The dryad-like creature beckoned him
forward with her scarf, until suddenly she stopped with the decisive pause
of one who has reached her goal. Coming up with her, he saw her unlock the
door of a small cabin, which had hitherto not detached itself from the
surrounding darkness.
"Go in," she whispered. "Don't strike a light. There are biscuits
somewhere, in a box. Grope for them. There's a couch in a corner."
Without allowing him to speak, she forced him gently over the threshold
and closed the door upon him. Standing inside in the darkness, he heard
the grating of her key in the lock, and the rustle of her skirts as she
sped away.
III
From the heavy sleep of fatigue Ford woke with the twittering of birds
that announces the dawn. His first thought before opening his eyes, that
he was still in his cell, was dispelled by the silky touch of the Sorrento
rugs on which he lay. He fingered them again and again in a kind of
wonder, while his still half-slumbering senses struggled for the memory of
what had happened, and the realization of where he was. When at last he
was able to reconstruct the events of the preceding night, he raised
himself on his elbow and peered about him in the dim morning twilight.
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