She felt his breast heave as he lifted her off her feet to kiss her awkwardly, boyishly.

“Shore—­the world’s comin’ to an end! ...  But mebbe I’m only drunk!”

He held her close, towering over her, while he gazed around him and down at her, shaking his head, muttering again in bewilderment.

“Reddy dear—­where, oh, where is Neale?” she breathed, all her heart in her voice.

As he released her Allie felt a difference.  His whole body seemed to gather, to harden, then vibrate, as if he had been stung.

“My Gawd!” he whispered in hoarse accents of amaze and horror.  “Is it you—­Allie—­here?”

“Of course it’s I,” replied Allie, blankly.

His face turned white to the lips.

“Reddy, what in the world is wrong?” she gasped, beginning to wring her hands.

Suddenly he leaped at her.  With rude, iron grasp he forced her back, under the light, and fixed piercing eyes upon hers.  He bent closer.  Allie was frightened, yet fascinated.  His gaze hurt with its intensity, its strange, penetrating power.  Allie could not bear it.

“Allie, look at me,” he said, low and hard.  “For I reckon you mayn’t hev very long to live!”

Allie struggled weakly.  He looked so gray, grim, and terrible.  But she could resist neither his strength nor his spirit.  She lay quiet and met the clear, strange fire of his eyes.  In a few swift moments he had changed utterly.

“Larry—­aren’t—­you—­drunk?” she faltered.

“I was, but now I’m sober....  Girl, kiss me again!”

In wonder and fear Allie complied, now flushing scarlet.

“I—­I was never so happy,” she whispered.  “But Larry—­you—­you frighten me....  I—­”

“Happy!” ejaculated Larry.  Then he let her go and stood up, breathing hard.  “There’s a hell of a lie heah somewheres—­but it ain’t in you.”

“Larry, talk sense.  I’m weak from long waiting.  Oh, tell me of Neale!”

What a strange, curious, incomprehensible glance he gave her!

“Allie—­Neale’s heah in Benton.  I can take you to him in ten minutes.  Do you want me to?”

“Want you to! ...  Reddy!  I’ll die if you don’t take me—­at once!” she cried, in anguish.

Again Larry loomed over her.  This time he took her hands.  “How long had you been heah—­before I came?” he asked.

“Half an hour, perhaps; maybe less.  But it seemed long.”

“Do you—­know—­what kind of a house you’re in—­this heah room—­what it means?” he went on, very low and huskily.

“No, I don’t,” she replied, instantly, with sudden curiosity.  Questions and explanations rushed to her lips.  But this strangely acting Larry dominated her.

“No other man—­came in heah?  I—­was the first?”

“Yes.”

Then Larry King seemed to wrestle with—­himself—­with the hold drink had upon him—­with that dark and sinister oppression so thick in the room.  Allie thrilled to see his face grow soft and light up with the smile she remembered.  How strange to feel in Larry King a spirit of gladness, of gratefulness for something beyond her understanding!  Again he drew her close.  And Allie, keen to read and feel him, wondered why he seemed to want to hide the sight of his face.