With an immense effort she straightened herself, and was about to move away when a thought struck her like a knife-blow—the key—the second tell-tale key—if she had forgotten it!
Her hand slid back, touched the cold key, turned and withdrew it, moving with a steady firmness that surprised herself.
Then she made a half-turn and tried to visualise the room as she had seen it in the light.
Immediately opposite, the cupboard with the looking-glass panel. The window in the right-hand wall, and the bed between window and cupboard. At the foot of the bed a chair, and on the same side as the window a chest of drawers with a looking-glass upon it and Renata’s plain schoolgirlish brush and comb.
When she had placed everything, Jane began to move forward in the direction of the window. Her left hand touched the rail of the bed-foot, her right, groping, brushed the counterpane and rested on something oddly familiar. Her heart gave a sudden jerk, for this was her own bag, which Renata should have taken. She opened it with quick, trembling fingers, took out her handkerchief, and then stuffed the bag right down inside the bed.
A couple of steps brought her to the window, and she pressed closely to it, listening, and wished she dared to open it. There was no sound from outside. She leaned her forehead against the glass, and wondered how many years had passed since the morning. It seemed impossible for this day to come to an end.
Then quite suddenly a key turned in the lock, and the door opened, not widely, but as one opens the door of a room where some one is asleep. A man’s head was silhouetted against the hall light. Part of his shoulder showed in a dark overcoat.
He spoke, and a hint of brogue beneath a good deal of American twang informed Jane that this was her official father.
“Are you awake, Renata?”—and, as he asked the question, a second man came up behind him and stood there listening.
“Yes,” said Jane, muffling her voice with her handkerchief.