THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
farther on he stooped again and cautiously tried the door. It was not locked. He opened it and stepped into the room noiselessly.
He saw a strange tableau. Rutn was standing behind the bed, her hair down as he had seen those dreadful nights on board the Ajax. One of her sleeves was gone, and there were drab bruises on the golden skin. Her lips were bleeding slightly. Not far from the bed stood Colburton. He had a smile on his face; it had frozen there. Down both cheeks were livid welts, the marks of fingernails. The girl had evidently given a good account of herself.
"Has … has he hurt you, sister?" asked William, his tongue hot and dry against his palate.
"Not very much. But I think God has sent you … along in time."
William turned upon the man with the frozen smile.
