The woman tried to restrain her but Moira flung herself away and unlocked the door.
"Ye'll not be lavin' me here alone," gasped Nora.
"Come then. Quickly."
And she fled out into the corridor, the woman following, down the stairway and into the night.... The memory of those dreadful hours of wandering with Nora along the roads was like a dream in a fever, but after awhile the physical exercise made her more calm and she was able to explain to the frightened Irish woman what had happened.
Her first impulse had been to flee from it all—to escape anywhere—but without money where should she go? With the return of reason came courage. And with courage a resolve to go back and do what she could for Piquette Morin. They would not have dared to kill her. It was impossible. An impulse to tell the people of the hotel what had happened came to her again, but as she turned toward the gardens, followed heavily by the frightened Nora, she resolved to go upstairs and face whatever was in store for her.
What she found was rather terrifying at first, but when she summoned nerve enough to turn on the light, she saw two swaddled figures squirming to be free. Madame Morin had vanished. With the help of Nora, who came out of her state of coma when the facts were made obvious, she liberated the two men and questioned eagerly.
"W-why didn't you—come before?" was Quinlevin's reply. He was not pleasant to look at.
"I was frightened at the sounds. I ran away. What has happened?"
"Isn't it obvious?" mumbled the Irishman, spitting out a fragment of the cotton towel from his dry throat.
"Jim Horton!" gasped Moira.