He will some day--that's sure. He promised me that more than
once, and he means it; but I don't think he will to-night."
"Then, if ever he meant it, he will to-night," said Jan. "I don't want
to get shot; and I'm going. You better come too." She shook her head.
"Yes," He put an arm under her shoulder. "Come."
"No, no. I mustn't."
"But you must." Jan put his other arm under her and lifted her to her
feet; but yet she lay heavy, half-resisting. "Come," said Jan. "I'll
take you out of here--to my mother."
"Your mother?" she repeated, and straightened up; but almost instantly
fell back. "But we can't now!" she whispered.
"Why?" whispered Jan.
"It's too late. Hear him?" Jan heard steps on the landing below; and as
he listened and looked the light in the hall below went out. "You can't
get out the front door in time now," she said hopelessly.
"There's more ways than front doors to get out of a house. And there's
lights to put out up here too." He reached up and turned down the
lamp-wick, then blew out the flame. "Come," he whispered, and led her
into his room and locked the door.
He groped for the bed, tore off the sheets, twisted them tightly and
knotted them together. "There!" he said, and, taking a turn of it under
her arms, let her down from the window into the alley. Then he swept
into his suit-case a few things from the dresser and snapped it, and
dropped it out the window.
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