“What can be the matter with the door?” she exclaimed aloud, and she crossed the room towards it with a quick and somewhat impatient movement.

But this time, instead of closing it, she pulled it open and found herself face to face with Dunn.

He did not speak or move, and she stood staring at him blankly.  Slowly her mouth opened as though to utter a cry that, however, could not rise above her fluttering throat.  Her face had taken on the pallor of death, her great eyes showed the awful fear she felt.

Still without speaking, Dunn stepped forward into the room and, closing the door, stood with his back to it.

She shrank away and put her hand upon a chair, but for the support of which she must certainly have fallen, for her limbs were trembling so violently they gave her little support.

“Don’t hurt me,” she panted.

In truth he presented a strange and terrifying appearance.  The unkempt hair that covered his face and through which his keen eyes glowed like fire, gave him an unusual and formidable aspect.  In one hand he held the ugly-looking jemmy he had taken from the burglar, and the new clothes he had donned, ill-fitting and soiled, served to accentuate the ungainliness of his form.

The frightened girl was not even sure that he was human, and she shrank yet further away from him till she sank down upon the bed, dizzy with fear and almost swooning.

As yet he had not spoken, for his eyes had gone to the mantlepiece on which he saw that the photograph signed with the name “Charley Wright,” did not now stand upright, but had fallen forward on its face so that one could no longer see what it represented.

It must have fallen just as he entered the room and this seemed to him an omen, though whether of good or ill, he did not know.

“Who are you?” the girl stammered.  “What do you want?”

He looked at her moodily and still without answering, though in his bright and keen eyes a strange light burned.

She was lovely, he thought, of that there could be no question.  But her beauty made to him small appeal, for he was wondering what kind of soul lay behind those perfect features, that smooth and delicate skin, those luminous eyes.  Yet his eyes were still hard and it was in his roughest, gruffest tones that he said: 

“You needn’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you.”

“I’ll give you everything I have,” she panted, “if only you’ll go away.”

“Not so fast as all that,” he answered, coolly, for indeed he had not taken so mad a risk in order to go away again if he could help it.  “Who is there in the house besides you?”

“Only mother,” she answered, looking up at him very pleadingly as if in hopes that he must relent when he saw her in distress.  “Please, won’t you take what you want and go away?  Please don’t disturb mother, it would nearly kill her.”

“I’m not going to hurt either you or your mother if you’ll be sensible,” he said irritably, for, unreasonably enough, the extreme fear she showed and her pleading tones annoyed him.  He had a feeling that he would like to shake her, it was so absurd of her to look at him as though she expected him to gobble her up in a mouthful.