“Your Love; Your Lives; Your Souls!”
Lakla had taken no part in the talk since we had reached her bower. She had seated herself close to the O’Keefe. Glancing at her I had seen steal over her face that brooding, listening look that was hers whenever in that mysterious communion with the Three. It vanished; swiftly she arose; interrupted the Irishman without ceremony.
“Larry darlin’,” said the handmaiden. “The Silent Ones summon us!”
“When do we go?” I asked; Larry’s face grew bright with interest.
“The time is now,” she said—and hesitated. “Larry dear, put your arms about me,” she faltered, “for there is something cold that catches at my heart—and I am afraid.”
At his exclamation she gathered herself together; gave a shaky little laugh.