Her Forbidden Knight

Chapter V Two Escorts

That night was an unpleasant one for Lila. She perceived clearly for the first time whither her heart was leading her, and recoiled in terror from the dangerous path on which she had already set her foot.

She had lied, and she had been faithless to her trust — which, though a small one, was felt by her to be none the less inviolable. She had lied instinctively, naturally, as a matter of course — the heart commands the brain, if at all, with an awful authority.

And for whom had she made the sacrifice? she asked herself. For a man about whom she knew one thing, and that thing was: she loved him. Perhaps, after all, the Broadway cynic is partly right.

Alone in her room that night she attempted to subject herself to a strict and sincere examination. She asked herself: “Why have you done this thing?” and her heart fluttered painfully, endeavoring by silence to keep its secret; but she felt the answer.

She crept, shivering, from her bed, and buried her face in a tray of withered rose leaves on the table.

Love is no snob. He forces the princess to deceive a court, defy a king, and renounce her royalty, that she may fly to the open arms of her despised lover; he forces the working girl to laugh at justice and law, and sacrifice her dearest possession — even herself. And the one triumph is to him fully as sweet as the other. Love is no snob.

His struggle with Lila was a hard one. She fought with the strength of despair, having forced herself to realize the significance of the battle. Nothing is more horrible to a woman than the fear that she has bestowed her heart on one unworthy; I say, the fear, for when the bestowal is once consummated and admitted, she is more apt to glory in it than to be ashamed of it.

Lila ended by saying to herself: “I have done right to shield him. He is good — I know it — surely my heart would not deceive me? What am I to do? I do not know. But I do not regret what I have done.”

And she smiled, and slept.

The following day, at her desk in the Lamartine, she felt her doubts and fears return. She chafed under an indefinable sensation of restlessness and expectancy; she performed her duties absentmindedly and perfunctorily; there was a marked absence of the usual pleasant cheerfulness in her manner; her eyes constantly wandered to the door, and returned again to her desk, filled with disappointment. The lobby of the Lamartine did not see Knowlton that day.

To the Erring Knights this meant a triumph. They believed that after all Knowlton had heeded their warning and decided to obey their dictum. They allowed themselves to become unduly excited over the matter, and as the afternoon wore away their faces took on an expression of jubilant satisfaction. Partly was this owing to their genuinely tender interest in Miss Williams; partly to the inherent vanity of man.

At four o’clock in the afternoon Dougherty was pacing up and down the lobby, past the lofty marble pillars, through clouds of tobacco smoke, with the air of a pitcher strolling to the bench after a victorious inning.

He was superbly indifferent to the amused glances of the loungers seated and standing here and there about the lobby, and was even undisturbed by the biting remarks of the Venus at the cigar stand. Finally he strolled over to the leather lounge where two or three of the others were seated.

“You see,” said he, waving his hand grandly, “he does not come. And who was it that told him to stay away? I.”

“Wait,” said Driscoll darkly. “It’s early yet. And then — what will you do?”

“Bah!” said Dumain explosively. “As for me, I theenk he is no coward. He will come. And zen — well, we have our program.”

But Knowlton did not arrive. Five o’clock came, and six. At the approach of dinnertime the crowd in the lobby thinned perceptibly, and the Erring Knights disappeared by ones and twos.

Jennings, on his way out from the billiard room, stopped at the corner in search of a dinner companion. He found Sherman seated there alone.

“Thanks,” said Sherman in response to his invitation. “I’d like to go, but I have a date. See you tonight.”

Jennings nodded and left the lobby.

Lila was still at her desk. It was nearly an hour past her period of duty, and there was nothing, apparently, to detain her; still she lingered. She sat with her eyes fixed on the door, hoping that the figure she longed to see would appear at the last minute.

Finally, she arose and slowly put on her coat and hat. On her way out she stopped at the cigar stand and chatted for a moment with Miss Hughes, who expressed some concern at her pallor and appearance of fatigue.

