Smith jerked a silent thumb toward the ceiling.
"In bed?"
"Or prayin'."
Burley flushed, hesitated.
"G'wan up, anyway," said Glenn. "I reckon it'll do her a heap o' good to lamp you, you old son of a gun!"
Burley turned, went up the short flight of stairs to her closed door. There was candle-light shining through the transom. He knocked with a trembling hand. There was no answer. He knocked again; heard her uncertain step; stepped back as her door opened.
The girl, a drooping figure in her night robe, stood listlessly on the threshold. Which of the muleteers it was who had come to her door she did not notice. She said:
"I am very tired. Death is a dreadful thing. I can't put it from my mind. I am trying to pray——"
She lifted her weary eyes and found herself looking into the face of her own lover. She turned very white, lovely eyes dilated.
"Is—is it thou, Djack?"