Joan reeled and sank back upon the bed, blindly, with darkening sight and mind.
16
Joan returned to consciousness with a sense of vague and unlocalized pain which she thought was that old, familiar pang of grief. But once fully awakened, as if by a sharp twinge, she became aware that the pain was some kind of muscular throb in her shoulder. The instant she was fully sure of this the strange feeling ceased. Then she lay wide-eyed in the darkness, waiting and wondering.
Suddenly the slight sharp twing was repeated. It seemed to come from outside her flesh. She shivered a little, thinking it might be a centipede. When she reached for her shoulder her hand came in contact with a slender stick that had been thrust through a crack between the boards. Jim was trying to rouse her. This had been his method on several occasions when she had fallen asleep after waiting long for him.
Joan got up to the window, dizzy and sick with the resurging memory of Jim's return to Kells with that gold-belt.
Jim rose out of the shadow and felt for her, clasped her close. Joan had none of the old thrill; her hands slid loosely round his; and every second the weight inwardly grew heavier.
“Joan! I had a time waking you,” whispered Jim, and then he kissed her. “Why, you're as cold as ice.”
“Jim—I—I must have fainted,” she replied.
“What for?” “I was peeping into Kells's cabin, when you—you—”