Anna Klein had gone home, at three o'clock that terrible morning, a
trembling, white-faced girl. She had done her best, and she had failed.
Unlike Graham, she had no feeling of personal responsibility, but she
felt she could never again face her father, with the thing that she knew
between them. There were other reasons, too. Herman would be arrested,
and she would be called to testify. She had known. She had warned Mr.
Spencer. The gang, Rudolph's gang, would get her for that.
She knew where they were now. They would be at Gus's, in the back room,
drinking to the success of their scheme, and Gus, who was a German too,
would be with them, offering a round of drinks on the house now and then
as his share of the night's rejoicing. Gus, who was already arranging to
help draft-dodgers by sending them over the Mexican border.
She would have to go back, to get in and out again if she could, before
Herman came back. She had no clothes, except what she stood up in, and
those in her haste that night were, only her print house-dress with a
long coat. She would have to find a new position, and she would have
to have her clothing to get about in. She dragged along, singularly
unmolested. Once or twice a man eyed her, but her white face and vacant
eyes were unattractive, almost sodden.
She was barely able to climb the hill, and as she neared the house her
trepidation increased. What if Herman had come back? If he suspected her
he would kill her. He must have been half mad to have done the thing,
anyhow. He would surely be half mad now. And because she was young and
strong, and life was still a mystery to be solved, she did not want to
die. Strangely enough, face to face with danger there was still, in the
back of her head, an exultant thrill in her very determination to live.
She would start over again, and she would work hard and make good.
"You bet I'll make good," she resolved. "Just give me a chance and I'll
work my fool head off."
Which was by way of being a prayer.
It was the darkest hour before the dawn when she reached the cottage. It
was black and very still, and outside the gate she stooped and slipped
off her shoes. The window into the shed by which she had escaped was
still open, and she crouched outside, listening. When the stillness
remained unbroken she climbed in, tense for a movement or a blow.