"Claire! Claire!" I exclaimed, startled at her sudden movement. "Surely you know me."
For the instant she did not, her eyes full of terror.
"No! no!" she cried hysterically. "Oh, it cannot be! It is a dream! You—you—tell me who you are?"
I caught her hand, the pistol falling to the floor, and placed the candlestick upon the table.
"It is no dream, dear. I am Allen Lawrence, and I have come for you. I know I look disreputable enough, but there has been fighting—surely you know me now."
She caught her breath quickly, clinging to me with both hands—her eyes softening as she studied my face.
"Allen—Allen Lawrence!" she repeated softly. "Oh, I can scarcely believe it true. Let me feel of you. I—I believe I was going insane—the dark, the awful dark, and, and no way out—no way out."
"Yes, yes, I understand," I whispered, drawing her to me. "I was hidden here once, remember. But it is over with now."
"But—how did you find a way to me? I—I never thought until it was all over that I had shut myself in here to die. I was so frightened. I just ran and hid. Oh, you cannot conceive what I had gone through."
She drew away from me, and again hid her face on the table.