As she gazed at him there shot into her a poignant pang of pity for this splendid figure, tottering on the edge of the abyss. For an instant she thought only of him.
"You asked me a moment ago to suppress the paper," she cried impulsively. "Shall I do it?"
"I now ask nothing," said he.
"No--no--I can't suppress the paper!" she said in anguish. "That would be to leave father disgraced, and Mr. Bruce disgraced, and the city----But what are you going to do?"
"I do not know. This has come so suddenly. I have had no time to think."
"You must at least have time to think! If you had an hour--two hours?"
There was a momentary flash of hope in his eyes.
"If I had an hour----"
"Then we'll delay the paper!" she cried.
She sprang excitedly to the telephone upon Blake's desk. The next instant she had Billy Harper on the wire, Blake watching her, motionless in his tracks.
"Mr. Harper," she said, "it is now half-past ten. I want you to hold the paper back till eleven-thirty.... What's that?"
She listened for a moment, then slowly hung up the receiver. She did not at once turn round, but when she did her face was very white.
"Well?" Blake asked.
"I'm sorry," she said, barely above a whisper. "The paper has been upon the street for ten minutes."
They gazed at one another for several moments, both motionless, both without a word. Then thin, sharp cries penetrated the room. Blake's lips parted.
"What is that?" he asked mechanically.
Katherine crossed and raised a window. Through it came shrill, boyish voices:
"Extry! Extry! All about the great Blake conspiracy!"
These avant couriers of Blake's disgrace sped onward down the avenue.
Katherine turned slowly back to Blake. He still stood in the same posture, leaning heavily upon an arm that rested on his mahogany desk.
He did not speak. Nor was there anything that Katherine could say.
It was for but a moment or two that they stood in this strained silence. Then a dim outcry sounded from the centre of the town. In but a second, it seemed, this outcry had mounted to a roar.
"It is the crowd--at the Square," said Blake, in a dry whisper.
"Yes."
"The extra--they have seen it."
The roar rose louder--louder. It was like the thunder of an on-rushing flood that has burst its dam. It began to separate into distinct cries, and the shuffle of running feet.
"They are coming this way," said Blake in his same dry, mechanical tone.
There was no need for Katherine to reply. The fact was too apparent.
She moved to the open window, and stood there waiting. The roar grew nearer--nearer. In but a moment, it seemed to her, the front of this human flood appeared just beyond her own house. The next moment the crowd began to pour into Blake's wide lawn--by the hundreds--by the thousands. Many of them still carried in clenched hands crumpled copies of the _Express_. Here and there, luridly illuminating the wild scene, blazed a smoking torch of a member of the Blake Marching Club.
And out of the mouths of this great mob, which less than a short hour before had lauded him to the stars--out of the mouths of these his erewhile idolaters, came the most fearful imprecations, the most fearful cries for vengeance.
Katherine became aware that Blake was standing behind her gazing down upon this human storm. She turned, and in his pallid face she plainly read the passionate regret that was surging through his being. His had been the chance to serve these people, and serve them with honour to himself--honour that hardly had a limit. And now he had lost them, lost them utterly and forever, and with them had lost everything!
Some one below saw his face at the window and swore shriekingly to have his life. Blake drew quickly back and stood again beside his desk. He was white--living flesh could not be more white--but he still maintained that calm control which had succeeded his first desperate consternation.
"What are you going to do?" Katherine asked.
He very quietly drew out a drawer of his desk and picked up a pistol.
"What!" she cried. "You are not going to fight them off!"
"No. I have injured enough of them already," he replied in his measured tone. "Keep all this from my mother as long as you can--at least till she is stronger."
As she saw his intention Katherine sprang forward and caught the weapon he was turning upon himself.
"No! No! You must not do that!"
"But I must," he returned quietly. "Listen!"
The cries without had grown more violent. The heavy front door was resounding with blows.
"Don't you see that this is the only thing that's left?" he asked.
"And don't you see," she said rapidly, "its effect upon your mother?
In her weakened condition, your death will be her death. You just said you had injured enough already. Do you want to kill one more? And besides, and in spite of all," she added with a sudden fire, "there's a big man in you! Face it like that man!"
He hesitated. Then he relaxed his hold upon the pistol, still without speaking. Katherine returned it to its place and closed the drawer.
At this instant Old Hosie, who had been awaiting Katherine below, rushed excitedly into the library.
"Don't you know hell's broke loose?" he cried to Katherine. "They'll have that front door down in a minute! Come on!"
But Katherine could not take her gaze from Blake's pale, set face.
"What are you going to do?" she asked again.
"What is he going to do?" exclaimed Old Hosie. "Better ask what that mob is going to do. Listen to them!"
A raging cry for Blake's life ascended, almost deafening their ears.
"No, no--they must not do that!" exclaimed Katherine, and breathlessly she darted from the room.
Old Hosie looked grimly at Blake.