She knew this, yet she hung irresolute a while, blenching before the
manual act, listening to the persistent rush and downpour of the rain.
Then a second time she drew courage from the storm. How timely had it
broken. How signally had it aided her! How slight had been her chance
without it! And so at last, resolutely but with a deft touch, she slid
her fingers between the pillow and the bed, slightly pressing down the
latter with her other hand. For an instant she fancied that the
sleeper's breathing stopped, and her heart gave a great bound. But the
breathing went on the next instant--if it had stopped--and dreading the
return of the lightning, shrinking from being revealed so near him, and
in that act--for which the darkness seemed more fitting--she groped
farther, and touched something. Then, as her fingers closed upon it and
grasped it, and his breath rose hot to her burning cheek, she knew that
the real danger lay in the withdrawal.
At the first attempt he uttered a kind of grunt and moved, throwing out
his hand. She thought that he was going to awake, and had hard work to
keep herself where she was; but he did not move, and she began again with
so infinite a precaution that the perspiration ran down her face and her
hair within the hood hung dank on her neck.
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