Prisoners of Chance

The single partition did not extend to the roof by a foot or more, so sufficient light found passage through the narrow aperture to render dimly visible the principal features of this apartment into which I had ventured. It was evidently a sleeping-chamber, handsomely furnished in barbaric fashion, the faint light gleaming on numerous burnished ornaments, while a carpet of soft skins concealed the floor. To this I gave brief attention, my anxious glance falling almost instantly upon the draped figure of a woman, vaguely defined in the dimness, lying outstretched on a slightly raised cushioned couch, her face concealed by the denser shadows of the wall, sound asleep.

Cautiously I crept forward, hesitating to touch her lest so sudden an awakening might cause alarm. It seemed safer to trust in speech, as then she would recognize at once who was by her side.

"Madame," I whispered softly, my lips as close as possible to her tiny ear, "I seek brief word with you to-night."

She must have slept lightly, for at my faint whisper I perceived that her wide-opened eyes were scrutinizing my face.

"'Tis I, Madame, Geoffrey Benteen. I beg you make no noise."

"You need have no fear," returned a soft voice in purest Spanish. "You do me honor by so unexpected a visit; I bid you welcome, Geoffrey Benteen."