She herself was lying upon a battered iron
bedstead, and she was wearing a very coarse nightdress. Her own
clothes were folded up and lay upon a piece of brown paper on the
floor by the side of the bed. To all appearance, the room was
entirely unfurnished, except that in the middle of it was a
hideous papier mache screen.
After her first bewildered inspection of her surroundings, it was
upon this screen that her attention was naturally directed.
Obviously it must be there to conceal something. Very carefully
she leaned out of bed until she was able to see around the corner
of it. Then her heart gave a little jump and she was only just
able to stifle an exclamation of fear. Some one was sitting
there--a man--sitting on a battered cane chair, bending over a
roll of papers which were stretched upon a rude deal table. She
felt her cheeks grow hot. It must be Tavernake! Where had he
brought her? What did his presence in the room mean?
The bed creaked heavily as she regained her former position. A
voice came to her from behind the screen. She knew it at once.
It was Tavernake's.
"Are you awake?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered,--"yes, I am awake. Is that Mr. Tavernake?
Where am I, please?"
"First of all, are you better?" he inquired.
"I am better," she assured him, sitting up in bed and pulling the
clothes to her chin. "I am quite well now. Tell me at once
where I am and what you are doing over there."
"There is nothing to be terrified about," Tavernake answered.
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