CHAPTER XXXVI

FinallyValancywenttobed.Beforeshewentshere-readDr.Trent’sletter.Itcomfortedheralittle.Sopositive.Soassured.Thewritingsoblackandsteady.Notthewritingofamanwhodidn’tknowwhathewaswritingabout.Butshecouldnotsleep.ShepretendedtobeasleepwhenBarneycamein.Barneypretendedtogotosleep.ButValancyknewperfectlywellhewasn’tsleepinganymorethanshewas.Sheknewhewaslyingthere,staringthroughthedarkness.Thinkingofwhat?Tryingtoface—what? Valancy,whohadspentsomanyhappywakefulhoursofnightlyingbythatwindow,nowpaidthepriceofthemallinthisonenightofmisery.Ahorrible,portentousfactwasslowlyloomingoutbeforeherfromthenebulaofsurmiseandfear.Shecouldnotshuthereyestoit—pushitaway—ignoreit. Therecouldbenothingseriouslywrongwithherheart,nomatterwhatDr.Trenthadsaid.Iftherehadbeen,thosethirtysecondswouldhavekille