THE MAID OF THE MILL
signalled. Joan shook his head. It must be eleven o'clock. How was it possible? The time had seemed so short. He stared at a big star till his eyes swam. He felt dull and drowsy. He had sat up late the night before, and he needed sleep.
"A thought came to him, and it seemed somehow very original and striking. He tapped on the pane to Darby.
"'I'll lie down and take a little nap,' he whispered, opening the window softly. 'You can call me at twelve.' Darby nodded.
"'How do you feel, old fellow? All right?' he asked."
The man choked again and was silent for a time. The strain was growing. The men waited for something to happen as one awaits the falling of the red, snapping embers.
"Joan lay down in that bed," said the stranger hoarsely, and from this point he hurried on almost too quickly for clearness, "on that hideous checked blanket, and fell asleep. He fell asleep thinking of Darby's words and how thoughtful they were: 'How do you feel, old fellow? All right?'
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