“You will sleep here, sir,” she said, and opened a door to the left.
They stepped through, in obedience to her gesture, and found themselves in a fair-sized room, poorly furnished and a little musty from disuse, but evidently clean. Their hostess hastened to open the window and to light another candle. Then she brought in Stewart’s bags.
“You will find water there,” and she pointed to the pitcher on the wash-stand. “I cannot give you hot water to-night—there is no fire. Will these towels be sufficient? Yes? Is there anything else? No? Then good-night, sir, and you also, my lady.”
“Good-night,” they answered; and for a moment after the door closed, stood staring at it as though hypnotized.
Then the girl stepped to the window and pulled together the curtains of white cotton. As she turned back into the room, Stewart saw that her face was livid.
His eyes asked the question which he did not dare speak aloud.
She drew him back into the corner and put her lips close against his ear.
“There is a guard outside,” she whispered. “We must be very careful. We are prisoners still.”
As Stewart stood staring, she took off her hat and tossed it on a chair.
“How tired I am!” she said, yawning heavily, and turning back to the window, she began to take down her hair.