“No more am I—but oughtn’t we be afraid?”
“I don’t know! I’m too angry to know anything.”
They had been halted on the porch, while the chief went in, presumably, to see that all was ready for their reception. Now, he returned.
“If you will come in,” he said, “I will show you to your apartment.”
“Prison, you mean,” said Davila.
“Apartment is a little better word, don’t you think?” said he. “However, as you wish, Miss Carrington, as you wish! We shall try to make you comfortable, whatever you may call your temporary quarters.—These two rooms are yours,” he continued, throwing open the door. “They are small, but quiet and retired; you will not, I am 289 sure, be disturbed. Pardon me, if I remove these ropes, you will be less hampered in your movements. There! supper will be served in fifteen minutes—you will be ready?”
“Yes, we shall be ready,” said Elaine, and the man bowed and retired. “He has some manners!” she reflected.
“They might be worse,” Davila retorted.
“Which is some satisfaction,” Elaine added.
“Yes!—and we best be thankful for it.”