The rapping was repeated; this time with a much greater insistence.
“Quick,––quick! For God’s sake let me in!” came a hoarse, muffled voice which sounded strangely tired.
The girl set the lamp on the kitchen table and went cautiously forward to the door.
“Who’s there?” she repeated, her hand on the door fastenings.
“Let me in!” came the voice in desperation. “If you have a heart, please open.”
“I cannot until I know who you are. I am a girl. I am alone.”
A groan escaped the man on the outside, and the anguish 13 of it struck into the bosom of Eileen Pederstone. Once more the voice came pleadingly:––
“And I am a man! I am hunted,––I need help.”
The girl shot back the bolt, threw wide the door and stood back with bated breath.
A masculine figure, panting and dishevelled, staggered in, blinking in the lamplight.