Los Angeles herald., 1909-12-19
122
l22 LOS ANGELES HERAL
To London Bridge

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go on to the glorious future which
awaits me, if you, on your own part,
will give me your word to do nothing
silly-tonight. Now! Shall it be a
bargain?"
When l did not move nor speak, she
went on, her voice dropped to almost
a whisper.
Death is horrible, you know" she
said. However violently, however
suddenly it comes to us, there is a mo-
ment-how can we tell for what ages
it lasts ?-when there is borne in on US
the thought that what we have done
is irrevocable-done for ever. For lifo
we cry. In whatever agony, let us
live! And there is only Death-hideous,
choking Death"
"I've thought of all that" told her.
My voice was so husky and unman-
ageable 1 do not know how she under
stood. "But l am in this hideous
mess. I don't know what else to do.
For me. it's the only thing; but for
you"
"Well-for me?" She took up and
handled the little deadly weapon as
though it held a fascination for her.
1--WE can never tell. Life is full of
chances and changes-for me, too, it
might one day be what you say-the
only thing" She laid it on her lap
again. "Come! Our bargain!" she said.
"If you will fling yours through the
window you shall fling mine after 1t.
Now, then, what do you say?"
My eyes hung on hers. | half drew
the revolver from my pocket Firmly
l had made up my mind to die by 1t
in the waiting room at London bridge
station that night 1 thought my mind
was firmly made up. But London
bridge was coming near-we went so
swiftly to meet it!-could 1 fail to hail
this excuse for a respite?
"Come." she whispered again.
She saw that 1 was yielding. She
leaned forward and laid her hand, un-
covered and warm, upon my nerveless
left one, resting on the arm of the seat,
her other she held, encouragingly, palm
upward, toward that right hand of
mine still lying in my pocket.
"Come, dear child" she coaXed.
yours first" 1 bargained with dry
lips.
"But I have your promise?"
"I promise"
The rose and moved into the corri-
dor. Standing there, her eyes fingered
for minute on the tiny silver-mounted
revolver in her hand. Then she dropped
1t into the night.
She turned to me. Dragging my
hand from my pocket, I made a languid
movement to pass her the pistol 1 had
bought with a few shillings last ght
to be my last resource if my uncle
failed to help me, as he had fai ed
today:
Come, Throw it away yourself" !"
she said. TT will give you courage
SO I stood up and joined her at the
outer window.
"Hurl it at the blackness," she said
And | flung it from me.
She put a hand on my shoulder. you
are a new man." she said. "Your life
is not done. you see. 1t is beginning.
Think of that! What is the first thing
you will do, dear child, in a new life?"
She knew what I should do. She
lifted her pale face, the red lips un-
smiling now, to mine. Quite solemnly
I stopped and kissed 1t.
For a minute we stood silent, side by
side, looking out upon the pitchy dark
ness through which we sped.
"You will remember me?" she asked.
For all my life" l blurted out.
"Out of the darkness l came, did l
not? I mean as far as your knowledge
of me is concerned. Into the darkness
] 60 Isn't that strange to think of?
For a few minutes we have met-really
met, you and I-have we not?"
REALLY met"
"These things happen. it seems" She
shivered in the cold night air. 1--WE are
nearly there"
Nearly there" l said, and shut the
window.
We took our seats.
Leaning forward, she held my hand
again in hers that was ungloved.
"You have not been wicked, remem-
ber," she said. "Only silly, as boys Will
be. Now you are not going to be silly
anV more. Wise. You owe me some
thing-Will YOU do what | ask of you? ?"