Page:Frank Packard - Greater Love Hath No Man.djvu/291

 a blow—all trusty privileges forfeited, he was standing outside the walls for the last time.

He dared not trust himself—he was battling now to let no other thought but that creep in upon him—and living in his brain and soul, beyond all strength of his to fight it back, to obliterate it from his mind, was the picture of a little white-robed figure, her arms outstretched toward him, beckoning to him, waiting anxiously, waiting, waiting, waiting at the bridge; and ringing in his ears was her voice calling, calling, calling him to come.

A bead of sweat sprang out upon his forehead—his resolution was weakening with every second of inaction—she was calling, she was waiting—for him—for him! Great God, would they never come, would they never open the door until it was—too late! He seized the bell again and wrenched at it violently.

And now a hurried step sounded from the hall within, then sliding bolts, the rattle of a steel key—and the door, still held by a chain lock, was opened a cautious inch or so.

"What's wanted?" demanded a gruff voice.

"Open the door"—Varge's voice was strained, low, a whisper—he pushed desperately against the door. "Open the door—let me in."

"Here now, none of that!" growled the guard roughly. "Keep your hands off the door! Let you in, eh? And who the devil are you?"

Varge leaned suddenly a little further forward, and, thrusting both hands into the opening, grasped at the edge of the door—it seemed that he must literally hold himself, cling to something, something tangible that