Slowly he rose to his feet. Once or twice he passed his hand over his eyes as if he feared he was dreaming.
“Eulie?”
There was a world of incredulity, of bewilderment, of questioning in his voice.
“Oh, do not stay!” cried the poor girl. “They will be looking for you. Go, before it is too late. Go far away. They will never find you.”
“I do not understand,” he said, slowly. “What does it mean?”
A sudden weakness overcame Eulie, and she burst into tears. He advanced toward her.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked. Eulie could not speak. Her frame was convulsed with sobbing; the tears were streaming down her cheeks; David, open-mouthed, stood gazing at her. The pocketbook had fallen from her hand, and a small heap of bank notes had slipped from it. David looked at them; then at her. Slowly he advanced to where she stood. As gently as he could he drew her hands from her face and turned her head toward the light in the hall.
“Eulie?”
The blood coursed to her cheeks. Her gaze fell. She tore herself from his clasp.
“For God’s sake, go!” she cried. He restored the money to the pocketbook and placed it in her hands. Then he started toward the door.