And so--because I was

frightened, Peter, I took that--that, and held it in my hand,

Peter. And while I sat there--it seemed more than ever--that

somebody was breathing softly--outside the door. And so, Peter,

I couldn't bear it any more--and opened the lattice--and fired

--in the air--I swear it was in the air. And I stood there--at

the open casement--sick with fear, and trying to pray for you

--because I knew he had come back--to kill you, Peter, and, while

I prayed, I heard another shot--not close, but faint--like the

snapping of a twig, Peter--and I ran out--and--oh, Peter!--that

is all--but you believe--oh!--you believe, don't you, Peter?"

While she spoke, I had slipped the pistol into my pocket, and now

I held out my hands to her, and drew her near, and gazed into the

troubled depths of her eyes.