The two figures stood speechless.
Again that ghostly sound, and now it was like a deep, long-drawn sigh.
Simultaneously Kasba and Sahanderry darted forward—Kasba to the bed and Sahanderry to the door, through which he vanished.
Kasba softly bent over the indistinct figure lying there. With senses strained to the utmost she paused, breathlessly listening. Hours might have passed, or only moments; she could not have told. Again that deep, sighing sound. It came from beneath the white sheet upon the bed.
With a sharp cry Kasba fell upon her knees. With outstretched hands and upturned eyes, “Almighty God,” she cried in accents of exceeding joy, “I thank Thee for this miracle.” Then for the first time since her father’s death she fell into a storm of weeping.
The figure sighed again and slightly stirred.
Springing to her feet Kasba softly uncovered Roy’s face and then quickly lit the lamp and held it in her trembling hand. The light fell upon the form of Roy Thursby. He lay calm and still, and Kasba waited with bated breath in an agony of suspense, her heart beating tumultuously. Presently there was another sigh and Roy’s eyes slowly opened. The girl started and trembled as he turned his head toward her, but there was no gleam of recognition in his eyes.
Kasba stirred uneasily. Her heart beat so for a moment that it well-nigh choked her.
The slight sound caught his ears. His lips moved—“Who is there?” The words came slowly; they were spoken only by great effort and scarcely above his breath.
“It is Kasba,” said the girl when she could control her voice sufficiently to speak. “There was an accident and you were hurt. I—they brought you to my father’s hut.”