Sometimes in the late afternoon Banneker's private numbered telephone
rang, and an impersonal voice delivered a formal message. And that
evening Banneker (called out of town, no matter how pressing an
engagement he might have had) sat in The House With Three Eyes, now
darkened of vision, thrilling and longing for her step in the dim side
passage. There was risk of disaster. But Io willed to take it; was proud
to take it for her lover.
Immersed in a happiness and a hope which vivified every motion of his
life, Banneker was nevertheless under a continuous strain of
watchfulness; the _qui vive_ of the knight who guards his lady with
leveled lance from a never-ceasing threat. At the point of his weapon
cowered and crouched the dragon of The Searchlight, with envenomed fangs
of scandal.
As the months rounded out to a year, he grew, not less careful, indeed,
but more confident. Eyre had quietly dropped out of the world. Hunting
big game in some wild corner of Nowhere, said rumor.
Io had revealed to Banneker the truth; her husband was in a sanitarium
not far from Philadelphia. As she told him, her eyes were dim. Swift,
with the apprehension of the lover to read the loved one's face, she saw
a smothered jealousy in his.
"Ah, but you must pity him, too! He has been so game.
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