Then an uncertain hand drew the heavy curtain aside. Jadwin, her husband, stood before her, his eyes sunken deep in his head, his face dead white, his hand shaking. He stood for a long instant in the middle of the room, looking at her. Then at last his lips moved:

“Old girl.⁠ ⁠… Honey.”

Laura rose, and all but groped her way towards him, her heart beating, the tears streaming down her face.

“My husband, my husband!”

Together they made their way to the divan, and sank down upon it side by side, holding to each other, trembling and fearful, like children in the night.

“Honey,” whispered Jadwin, after a while. “Honey, it’s dark, it’s dark. Something happened.⁠ ⁠… I don’t remember,” he put his hand uncertainly to his head, “I can’t remember very well; but it’s dark⁠—a little.”

“It’s dark,” she repeated, in a low whisper. “It’s dark, dark. Something happened. Yes. I must not remember.”