The faint click of the spring as she closed the panel seemed terribly loud to her.
She started and looked timorously round.

The blood came back to her face--she flushed crimson with guilt.

Then she turned out the lighted lamp and crept away up the stairs to her room.
She paused beside Louis' bed.

He was moving restlessly in his sleep; he was murmuring her name.

With a breaking sigh she crept into bed slowly and lay like one who had been beaten, bruised, and shamed.
At last, before the dawn, she fell asleep.