SON OF THE WIND
hoped Blanche would not appear again to say good-by.
Going out into the hall he thought he heard a stir in Mrs. Rader's room. He stopped. Perhaps she was coming out to speak with him. He would not mind having a word with her before he went. He listened. Presently the noise came again, and this time he recognized it. It was not any one moving. That sharp sound, so quick to transfix a man, held him motionless, and staring at the door. He had not thought of Mrs. Rader as a woman who cried. Still, women with headaches—But was it thus women with headaches cried, as though the whole of unhappiness had been made audible in a single sound?
There was something unusual here. An unusual impulse sprang in him to meet it. He advanced toward the door with the courage to knock, but, confronted by the blank wood that covered silence, his fingers grew limp. Suppose she were only in pain, and wanted to be let alone, what a fool he would be blundering in there! And even suppose Ferrier had kept his promise of yesterday? How much time would he spend in reassuring her when Blanche could reassure her just as well—better! He hung on his heel, hesitating. Riding as hard as he could he would scarcely make his appointment. He slung his roll on his shoulder and went briskly down the hall.
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