"Good-night," she answered. And, "God bless you!" she added, fervently.
"My love!" I murmured, hoping she would relent and give me a longer interview, but she shook her head with a sad smile and closed the door. I heard the key turn in the lock and, realizing that it was useless to remain longer, re-entered my own chamber and prepared for sleep.
In the midst of a sound slumber, for the events of the evening did not much disturb my rest, I suddenly came to consciousness. A figure, distinct enough, stood between me and the window. The bright night of the tropics made the principal objects in the room look almost as clear as day. Half doubting whether I were really awake I sprang up, when a low voice made me pause.
"Hush! Not a sound," said the voice. "It is only I."
The window was wide open, showing where she had entered, for it was Marjorie that spoke.
"I was nervous, and could not sleep, and on going upon the balcony I found your window unfastened."
The wonder that she had entered overpowered every other sentiment. How could it be true that this girl, who had nearly fainted with fear when I merely put an arm around her, had come in the night within my bedroom, clad, as I plainly saw, in the garments of slumber.
I stretched my arms toward her, but she moved away. What an incomprehensible creature she was!
"Do not stir," she continued, earnestly, and with a trembling tongue. "I tried to make you hear me, without entering, but you slept too soundly. It is not well—it is not safe—to sleep with your window unfastened. I thought you ought to know. That is all. Good-night."
She was moving toward the exit and I called after her softly.