The final flight of stairs was bare, and we made the steps creak as we went up.
Her ears were ever atune to footsteps, and the sound of ours brought her out on the landing.
“You!” There was relief in her voice.
“Hallo! All well? My dear, you look seedy.”
She laughed, but her laughter did not ring true.
“It was nice of you to come.” She shut the door behind us.
“You are seedy,” I said, looking at her carefully.
“I’m all right,” she answered. “This is funk; pure, unadulterated funk has brought me to this. I’m behaving in a beastly manner, really. The only thing I haven’t done is run away. Some day I’m afraid I will.”
“But your husband’s all right?”
“For how long? To-day? To-morrow? There’s not a door that will lock. You know Irish doors. He’s out now. I made him go and get a gun. I said if he didn’t I wouldn’t stay another day. One man against a dozen hasn’t much chance; but an armed man can do more than a man with nothing.”