“Come away with me,” he urged Vaniman. “This is no place for our talk.”
When they walked out of the building they saw no sign of Britt. “We'll let him alone,” insisted the Squire. “There'll be no use in asking him questions till he's in his right mind. He'll probably get back his wits when he gets back his clothes.”
“Squire Hexter, what's happening in this town to-night. What—”
“All in good time, sonny! Let's get home where Xoa is.”
There were lights in the Squire's house. In spite of the fog, Vaniman perceived that there was a gray hint of dawn in the heavens. More acutely was he wondering what this universal vigil in Egypt signified. But reaction had overtaken him. He was in the mood to accept commands of any sort. He walked on in silence.
“You must stay out here till I break the thing to Xoa!”
The young man clung to the trellis of the porch for a few moments until Xoa flung wide the door. Supported in her embrace, he staggered into the sitting room.
“Cry, sonny! Cry a little,” the Squire adjured him. “Put your head on Xoa's knee and have it out. It will tide you over till your own mother can comfort you.”
But wild desire for knowledge burned the sudden tears out of Vaniman's eyes. “Where is Vona? What is happening?”
“We'll see to it mighty quick that Vona knows, sonny. The right word must get to her in the right way. Mother will know how. Mother, you'd better attend to it.”