Heyst moved about aimlessly in the other room. This sound roused her
exhausted wits. At once she began to think, hear, see; and what she
saw--or rather recognized, for her eyes had been resting on it all the
time--was Ricardo's straw slipper, lost in the scuffle, lying near the
bath. She had just time to step forward and plant her foot on it when
the curtains shook, and, pushed aside, disclosed Heyst in the doorway.
Out of the appeased enchantment of the senses she had found with him,
like a sort of bewitched state, his danger brought a sensation of warmth
to her breast. She felt something stir in there, something profound,
like a new sort of life.
The room was in partial darkness, Ricardo having accidentally swung
the pivoted shutter as he went out of the window. Heyst peered from the
doorway.
"Why, you haven't done your hair yet," he said.
"I won't stop to do it now. I shan't be long," she replied steadily, and
remained still, feeling Ricardo's slipper under the sole of her foot.
Heyst, with a movement of retreat, let the curtain drop slowly. On the
instant she stooped for the slipper, and, with it in her hand, spun
round wildly, looking for some hiding-place; but there was no such spot
in the bare room. The chest, the leather bunk, a dress or two of hers
hanging on pegs--there was no place where the merest hazard might not
guide Heyst's hand at any moment.
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