Beaten, stunned, hang-jawed with despair, he returned her long, dumfounded gaze hopelessly and told the truth like an inspired dunce.
“I came—I came—to bring another man away,” he whispered brokenly; and, at the very moment, several heavy, half-suppressed voices broke into eager talk overhead.
The white hand that held the candle wavered, and the shadows glided in a huge, grotesque dance. Twice she essayed to speak before she could do so, at the same moment motioning him back, for he had made a vague gesture toward her.
“I am not faint. Do you mean, away from up there?” She pointed to the cupola-stairs.
“Yes.”
“Have-have you seen my father?”
The question came out of such a depth of incredulousness that it was more an articulation of the lips than a sound, but he caught it; and, with it not hope, but the shadow of a shadow of hope, a hand waving from the far shore to the swimmer who has been down twice. Did she fear for his sake?
“No—I have not seen him.” He was groping blindly.
“You did not come from that”
“How did you enter the house?”