“It’s no wonder you’re sick,” said the Venus sympathetically. “A dump like this is enough to kill you. I can stand it. I’m used to it. But sometimes it gives even me the willies.”

“It’s nothing,” Lila smiled. “I think I have a headache. Thank you for asking. Good night.”

She left the lobby by the main entrance, walked up Broadway to Twenty-third Street, then turned west. The rush hour was past, and the sidewalks were nearly deserted. A few belated pedestrians hurried along as rapidly as the slippery condition of the pavement would permit.

The lighted shop windows shone in the frosty air with a sharp brilliancy. Taxicabs and hansoms picked their way cautiously through the ice and snow, and the crosstown cars clanged noisily on their way to either river.

Lila had got nearly to Sixth Avenue, and was hastening her step at the urging of the cold east wind at her back, when she heard her name called behind her. Turning, she saw Billy Sherman, who advanced smiling, with lifted hat.

Half frightened, she nodded and turned to go, but Sherman stopped her with a gesture. There was a conciliatory smile on his dark, handsome face as he looked down at her.

“Do you take the Sixth Avenue ‘L’?” he asked.

Lila nodded.

“Then we can ride together. I am going uptown. You are ill, and you need some one to look after you. If you would only—”

Lila broke in with a protest, but Sherman paid no attention to it, and walked by her side to the Elevated station and up the steps. He stopped at the window to buy tickets, but Lila took one from her purse and dropped it in the box as she passed to the platform. In a moment he joined her.

“Are you unwilling that I should do even so little for you?” he asked reproachfully.

Lila was silent. A train pulled in, and they boarded it together. On account of the late hour, they had no difficulty to find seats. As the train started Sherman turned in his seat to look at her, and repeated his question.

His manner was respectful, and his solicitude appeared to be genuine; and Lila, wearied and worn by anxiety, was touched by it. After all, she asked herself bitterly, who was she, to despise anybody?

“I don’t know,” she said doubtfully in answer to his question, which he repeated for the third time. “You must remember — what you have said to me — and how you have acted. I wish — I think it would be best for you to leave me at the next station. You were not going uptown, were you?”

“I beg you to forget how I have acted,” said Sherman earnestly. “I know that twice I have forgotten myself, but not without reason. You must know that I am and want to be, your friend.

“I shall not pretend that it is all my desire. But if you will not allow me to be more than a friend, I will be satisfied with that. I couldn’t let you come home alone tonight. You were so weak you could hardly stand.”

He continued in this strain for many minutes, while the train rumbled northward, and Lila sat back in her seat with her eyes half closed, scarcely listening.

His voice came to her in a gruff monotone above the rattle of the train, and against her will filled her with a sense of protection and comfort. The words came to her vaguely, unintelligible; but the tone was that of sympathy and friendship — and how she needed them!

Thus she allowed him to continue, while she remained silent, dimly conscious of the danger she had once felt in his glance and voice.

At the One Hundred and Fourth Street station he rose, and she saw with a sense of surprise that she had reached her destination. At the train gate she turned to thank him, but he assisted her down the steps of the station and started west on One Hundred and Fourth Street at her side.

“You are surprised that I know the way?” he smiled. “You should not be. How many times have I stood in this street looking up at your window, when you thought I was far away — or, rather, when you were not thinking of me at all!”

“Mr. Sherman!” exclaimed Lila warningly.

They had halted at the stoop of an old-fashioned brownstone apartment house, and Lila had mounted the three or four steps and stood looking down at him.

“Forgive me,” said Sherman in a tone of contrition. “But you have not answered me — I mean, what I said on the train. There could be nothing offensive in what I proposed, unless you hate me.”

“No. I think I do not hate you,” said Lila slowly.

She was tired, and longed to be alone, and was forcing herself to be polite to him.

“Then you are my friend?”

“I... think... so.”

“Will you shake hands on it?”

Lila appeared to hesitate, and shivered — possibly from the cold. Finally she extended a reluctant hand a few inches in front of her.

