Her garments were sadly
bedraggled; a pathetic breast rose and fell in choking sobs and gasps.
Suddenly he started forward, his eyes wide and staring. He had seen that
grey riding habit before! He had seen the hair!
Two eager steps he took and then halted, half way. She had heard him and
was raising her eyes, bewildered and wavering between dreamland and
reality.
"Great Jehovah!" he gasped, unbelieving. "You? My God, is it you?"
He dropped to his knees before her, peering into her startled eyes. A
look of abject terror crossed the tired, tear-stained face. She shrank
away from him, shivering, whimpering like a cowed child.
"What is it? Where am I?" she moaned. "Oh, let me go! What have I done,
that you should bring me here? Let me go, Mr. King! You are not so
wicked as--"
"I? I bring you here?" he interrupted, aghast. Then he understood. Utter
dismay filled his eyes. "You think that I have done this thing to you?
God above us! Look! I, too, am a prisoner here. I've been here for days,
weeks, years. They are going to kill me after to-morrow. And you think
that I have done this to you!"
"I don't know what--Oh, Mr. King, what does it all mean? Forgive me! I
see now. You are bound--you are suffering--you are years older. I see
now.
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