He could see that they were both perfectly unconscious of the fact that
they had lost anything. When they discovered they would most likely
conclude it had happened during the ride up.
When Arithelli had dragged herself up into her bedroom the sky was
lighting with the dawn. They had mistaken the road and gone a mile or
two out of the way, and one of the men had been thrown off and twisted
his ankle, and made another halt and delay. She drew the curtains
closely and lay down without undressing.
Before she slept she put her hand into her breast, and felt the rustle
of the thin paper on which Vardri's letter had been written.
It was not until the landlady had nearly battered down her door that
she stirred four hours later, and then she unfastened her blouse and
drew out instead of the original two sheets, only one.
She did not feel particularly alarmed; supposing it had been put with
the envelope that she had left about in the morning. Her things so
often got lost, and it was Emile who generally found them.
CHAPTER XIX
"Must a man have hope to fight?
Can a man not fight in despair?"
"A Polish Insurgent," JAMES THOMPSON.
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