2
The old barn was dark.
'Hm!' mused Henry, pulling at his soft little moustache. 'Hm! Certainly aren't here. Take a look though.'
With his latch-key he softly opened the alley door; felt his way through machinery and belting to the stairs. At the top he stood a moment, peering about for the electric switch. He hadn't lived here long enough to know the place as he had come to know his old room in Wilcox's boarding-house.
A voice—Humphrey's—said:—
'Don't turn the light on.' Then, 'Is it you, Hen?'
There they were—over in the farther window-seat—sitting very still, huddled together—a mere faint shape against the dim outside light. He felt his way around the centre table, toward them.
'Looking for you,' he said. His voice was husky. There was a throbbing in his temples. And he was curiously breathless.
He stood. It was going to be hard to tell them. He hadn't thought of this; had just rushed over here, headlong.
'I suppose it's pretty late,' said Mildred. There was a dreamy quality in her voice that Henry had not heard there before. He stood silent.