He looked in.
What he saw first brought him relief together with shock.

At one end of the long desk table over which hung a great brass lamp stood Marette.
She was in profile to him.

He could not see her face.

Her hair fell loose about her, glowing like a rich, sable cape in the light of the lamp.

She was safe, alive, and yet the attitude of her as she looked down was the thing that gave him shock.