“Why, don’t you believe it?” he whispered, groping a step nearer.
“Have you given me reason to?” I answered, shrinking from his touch, and gulping down my sobs.
He drew away at once.
“The best reason in the world,” he said coldly, “since I have placed my life in your hands—since I leave you here the means to escape, if you will, and curry favour by betraying me.”
I could have cried out on his cruelty, but dared not.
“Understand, this is your sanctuary,” he went on, “prepared against your coming, and which none, in their turn, will betray. The path to it is sacred to me. No one will disturb you; you are secure as a bird in its nest. There is a bed in a corner; rushlight and holder and tinder-box on a table by. Light, and take possession. I must go and reassure Portlock.”
I heard him move softly over the floor; a trap opened somewhere, letting in a momentary weak film of light, and he was gone.
For a time I stood motionless, hearing the murmur of voices somewhere below; then, suddenly panic-struck, groped for the table and tinder, and shakily struck fire. The wick caught, flamed up and settled, and I saw my possession.
It was the tiniest, kindest little room, under a sloping roof, clean and friendly, with a white bed. I was dazed and weary beyond speculation. Leaving the light burning, I crept under the coverlet as I was, and fell into a profound sleep.