Full of wonder, his companions waited in silence. They heard a soft fall of feet on the other side, a softer swish of feminine skirts, and the door opened.
Both Clay and the Doctor uttered low exclamations of astonishment, for the open portal revealed a vision of dazzling loveliness. But it was not the remarkable, melancholy beauty of the young girl that moved them so powerfully; not the faultless, ivory-tinted features, nor the wealth of silky tresses—black and wavy, like Joyce's; nor yet the liquid black eyes which were almost a counterpart of Charlotte's: they were wonderful eyes, but oh, so sad! Instead, it was the unexpectedness of the apparition, a conviction of having seen that beautiful face before—the unparalleled incongruity of associating it with its present setting—that occasioned such intense surprise. Clay at once identified her with the girl he had seen while in this same building on the day of his flight; to the Doctor the fancied resemblance was fleeting, incapable of being fixed. But he succeeded in doing this later on.
Beyond this lovely girl with the sad, heavy-lidded eyes could be seen a large room with whitewashed walls, lighted by two high, barred windows which overlooked a paved court strewn with bottles and empty wine-casks. The room's furnishings were austere and uninviting: a high wooden bed, a plain table beside it, another on which were a ewer and basin, and a long bench extending around two sides of the apartment constituted all the conveniences. They might have served a monk, but scarcely a sick man.
Still wondering, the party followed Mr. Converse into the room, and as they did so, they received another shock.
A wild, terrifying figure reared up in the bed, and, supporting itself on an elbow, glared at the intruders like some fierce animal of the wild disturbed in its den.
"Good God!" burst from Doctor Westbrook as he recoiled from this spectacle. "How came you here and in this plight?"
It was Señor Vargas. The Doctor's countenance was eloquent with horror and amazement, and he stood petrified—unconscious of Charlotte clinging to his arm, blind to all else except the wretched creature, fever-flushed and emaciated, now staring at him from the bed. Suddenly he read aright; he recalled the significant cough while the man was in his office, and again at the inquest; an unconscious exposure to the rigor of an unfamiliar climate, and a severe cold, had forced the issue of life and death.
Converse drew near to Charlotte and glanced at her with a whimsically lifted brow.
"And this is what you discovered?" said she.
"Here is where I have spent the last few weeks. As soon as Vargas became ill he had himself removed here—to be with the girl."