“Won’t you let me go?” pleaded the voice.
In the shock of his discovery he had released the flash-lever so that this colloquy passed in darkness. Now he pressed it. A girlish figure was revealed, one protective arm thrown across the eyes.
“Don’t strike me,” said the girl again, and again Banneker’s heart was shaken within him by such tremors as the crisis of some deadly fear might cause.
“You needn’t be afraid,” he stammered.
“I’ve never been afraid before,” she said, hanging her weight away from him. “Won’t you let me go?”
His grip relaxed slightly, then tightened again. “Where to?”
“I don’t know,” said the appealing voice mournfully.
An inspiration came to Banneker. “Are you afraid of me?” he asked quietly.
“Of every thing. Of the night.”
He pressed the flash into her hand, turning the light upon himself. “Look,” he said.