“All right. The library, then.” Storm made for the door, his candle held aloft over his head, and paused. “Hello! MacWhirter had that trunk I sent down dumped in here!—Never mind, it won’t be in our way.”
George had moved about the room, lighting candles and placing them in every available receptacle with a fine disregard of the dropping wax; and now he turned to his companion.
“Where is your old camp outfit?” he asked.
“Oh, Pierre will have all the blankets and pots and pans and things of that sort,” replied Storm carelessly. “We will take our supplies from town. All we need from here are clothes and fishing gear and the bags to pack them in. The clothes are in the closets upstairs and the rest of the stuff in the attic.”
“Well, let us assemble it all here first and then sort it out,” suggested George. “If I once get it all together you can go to bed whenever you like and I’ll finish the job. You look about all in.”
Storm shook his head, but he realized the truth of his friend’s words. The continued strain of the past days had been terrific, and the effort to nerve himself for this final test of his own strength and endurance had proved greater than he knew. The pain in his head, which had throbbed ceaselessly for two days, was gone, but he felt a sense of mental and physical fatigue which was akin to exhaustion.
The test had proved to be no test, after all. This dark, silent, dismantled house had seemed utterly strange to him from the moment when the first echoes of his voice had died away. Even the familiar furniture was distorted and unreal in the flickering flames of the candles. Daylight perhaps would bring poignant memories, but to-night he was too tired. It did not seem that he and Leila had ever lived there, and the events of that hideous night were like a dream. The only real, vital thing in all that house to him was that valise beneath his bed upstairs. If ghosts stalked in the morning he would have but to fix his mind on that and they would vanish!
“If you are too tired I can get the stuff together myself.” George’s patient voice broke in upon his musing, and he roused himself with a start.
“No. Come along. It won’t take long.”
Together they made several trips, and soon a heterogeneous collection of clothes, boots, bags, baskets and fishing paraphernalia overflowed from the couch and chairs into great heaps upon the floor.