This lying here became intolerable; he was growing more acutely awake every moment, and every moment grew more aware of the reality of Maud’s presence. Was it some warning, did some occult sense whisper to him that she was in imminent danger of some kind, and that, as at the hour of death, her soul sought his so vehemently that it produced this confirmed belief in her actual presence? And next moment he had jumped out of bed, and put on a few hasty clothes, in order to go to her cabin and see that she was all right. Yet at the door he hesitated, feeling he could not face her. He would betray himself, his eyes would betray him, so that he could not meet hers; or his mouth would betray him, so that he could give but stuttered answers, and she would guess what he had been doing. But anxiety for her overmastered this, and he went and tapped at her door.
She answered at once, and he went in. Though it was so late, she was still fully dressed, and seated on a chair by her berth, her face radiant with happiness.
“Not in bed yet?” he said.
“No; I was too happy to go to bed.”
Then, as she looked at him, she paused.
“What is the matter, Thurso?” she said. “What have you come to me for?”
He could not meet her eye, just as he had feared, but looked away.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “I kept thinking you were in the room. I came to see if you were all right.”
She gave a long sigh, and shook her head.
“Oh, Thurso, you’ve been taking laudanum again,” she said. “But, anyhow, anyhow, you came to tell me, did you not?”