It thus may be seen that Brock not only had
been vilely imprisoned twice in the same night, but that he was very
much in the dark, notwithstanding his attempt to make light of the
situation.
It occurred to him, at two o'clock, that pacing the floor in the agony
of suspense was a very useless occupation. He would go to bed. Morning
would bring relief and surcease to his troubled mind. Constance was
doubtless sound asleep in her room. Everything would have been explained
to her long before this hour; she would understand. So, with the return
of his old sophistry, he undressed and crawled into the strange bed.
Somehow he did not like it as well as the cot in the balcony below.
Just as he was dropping off into the long-delayed slumber, he heard a
light tapping at his door. He sat up in bed like a flash, thoroughly
wide awake. The rapping was repeated. He called out in cautious tones,
asking who was there, at the same time slipping from bed to fumble in
the darkness for his clothes.
"'Sh!" came from the hallway. He rushed over and put his ear to the
door. "It is I. Are you awake? I can't stay here. It's wrong. Listen:
here is a note--under the door. Good night, darling! I'm heartbroken."
"Thank God, it's you!" he cried softly. "How I love you, Constance!"
"'Sh! Edith is with me! Oh, I wish it were morning and I could see you.
I have so much to say."
Another querulous voice broke in: "For heaven's sake, Connie, don't
stand here any longer.
Pages:
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140