I stood there for a moment in the hall. It seemed a very long time since
I had seen Heloise or heard from her. And now, thanks to that old man,
I had a new set of mental pictures to touch my spirit, and stir me, and
rouse feelings so subtle, so haunting, so poignant, that I could hardly
bear them. Yet, I thought, these are my new mental companions, these
thoughts and feelings and partly distinct, partly elusive, mind
pictures, and it is with them I have got to live for the rest of my
life.
I listened. She was in there, surely, behind that closed door. The
transom was closed, too. I could hear no sound.
I decided then to make her speak to me. And it seemed to me that now I
could give without asking.
My hopes for myself were running as high as that--to give without
asking, and to reassure her poor tortured spirit by so appearing and
acting that she would know, through her fine intuition, that I had risen
to this point.
I ran downstairs and told the manager of Sir Robert's request. I also
suggested that in my judgment medical care was indicated. He looked
puzzled, and a thought worried, that little French manager; as if unable
to determine whether I had killed Sir Robert or had suddenly become his
friend.
Then I came back upstairs and entered my own room. I turned on the
light.
I stepped softly to the shrunken door, and listened. For a moment I
thought I heard nothing; then my heart gave a leap, for her bed began
creaking as if she were tossing restlessly upon it.
She was in her room. However desperate, however tortured of spirit, she
was there!
She made a sound--a sort of moan.