The Lonely Bride by Fred M. White

Grace flew along at the side of her companion, reckless now as to what happened to her, and intent only upon anything that might tend to the safety of her lover. That there was danger she was perfectly well aware, she could judge that by the stealthy way in which Bessie Fenton crouched in her stride. The hut door was closed, but the brilliant light shone behind the barely curtained window. It was only a matter of a moment before the intervening sward was crossed, and Bessie laid her hand upon the latch. The door yielded to her touch, and a moment later the girls were inside. Grace had an instantaneous vision of a poorly-furnished room, then the light vanished leaving her in Egyptian darkness, her eyeballs aching with a sight of the brilliant light which had now so mysteriously disappeared. Filled with a new fear, Grace involuntarily clutched at the arm of her companion. There was a reassuring pressure from Bessie, and the latter whispered words of comfort in Grace's ear. She needed them badly enough now, for her nerves were sadly frayed and worn by the events of the night.

-"Courage," Bessie said. "Do not cry out whatever happens. Unless I am greatly mistaken you will need all your pluck before we are through with this. All we have to do now is to wait on events. As soon as I feel that it is safe to do so, I shall find a way of my own of lighting this room."