"Don't ask me to remember even the least of my
pride and folly. Let me forget!"
She sat silent for a long time.
"Will you go with me?" she whispered.
"Of course."
At last she arose.
"I might as well give up and have it over," she faltered.
That was the first time in her life that Edith Carr ever had proposed to
give up anything she wanted.
"Help me, Hart!"
Henderson started around the beach assisting her all he could. Finally
he stopped.
"Edith, there is no sense in this! You are too tired to go. You know you
can trust me. You wait in any of these lovely places and send me. You
will be safe, and I'll run. One word is all that is necessary."
"But I've got to say that word myself, Hart!"
"Then write it, and let me carry it. The message is not going to prove
who went to the office and sent it."
"That is quite true," she said, dropping wearily, but she made no
movement to take the pen and paper he offered.
"Hart, you write it," she said at last.
Henderson turned away his face. He gripped the pen, while his breath
sucked between his dry teeth.
"Certainly!" he said when he could speak. "Mackinac, August 27, 1908.
Philip Ammon, Lake Shore Hospital, Chicago." He paused with suspended
pen and glanced at Edith. Her white lips were working, but no sound
came. "Miss Comstock is with the Terence O'Mores, on Mackinac Island,"
prompted Henderson.
Edith nodded.
"Signed, Henderson," continued the big man.
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