Part 46 (1/2)

”What do you hint?” she temporized. ”For me--why should it be easier for me? The--the cases are equal, are they not?”

”No,” he said quietly. ”No, Claire. And you know that they are not. Not because you are a woman, but because you are _the_ woman; because you are you--and I--am myself--and love you!”

And this time there was a note in his voice which she had not recognized before, vibrant, unrestrained, pa.s.sionate. The thrill of it pulsed through her; she felt it in her nerves, her very veins. She flinched from it, she gave a tiny pant; the womanly instinct of evasion made her draw back from him a startled pace.

”Isn't that the truth?” he asked, his voice hoa.r.s.e with its intensity.

”Isn't it easy to be brave for oneself alone--easier than to be brave for another?”

She stood looking at him, strangely, doubtfully, the shadow of dumb entreaty in her eyes. But in her heart other shadows were fading to disclose realities. .h.i.therto faintly suspected and half defined. Was this the true meaning of the fear which had suddenly been born in the moment of hope? Was it for his sake she paused upon the threshold of danger?

The protective instinct which she had recognized in herself with wonder--had that grown into something more? Was it death with him or life without him that she pictured as the worst that Fate could give?

The silence grew in tension but she could not break it. What was only then revealing itself to her--could she reveal it to him? She drew back another pace, she held out her hand as if she warded off the inevitable.

”I cannot tell,” she said weakly. ”But--but I think I could be brave for myself--alone.”

He made an exclamation, his arms went out to possess her, his eyes shone--

”No!” she cried pa.s.sionately. ”No! Is it fair, is it right to take advantage of our position; is it honorable?”

And then she regretted her words in the very speaking of them. The pa.s.sion faded from his face, a shadow veiled his eyes, he made a gesture of contrition. And she? With feminine inconsistency she opened her lips to undo what she had done, to make her victory defeat.

Again Fate intervened. Aylmer whispered warningly, slipped across the flags, and stretched himself upon the pallet. One look through the barred window explained his action. A hundred yards away a couple of figures were advancing towards the building. She recognized Landon and in his companion, Miller, talking vehemently.

She left the window and waited, sitting on the rough stool which was placed at the pallet foot.

A minute later the sound of bolts withdrawn and a key in a lock echoed under the stone arch. Landon entered alone, debonair, smiling, but with eyes which were ominous of intention.

He looked down at the pallet.

”Our sufferer--our patient? Do we perceive no signs of progress?”

There was danger in his voice; she read it unmistakably.

She shrugged her shoulders.

”He is no different,” she said apathetically. ”He has spoken, once or twice. I see no change.”

”That is the misfortune of it all,” said Landon. ”You see no change. Can your nursing be at fault--not from want of care, let me say at once, but from want of knowledge? Must we call in further advice in consultation?”

His face was white and haggard below the soiled bandage which crossed his forehead. The sharpness of his jaw, his sunken cheeks, made of his smile a very evil thing. She flinched before it.

”I cannot tell,” she answered wearily.

”His movements, now?” grinned Landon. ”Do they give no indication of his condition? Has he no conscious interests?”

The eyes below the bandage glittered and fear stabbed her suddenly. Were they betrayed?

She shook her head.