I Prove a Bad Sentinel
I watched him with a kind of fascination until he disappeared through the door of the cabin. I could guess what it had cost him to drag himself from his bed, what agony of apprehension must have been upon him to make him take the risk. The Jourdains, puzzled at my not returning, unable to keep silence, suspecting, perhaps, some plot against themselves, had doubtless gone to the hospital and told him of my appearance—there had been no way for me to guard against that. He had easily guessed the rest. He had only to consult the passenger list to assure himself that Mr. Royce and I were aboard. And he was following us, hoping—what? What could a man in his condition hope to accomplish? What need was there for us to fear him? And yet, there was something about him—something in the atmosphere of the man—that almost terrified me.
I came back to earth to find that Royce and Mrs. Kemball had drifted away together, and that my companion was regarding me from under half-closed lids with a little smile of amusement.
"So you're awake again, Mr. Lester?" she asked. "Do you often suffer attacks of that sort?"
"Pardon me," I stammered. "The fact is, I—I——"
"You looked quite dismayed," she continued relentlessly. "You seemed positively horror-stricken. I saw nothing formidable about him."
"No; you don't know him!" I retorted, and stopped, lest I should say too much.
She was smiling broadly, now; an adorable smile that wrinkled up the corners of her eyes, and gave me a glimpse of little white teeth.
"I think we'd better sit down," she said.
"Your knees seem to be still somewhat shaky. Mother and Mr. Royce have deserted us."