Something silenced her, something within her sealed her lips. She
stood in silence while Craig fitted his night-key, then entered the
house with him. Gas burned low in the hall globes; when he turned
it off a fainter light from above guided them.

"Celia, is that you?" she called gently,

"Hush; go to bed, Honey-bell. Everybody is asleep. How pale you
are, Curt--dearest--dearest----"

The rear room was Ailsa's; she walked into it and dropped down on
the bed in the darkness. The door between the rooms closed: she
sat perfectly still, her eyes were wide open, staring in front of
her.

Queer little luminous shapes danced through obscurity like the
names from the kerosene torches around the bulletin; her ears still
vibrated with the hoarse alarm of the voices; through her brain
sounded her brother-in-law's words about Steve, repeated
incessantly, stupidly.

Presently she began to undress by sense of touch. The gas in the
bathroom was lighted; she completed her ablutions, turned it off,
and felt her way back to the bed.

Lying there she became aware of sounds from the front room. Celia
was still awake; she distinguished her voice in quick, frightened
exclamation; then the low murmur continued for a while, then
silence fell.