The little room seemed a refuge for Allie, yet it was oppressive, as had been the atmosphere of the parlor where Ancliffe lay. But this oppressiveness was not death. Allie had become familiar with death near at hand. This refuge made her flesh creep.

The room was not the home of any one--it was not inhabited, it was not livable. Yet it contained the same kind of furniture Durade had bought for her and it was clean and comfortable. Still, Allie shrank from touching anything. Through the walls came the low, strange, discordant din to which she had become accustomed--an intense, compelling blend of music, song, voice, and step actuated by one spirit. Then at times she imagined she heard distant hammering and the slap of a falling board.

Probably Allie had not stayed in this room many moments when she began to feel that she had been there hours. Surely the woman would return soon with Neale. And the very thoughts drove all else out of her mind, leaving her palpitating with hope, sick with longing.

Footsteps outside distracted her from the nervous, dreamy mood. Some one was coming along the hall. Her heart gave a wild bound--then sank. The steps pa.s.sed by her door. She heard the thick, maudlin voice of a man and the hollow, trilling laugh of a girl.

Allie's legs began to grow weak under her. The strain, the suspense, the longing grew to be too much for her and occasioned a revulsion of feeling. She had let her hopes carry her too high.

Suddenly the door-handle rattled and turned. Allie was brought to a stifling expectancy, motionless in the center of the room. Some one was outside at the door. Could it be Neale? It must be! Her sensitive ears caught short, puffing breaths--then the click of a key in the lock.

Allie stood there in an anguish of suspense, with the lift of her heart almost suffocating her. Like a leaf in the wind she quivered.

Whoever was out there fumbled at the key. Then the lock rasped, the handle turned, the door opened. A tall man swaggered in, with head bent sideways, his hand removing the key from the lock. Before he saw Allie he closed the door. With that he faced around.

Allie recognized the red face, the flashing eyes, the flaming hair.

"Larry!" she cried, with bursting heart. She took a quick step, ready to leap into his arms, but his violent start checked her. Larry staggered back--put a hand out. His face was heated and flushed as Allie had never seen it. A stupid surprise showed there. Slowly his hand moved up to cross his lips, to brush through his red hair; then with swifter movement it swept back to feel the door, as if he wanted the touch of tangible things.

"Reckon I'm seein' 'em again!" he muttered to himself. "Oh, Larry--I'm Allie Lee!" she cried, holding out her hands.

She saw the color fade out of his face. A shock seemed to go over his body. He took a couple of dragging strides toward her. His eyes had the gaze of a man who did not believe what he saw. The hand he reached out shook.

"I'm no ghost! Larry, don't--you--know me?" she faltered. Indeed he must have thought her a phantom. Great, clammy drops stood out upon his brow.

"Dear old--redhead!" she whispered, brokenly, with a smile of agony and joy. He would know her when she spoke that way--called him the name she had tormented him with--the name no one else would have dared to use.

Then she saw he believed in her reality. His face began to work. She threw her arms about him--she gave up to a frenzy of long-deferred happiness. Where Larry was there would Neale be.

"Allie--it ain't--you?" he asked, hoa.r.s.ely, as he hugged her close.

"Oh, Larry--yes--yes--and I'll die of joy!" she whispered.

"Then you sh.o.r.e ain't--daid?" he went on, incredulously.

How sweet to Allie was the old familiar Southern drawl!

"Dead? Never....Why, I've kissed you!... and you haven't kissed me back."

She felt his breast heave as he lifted her off her feet to kiss her awkwardly, boyishly.

"Sh.o.r.e--the world's comin' to an end!... But mebbe I'm only drunk!"

He held her close, towering over her, while he gazed around him and down at her, shaking his head, muttering again in bewilderment.

"Reddy dear--where, oh, where is Neale?" she breathed, all her heart in her voice.

As he released her Allie felt a difference. His whole body seemed to gather, to harden, then vibrate, as if he had been stung.

"My Gawd!" he whispered in hoa.r.s.e accents of amaze and horror. "Is it you--Allie--here?"

"Of course it's I," replied Allie, blankly.

His face turned white to the lips.

"Reddy, what in the world is wrong?" she gasped, beginning to wring her hands.

Suddenly he leaped at her. With rude, iron grasp he forced her back, under the light, and fixed piercing eyes upon hers. He bent closer.

Allie was frightened, yet fascinated. His gaze hurt with its intensity, its strange, penetrating power. Allie could not bear it.

"Allie, look at me," he said, low and hard. "For I reckon you mayn't hev very long to live!"

Allie struggled weakly. He looked so gray, grim, and terrible. But she could resist neither his strength nor his spirit. She lay quiet and met the clear, strange fire of his eyes. In a few swift moments he had changed utterly.

"Larry--aren't--you--drunk?" she faltered.

"I was, but now I'm sober.... Girl, kiss me again!"

In wonder and fear Allie complied, now flushing scarlet.

"I--I was never so happy," she whispered. "But Larry--you--you frighten me.... I--"

"Happy!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Larry. Then he let her go and stood up, breathing hard. "There's a h.e.l.l of a lie heah somewheres--but it ain't in you."

"Larry, talk sense. I'm weak from long waiting. Oh, tell me of Neale!"

What a strange, curious, incomprehensible glance he gave her!

"Allie--Neale's heah in Benton. I can take you to him in ten minutes. Do you want me to?"

"Want you to!... Reddy! I'll die if you don't take me--at once!" she cried, in anguish.

Again Larry loomed over her. This time he took her hands. "How long had you been heah--before I came?" he asked.

"Half an hour, perhaps; maybe less. But it seemed long."

"Do you--know--what kind of a house you're in--this heah room--what it means?" he went on, very low and huskily.

"No, I don't," she replied, instantly, with sudden curiosity. Questions and explanations rushed to her lips. But this strangely acting Larry dominated her.

"No other man--came in heah? I--was the first?"

"Yes."

Then Larry King seemed to wrestle with--himself--with the hold drink had upon him--with that dark and sinister oppression so thick in the room.

Allie thrilled to see his face grow soft and light up with the smile she remembered. How strange to feel in Larry King a spirit of gladness, of gratefulness for something beyond her understanding! Again he drew her close. And Allie, keen to read and feel him, wondered why he seemed to want to hide the sight of his face.

"Wal--I reckon--I was nigh onto bein' drunk," he said, haltingly. "Sh.o.r.e is a bad habit of mine--Allie.... Makes me think of a lot of--guff--jest the same as it makes me see snakes--an' things.... I'll quit drinkin', Allie.... Never will touch liquor again--now if you'll jest forgive."