It was horrible, but she must do it. She sank upon her knees and
unbuttoned his coat. It was there in the breast pocket, stiff and
legal looking. She drew it out with shaking fingers. There was a great
splash of blood upon it, her hand was all wet and sticky. A deadly
sickness came over her, the room seemed spinning round. She staggered
to the fireplace and thrust it into the heart of the dying flames. She
held it down with the poker, looking nervously over her shoulder. Then
she put more coal on, piled it over the ashes, and stood once more
upright.
Still silence everywhere. She pulled down her veil and made her way to
the door. She turned out the electric light and gained the hall. Still
no sound. Her knees almost sank beneath her as she raised the latch of
the front door and looked out. There was no one to be seen. She
passed down the stairs and into the street.
She walked for a mile or more recklessly, close veiled, with swift
level footsteps, though her brain was in a whirl and a horrible
faintness all the time hovered about her. Then she called a hansom and
drove home.
* * * * * "Miss Pellissier," Brendon said gently, "I am afraid that some fresh
trouble has come to you."
She smiled at him cheerfully.
"Am I dull?" she said. "I am sorry."
"You could never be that," he answered, "but you are at least more
serious than usual."
"Perhaps," she said, "I am superstitious. This is my last week at the
'Unusual,' you know. We begin rehearsing on Monday at the
'Garrick'."
"Surely," he protested, "the change is all in favour of your own
inclinations. It is your own choice, isn't it?"
She nodded.
"Yes. But I believe that Mr. Earles thinks I am a little mad, and
between ourselves I am not sure about it myself. It is easy enough to
sing these little chansons in an original way--it requires a very
different sort of ability to succeed on the stage."
"You have it," he declared confidently.
She laughed altogether in her old manner.
"I wonder how it is," she exclaimed, "that my friends have so much
more confidence in me than I have in myself."
"They know you better," he declared.
"I am afraid," she answered, "that one's friends can judge only of the
externals, and the things which matter, the things inside are realized
only by oneself--stop."
She laid her fingers upon his arm, and they both stood still. They had
turned into the street, on the opposite side of which were the flats
where Anna lived. Glancing idly up at her own window as they had swung
round the corner she had seen a strange thing. The curtains which she
had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on.
Then, even as they stood there, the room was plunged into darkness.