It
did not mean fear; it could mean nothing but an incredulous, dawning
hope. These signs of occupancy suggested to her something so wonderful,
so desirable that she simply dared not credit them; she was dreading
that they might slip through her fingers and fade away! I made a valiant
effort at understanding.
"Perhaps," I said, "you're expecting some one. Did you think that a--a
friend of yours might have arrived here before we came?" She did not
glance at me, but she bent her head, assenting. All her attention was
focused raptly on that bed beside the wall.
"Yes," she whispered; "a long time before us. A month ago at least." Her
eyes had begun to shine. "Oh, I don't dare to believe it; I've hardly
dared to hope for it. But if it is true, I am going to be happier than I
ever thought I could be again."
She made a swift movement toward the door, but I forestalled her.
Whatever that room held, I must have a look at it before she went. I
flung the door open, blocked her passage, and stopped in my tracks, for
the best of reasons. A young man was sitting on a battered oak chest
beneath a window, facing me, and in his right hand, propped on his
knees, there glittered a revolver that was pointed straight at my heart.
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