Harper's New Monthly Magazine Volume 104 December 1901 to May 1902 . girl laughed nervously, it away, and left him—jabbering. She His mouth, you see, to the key-hole, and just bent her face close to Catherwoods,the flats of his hands pawing the door, feeling in the half-darkness for his then he said—said that I must hear I—I wanted him to go, she said, softly,him, and that it was all for me, and that Dont you see % I was afraid. I thoughthe had sworn away his pay for a year that—that it would make him go—to get it, and that it would talk for him, Yes, said Catherwood, I I
Harper's New Monthly Magazine Volume 104 December 1901 to May 1902 . girl laughed nervously, it away, and left him—jabbering. She His mouth, you see, to the key-hole, and just bent her face close to Catherwoods,the flats of his hands pawing the door, feeling in the half-darkness for his then he said—said that I must hear I—I wanted him to go, she said, softly,him, and that it was all for me, and that Dont you see % I was afraid. I thoughthe had sworn away his pay for a year that—that it would make him go—to get it, and that it would talk for him, Yes, said Catherwood, I I would not listen to his talk, Yes, repeated the girl, in a whimper-and that when it did speak I would un- ing little sigh, and she sank into a chairderstand. And then—the girl paused, beside the table. Catherwood drew hislooking back and forth from the door to chair close, facing her, while his eyesthe cold-gleaming box on the table— and wandered from the dark shadow of herthen he wanted me to say that he could face to her hands, which lay still and. There lay the Girl, still— white in the moonlight. Presently heturned to the Guineys box, which laybeside them like a dead thing, and insome vague way seemed to accuse themwith the mute voice of the dead, and be-gan to pick and to fumble with its cogsand stops. You mustnt/ the girl cried once,lifting his hand away. He laughed—the laugh of the mantriumphing, and bent the closer to lever gave, there was a whir, andall at once the dead box came to life,and into their sighing silence theretinkled forth that senseless song—theirsong—the Guineys song—the song inwhich, in the instants intuitive flash,Catherwood could feel and all but hear-the maudlin lover making his last as he listened a quick grating likethat of a foot slipping on iron, fromthe fire-escape below the window-ledge,snapped his gaze from the box, and as itlifted it met, framed in the casement,with the moonlight turning it to bronze,a
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