Then, floundering and
slipping at every step, he made his way round to the door.
He groped for some seconds before he found it. It was closed and
he knew that there was no handle on the outside. He battered upon
it with his fist, shouting Guy's name.
There came no answer to his summons, but the sound of the water
seemed to swell in volume, filling the night. It drove him to a
fierce impatience. If he had not seen the light he would scarcely
have taken the risk. None but a fool would have remained in such a
death-trap. But the presence of the light forced him on. He could
not leave without satisfying himself. He set his shoulder against
the closed door and flung the full weight of his body into one
stupendous effort to force an entrance.
The wood cracked and splintered with the shock. He felt himself
pitching forward and grabbed at the post to save himself. The door
swung back upon its hinges, and he burst into the hut headlong.
The flame of a candle glimmered in his eyes, momentarily dazzling
him. Then he heard a cry. A figure sprang towards him--a woman's
figure with outstretched arms waving him back! Was he dreaming?
Was he mad? It was Sylvia's face, white and agonized, that
confronted him--Sylvia's voice, but so strained that he hardly
recognized it, broken and beseeching, imploring him for mercy.
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