“Fetch her in,” said Peewee. “Up the back stairs. I’ll show ye the way.”
Carmel, not struggling now, was carried up a narrow flight of steps; she heard a key turn in a lock. Then she was thrust into a room, pushed so that she stumbled and went to her knees. The door slammed behind her and was locked again.... She got to her feet, trembling, wavering, snatched the cloth from her face, and looked before her.... There, in the dim light, she saw a man. He stood startled, staring with unbelieving eyes.
“Evan!...” she cried. “Evan!... Thank God you’re alive.”
CHAPTER XXIV
HE did not come toward her; did not move from his place, and then she saw that he stood only by clinging to the back of a chair.... He leaned forward and stared at her through eyes drawn by pain.
“You’re hurt!... They’ve hurt you!” she cried.
“My ankle only,” he said. “Sprained, I fancy.” Then, “What are you doing here?” He spoke almost petulantly as one would speak to a naughty child who turns up in some embarrassing spot.
“I—I found your letter,” she said.
“My letter?... Ah yes, my letter.... Then I—I brought you into this trap.”
“No.... Evan, it was a fine thing you did. For me. You—have come to this for me.”