“Time is precious,” he murmured, rather thickly. “Besides we shall be gone only a few minutes, and it is unlikely that the child will stir in the darkness.”
CHAPTER XV.
They had scarcely reached the shore when another small boat came gliding noiselessly along down toward the cabin. The boat contained Virginia and Constance. As they approached near, propulsion ceased, and the boat drifted along. Virginia turned half around on her seat, listened intently, and looked at the dark cabin, with eyes that fairly sparkled, in her effort to penetrate its interior. Slowly the boat drew along the platform. Quietly and cautiously they stepped out, and after fastening the line which held the boat to an iron ring which had been driven into one of the logs for that purpose, Virginia took Constance by the hand, which she felt tremble, and caused her to whisper: “Courage, dear.” Then she tapped gently on the door.
Receiving no response, she tapped again, then tried the knob, and, to her amazement, the door opened.
For a moment they stood on the threshold, irresolute. A whiff of tobacco smoke brushed their nostrils.
Virginia timidly stepped within, followed closely by Constance. The darkness was intense, the stillness profound. “Whew!” Virginia ejaculated, in a whisper. “The den reeks with tobacco smoke. He must be asleep.”
She softly closed the door and lighted one of the matches which she had been careful to provide herself with.
“There is no one here,” whispered Constance, in tones of terrifying disappointment.
Up to that time she had religiously kept her promise to observe the strictest silence, but when in the dim light produced by the match, her eyes swiftly took in the untenanted room, her heart sank in chilly numbness.
Virginia noted the famished, haunted look that had crept into her eyes, and as she turned away with a fresh pang in her heart, discovered the bottle and tumbler on the table.