Then, as soon as Sherman touched it with his fingers, she withdrew it hastily, and, with a hurried “Good night, and thank you,” disappeared within the house.

For a long minute Sherman stood gazing at the door which had closed behind her; then, turning sharply, he started off down the street. At Columbus Avenue he entered a saloon and ordered a brandy.

“God knows I need it,” he muttered to himself. “The little devil! Well, I can’t play that game. It’s too hard to hold myself in. The other way is more dangerous, perhaps, but it’s easier. Friendship! I’ll show you a new kind of friendship!”

He beckoned to the bartender and ordered another brandy, with a knowing leer at his reflection in the mirror opposite. Then, having drained his second glass, he left the saloon and, crossing the street to the Elevated station, boarded a downtown train. In thirty minutes he was back at the Lamartine.

The lobby was almost deserted; it was too early for the evening throng. Sherman wandered about in search of one of the Erring Knights, but in vain; and he finally asked the Venus at the cigar stand if she had seen Knowlton. She replied that he had not been in the lobby, and Sherman departed for dinner, well satisfied with the events of the day.

He was destined, on the following day, to have that feeling of satisfaction rudely shattered and converted into despair.

The next morning the Erring Knights were openly and frankly jubilant. Knowlton had obeyed their warning; clearly, he was afraid of them. They felt an increased sense of proprietary right in Miss Williams.

Dougherty, entering the lobby about eleven o’clock, stopped at Lila’s desk to say good morning, and stared in anxious surprise at her pale cheeks and red, tear-stained eyes.

“Are you ill?” he asked bluntly.

“Not I,” she answered, trying to smile. “I had a headache, but it is all right now.”

Dougherty grumbled something unintelligible, and proceeded to the corner where the Erring Knights were assembled. He was the last to arrive. Dumain, Jennings, and Driscoll were seated on the leather lounge, and Sherman and Booth were leaning against the marble pillars in front of it. They greeted Dougherty in a chorus.

“Bone jore,” said Dougherty, with an elaborate bow. “How’s that Dumain?”

“Pairfect,” smiled the little Frenchman.

“Really,” the ex-prizefighter asserted, “I think I’ll learn French. I like the way it sounds. ‘Monseere’ is much more classy than ‘mister,’ for instance.”

“If you do,” put in Driscoll, “you’d better speak it better than Dumain speaks English. If a man could be electrocuted for murdering a language he’d be a storage battery by this time.”

“Have your fun,” said Dumain, rising to his feet and shrugging his shoulders good-naturedly. “Eet ees a treeck — zat Angleesh. I have eet not.”

“Hardly,” laughed Jennings. “You don’t speak it with the finish of our late friend Mr. Knowlton, for instance. By the way, have you seen him?” he added, turning to Dougherty.

“Who? Knowlton?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I should say not.” Dougherty grinned as though the idea were absurd. “And, believe me, I won’t see him — at least, not in the Lamartine. When I tell a guy he’s not wanted, that ends it.”

“Don’t be too sure,” Booth advised. “Just because he didn’t come yesterday — you know today is another day.”

Dougherty turned on the speaker scornfully. “Listen,” he said with emphasis. “If that Knowlton shows his face in this lobby — which he won’t — but if he does, we’ll eat him up.”

“Diable! Mon Dieu!”

The exclamation came from Dumain, in an undertone of surprise and alarm. The others turned to him in wonder, and, following his fixed gaze toward the main entrance, saw Knowlton walk down the center of the lobby and stop at Lila’s desk!

The action and facial expression of each of the Erring Knights at this juncture was curiously indicative of their different characters.

Driscoll and Dougherty moved forward and glared belligerently; Booth and Jennings glanced from one side to the other as though in search of reenforcements; Dumain sputtered with wrath and indignation, and Sherman’s face darkened with a menacing scowl. None of them, however, appeared to be particularly anxious to cross the lobby.

