“But——”
“Empires have fallen in twenty-four hours.”
“Maybe—some one will come to look for us.”
He shook his head. “They will have taken care of that.”
“Then you—think there is no chance.”
“I—— Carmel dear, the chance is slight. I must admit the chance is slight. But with twenty-four hours.... If——” His eyes traveled about the skimpily furnished room, searching for something, searching for it vainly. “If I could walk,” he said. “I’m—almost helpless.”
She went to him, trembling, the horror of the future eating into her as if it were an acid-coated mantle. “I—I won’t be able to live,” she said.
He did not answer, for his eyes were fixed on the door which led, not into the hall, but into an adjoining bedroom. They rested upon its white doorknob as if hypnotized.
“Will you help me to that door?” he asked. “I’ll push the chair along. You—can you keep me from falling?”
Slowly, not without twinges of hot pain in his injured ankle, they reached the door. Evan felt in his pocket for his penknife, and with it set about loosening the screw which held the knob in place. Twice he broke the blade of his knife, but at last he managed the thing. The white doorknob rested in his hand.