He sprang across the hall and through the curtains to her side. She was standing facing the door, her eyes frightened with the sudden awakening.
“Oh,” she trembled, “what is it?”
He placed his fingers to her lips and drew her to one side, out of range of the door.
She snuggled closer to him and placed her hand upon his arm.
“You’re not hurt?” she asked in a whisper.
He shook his head and strained his ears to the hall without.
He led her to the wall through which the door opened and, pressing her close against it, took his position in front of her. Then the silence closed in upon them once again. A bit of coal kindled in the grate, throwing out blue and yellow flames with tiny crackling. The shadows danced upon the wall. The curtains over the oblong entrance hung limp and motionless and mute. For aught they showed there might have been a dozen eyes behind them leering in; the points of a dozen weapons pricking through; the muzzles of a dozen revolvers ready to bark death. Each second he expected them to open––to unmask. The suspense grew nerve-racking. And behind him the girl kept whispering, “What is it? Tell me.” He felt her hands upon his shoulders.
“Hush! Listen!”
From beyond the curtains came the sound of a muffled groan.