Knowlton had not cast a single glance in their direction. His back was turned to them as he stood talking with Lila, and their conversation was in so low a tone that the Erring Knights heard not a word of it.

For perhaps two minutes this scene, half farcical, remained unchanged. The Erring Knights muttered to each other in undertones and glared fiercely, but they made no move.

Suddenly they saw Knowlton lift his hat and bow to Lila, turn sharply, and leave the lobby even more hurriedly than he had entered it.

Each of the Erring Knights glanced round the circle of his companions; some questioning, others assertive.

“It’s up to us,” declared Dougherty. “We’ve got to show him.”

They gathered themselves closely about the lounge, and all began talking at once.

In the meantime, what of Lila?

When Knowlton entered the lobby she was busied with some papers on her desk, and therefore did not see him. She became aware of his presence only when he stopped at her side and spoke to her.

For a moment she was speechless with surprise and gladness and confusion. She stared at him strangely, unseeing.

“What’s the matter?” smiled Knowlton. “I hope I don’t look as fierce as that.”

Then, as Lila did not answer, he reached for a telegraph blank, wrote on it, and handed it to her, together with a ten-dollar bill which he took from his wallet.

Lila’s dismay and confusion were doubled. The bill was exactly similar to the others he had given her, and to those which the collector had declared to be counterfeit.

What could she say? Finding no words, and feeling that she must do something, she extended her hand to take the bill, then drew it back, shivering involuntarily. Summoning her courage by a violent effort, she faltered:

“Mr. Knowlton, that bill — I... I cannot take it.”

And as Knowlton’s face filled with surprise and something else that resembled uneasiness, and before he could speak she continued:

“The other day our collector showed me one of the bills you had given me, and asked where I got it. He said they were counterfeit. I thought you would want to know.”

Knowlton had turned pale and was staring at her fixedly.

“Well?” he said.

“Shall I tell him?”

“Why — didn’t you?” the young man stammered eagerly.

“No. I thought I had better speak to you first. You see—” Lila’s voice faltered and ceased, her face reddening to the tips of her ears with shame.

Knowlton picked up the bill he had laid on the counter and returned it to his pocket. His hand trembled nervously, and his voice was low and uncertain as he said:

“If it’s all the same to you, I... it would be better not to tell him. I shall not bother you with more of them. And I... I thank you,” he added, as he turned away. That was all.

Lila turned to her desk, sick at heart; and when little Dumain bustled over a few minutes later with the intention of learning something of what Knowlton had said to her, he found her in tears.

“Mon Dieu!” he gasped. The sight of Miss Williams crying was unprecedented and, to Dumain, extremely painful. “What is zee mattaire?”

“Nothing,” said Lila. “I have a headache. For goodness’ sake, don’t stand and stare at me!”

Whereupon Dumain retreated to the corner where he had left the others in secret session. He decided not to tell them about Lila’s tears, being convinced that if he did so they would proceed to murder Knowlton on Broadway at high noon.

Besides, he had an idea that the tears were caused by Knowlton’s having said farewell, in which case there would be no necessity for action on the part of the Erring Knights. Dumain was certainly not a coward; but he was — let us say — discreet.

Lila was overwhelmed with shame and humiliation. She had told Knowlton that she had lied for his sake, which amounted to a confession of her interest in him and regard for him. He must have understood. And he had muttered a perfunctory thank you, and walked away.

But perhaps he took it as a matter of course. Perhaps he regarded her as one of those creatures to whom deception is natural — of loose morals and conscience — whose aid may be depended upon by any stray enemy of society and morality.

This thought was unbearable. Lila clenched her fists tightly till the little pink nails bit sharp rings in the white palms of her hands.

Why had he not explained? It could have been but for one of two reasons: either he was guilty and could not, or he regarded her opinion as unimportant and did not care to.

And if he were guilty; but that was impossible. John Knowlton, the man to whom she had given her heart unreservedly, and forever, a counterfeiter — a criminal? It could not be.

