But in any case to go to meet him would have been
folly, because, after all, I might have been overpowered (even with
bare hands) and then Dona Rita would have been left utterly
defenceless.
"He will speak," came to me the ghostly, terrified murmur of her
voice. "Take me out of the house before he begins to speak."
"Keep still," I whispered. "He will soon get tired of this."
"You don't know him."
"Oh, yes, I do. Been with him two hours."
At this she let go my wrist and covered her face with her hands
passionately. When she dropped them she had the look of one
morally crushed.
"What did he say to you?"
"He raved."
"Listen to me. It was all true!"
"I daresay, but what of that?"
These ghostly words passed between us hardly louder than thoughts;
but after my last answer she ceased and gave me a searching stare,
then drew in a long breath. The voice on the other side of the
door burst out with an impassioned request for a little pity, just
a little, and went on begging for a few words, for two words, for
one word--one poor little word. Then it gave up, then repeated
once more, "Say you are there, Rita, Say one word, just one word.
Say 'yes.' Come! Just one little yes.
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