There was a raucous curse, a shot, and Yesler had slammed the door shut. He was alone in the darkness with his rescuer.
“We must get out of here. They’re firing through the door,” he said, and “Yes” came faintly back to him from across the hall.
“Do you know where the switch is?” he asked, wondering whether she was going to be such an idiot as to faint at this inopportune moment.
His answer came in a flood of light, and showed him a young woman crouched on the hall-rack a dozen feet from the switch. She was very white, and there was a little stain of crimson on the white lace of her sleeve.
A voice from the landing above demanded quickly, “Who are you, sir?” and after he had looked up’, cried in surprise, “Mr. Yesler.”
“Miss Balfour,” he replied. “I’ll explain later. I’m afraid the lady has been hit by a bullet.”
He was already beside his rescuer. She looked at him with a trace of a tired smile and said:
“In my arm.”
After which she fainted. He picked up the young woman, carried her to the stairs, and mounted them.
“This way,” said Virginia, leading him into a bedroom, the door of which was open.