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Williamson, Charles Norris, 1859-1920

"The Powers and Maxine"

"
"Not deserve them?" she repeated. "Not deserve them, when you've saved
me--I don't yet understand how--from a horror worse than death--oh, but
a thousand times worse, for I wanted to die. I meant to die. If they had
found it, I shouldn't have lived to see to-morrow morning. Tell me--how
did you work such a miracle? How did you get this necklace, that meant
so much to me (and to one I love), and how did you hide the--other
thing?"
"I don't know anything about this necklace," I answered, stupidly, "I
didn't bring it."
"You--_didn't bring it_?"
"No. At least, that red leather thing isn't the case I carried. When the
fellow pulled it out from the sofa, I saw it wasn't what I'd had, so I
thanked our lucky stars, and would have tried to let you know that all
hope wasn't over, if I'd dared to catch your eye or make a signal."
Maxine was suddenly calm. The tears had dried on her cheeks, and her
eyes were fever-bright.
"Ivor, you can't know what you are talking about," she said, in a
changed voice. "That red leather case is what you took out of your
breast pocket and handed to me when I first came into the room. At the
sound of the knock, I pushed it down as far as I could between the seat
and back of the sofa, and then ran off to a distance before the door
opened.


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