"I, good? ... If you knew!"
"I do know. I know exactly what I mean. There's so much disgusting hypocrisy in the world a fellow gets to think that the bad people are the only honest ones. You taught me better."
Pen turned and clung to him. A tear or two rolled down her cheeks. "Oh, my dear! ... It isn't true! ... But it comforts me so!"
Enfolded in happiness and delicious peace, they became sleepy in spite of themselves. Notwithstanding his sleepy protests, she drew herself away from him.
"Stretch out," she whispered. "I will sit on the stool beside you where I can look at you. I love so to look at you!"
"Pen! ... No! You sleep! ... I'll keep watch!"
But he sunk lower and lower. Soon he was gone. Pen sitting beside him could gaze her fill. The moon was coming in the front windows now. The direct rays did not fall on him, but there was light enough for her to see. All relaxed and helpless like that he seemed to belong to her more completely than he ever did awake—and stubborn. She could scarcely bear to look at him.
In the end she slept too with her cheek on his breast.
She was awakened, she knew not how long afterwards, by a sound. Even in the instant of waking she recognized the sound. It was the stealthy creak of the tin roof outside her window. At the touch of her hand on his cheek Don awoke all of a piece. He slipped noiselessly to the floor. They crept to the middle of the room.
With her lips at his ear she breathed: "There's a man on the porch roof."