The room was empty. He listened, but not a sound came to his ears except
the rustling of a curtain in the breeze. The huge lamp over the table
was burning dimly. The five doors leading from the room were tightly
closed. Nathaniel held his breath, tried to still the tumultuous
pounding of his heart as he waited for a sound of life--a step beyond
those doors, a woman's voice, a child's cry. But none came. The
stillness of desertion hovered about him. He went to one of the five
doors. It was not locked. He opened it silently, with the caution of a
thief, and there loomed before him a chaos of gloom.
"Hello!" he called gently. "Hello--Hello--"
There was no answer. He struck a match and advanced step by step,
holding the yellow bit of flame above his head. It disclosed the narrow
walls of a hall and an open door leading into another room. The match
sputtered and went out and he lighted another. On a little table just
outside the door was a half burned candle and he replaced his match with
this. Then he went in.
At a glance he knew that he had entered a woman's room, redolent with
the perfume of flowers. On one side was a bed and close beside it a
cradle with a child's toys scattered about it. The tumbled coverlets
showed that both had been recently used. About the room were thrown
articles of wearing apparel; a trunk had been dragged from a closet and
was half packed; everywhere was the disorder of hurried flight. For a
few moments the depth of his despair held Nathaniel motionless.
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