"But no one could ever be afraid of him again having once seen that look!"
"Miss Glynn," Travers replied; "they could! and yet the look holds the fear in check."
Priscilla went early to bed that night. She had planned a visit to Boswell when her enthusiasm was at its height, but at the day's end she found herself so exhausted that she sought her room in a state bordering on collapse.
Sounds outside caught and held her attention; every sense was quiveringly alert and receptive; she was at the mercy of her subconscious self.
"Extry! extry!" bellowed a boy just below her window; "turribul accident on—de—extry! extry! Latest bulletin—Gordan Moffatt—big fin—cier—extry! extry!"
Priscilla sat up in bed and listened. So intimate had the insistent boy in the street become that she was drawn to him by a common bond of sympathy.
Slowly a luxurious sense of weariness overcame her and again she leaned back on her pillow and sank into a semiconscious sleep. Balanced between life and the oblivion, into which reason enters blindfolded, she made no resistance, but was swayed by every passing wave of thought, memory, and vision.
The voice outside merged presently into Jerry-Jo McAlpin's. So naturally did it do so that the girl upon the bed, rigid and pale, accepted the change with no surprise.
Jerry-Jo was asking her the way out! He was lost—lost. He wanted to get out of the darkness and the noise; he wanted to find his way back to the In-Place.
Yes, she would show him! There was no fear of him; no repulsion. She was very safe and strong, and she knew that it was wiser for Jerry-Jo to go back home.