There remained only the supposition that he cared so little about her that her good opinion was a matter of indifference to him. And this, though mortifying, was bearable. Still was she filled with shame, for he had heard her confession, and had made no sign.

Most probably she would never know, for she felt convinced that she would never see Knowlton again. She had been unable to avoid overhearing a great deal of the conversation of the Erring Knights concerning him, and Dumain himself had told her that they had warned him to stay away from the Lamartine.

She smiled bitterly as she thought of that warning. If her anxious protectors only knew how little likelihood there was of Knowlton’s taking the trouble either to harm her or to make her happy!

For hours these thoughts filled her mind, confusedly, without beginning or end. It seemed that the afternoon would never pass.

Gradually the lobby filled, and for a time business at the telegraph desk was almost brisk. The Erring Knights strolled in and out aimlessly. From the billiard room down the hall came the sound of clicking balls and banging cues.

Now and then the strident voice of the Venus at the cigar stand rose above all other sounds as she gave a pointed retort to an intimate or jocular remark of a customer. At intervals the bell on the hotel desk gave forth its jarring jingle.

At five o’clock the crowd in the lobby began to disappear. There came intervals in the confused hum of voices and steps. Half past five arrived; and six. Lila put on her hat and coat and arranged the papers on her deck.

She would not linger tonight; that was over, she told herself. Henceforth she would be sensible, and — and forget.

The lobby was nearly empty except for the Erring Knights, who were gathered in the corner, seemingly engaged in a hot discussion. Lila noticed that Sherman, while apparently attentive to his companions, was watching her covertly, and she surmised that he intended to follow her as he had the evening before, and escort her home.

Why not? she asked herself bitterly. At least he cared.

She stooped to put on her rubbers, and, having some difficulty with one of them, remained for some time with her head lowered. When she sat up, with flushed face and hair disarranged, she found herself looking into the eyes of John Knowlton.

He stood by her desk, hat in hand, with an air of embarrassment and hesitation. Evidently he was waiting for her to speak; but, overcome with surprise, she found no words.

A glance over his shoulder showed her the Erring Knights standing across the lobby, regarding Knowlton with open hostility.

Finally he spoke.

“I feel I owe you an explanation,” he said with an apparent effort. “I hope you don’t think there was anything wrong about — what you told me this morning.”

Lila’s wounded pride came to her assistance and gave her strength. This was the man to whom she had given so much, and from whom she had received so little. Worse, he was aware of her weakness. Yet must he learn that she was worthy of his respect, and her own. And yet — why had he returned? She hesitated.

“I don’t know what to think,” she said doubtfully.

“It will take some time to explain,” said Knowlton. “And I want you — if you can — to think well of me. I wonder if you’d be angry if I asked you to go to dinner with me. Will you go?”

Lila caught her breath, while her heart contracted with a joy so keen as to be painful. Of course she ought not to accept his invitation. She felt that that would somehow be wrong.

Besides, he must not be allowed to believe that her favors could be had for the asking. But how her heart was beating! And she said:

“I... I am not dressed for it, Mr. Knowlton.”

“We could go to some quiet little place,” he urged. “I know you have been thinking horrible things of me today, and with reason. And of course, if you think I am not — not worthy”—

“Oh, it is not that!” Lila exclaimed.

“Then, will you go?”

And though Lila was silent, he must have read her answer in her eyes, for he picked up her umbrella and opened the gate of the railing for her, and they started down the lobby side by side.

Halfway to the door Lila halted and turned to face the Erring Knights, who had neither stirred nor spoken since the entrance of Knowlton.

“Good night!” she called cheerily.

But there was no response. The six gallant protectors returned her gaze in grim and frigid silence.

A little back of the others Lila saw Sherman’s dark face, with his lips parted in a snarl of hate. She shivered slightly and turned to her companion.

“Come!” she said, and in spite of her effort to control it her voice trembled a little.

Knowlton opened the door and they passed out together.