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"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.
"You see for yourself," she answered, and made a gesture towards the motionless form on the pallet.
Landon laughed.
"No, I do not see," he said. "I am not a physician. I cannot walk to a bedside and deliver sentences of death or reprieves to life like the miracle mongers of Harley Street. Unconsciousness? How is it diagnosed?
Sometimes by actual experiment _in corpore vile_, is it not?" He leaned over the bed. His hand slipped into a pocket and reappeared holding an open penknife. He thrust it suddenly into Aylmer's arm.
She gave a cry of indignation; she seized his hand and dragged him back.
He laughed savagely and tried to fling her off. She threw her whole weight upon his wrist, clinging to it.
And then he laughed again, with malignant enjoyment. He changed his tactics. He no longer evaded her grip. He jerked her towards him. And this time the penknife point found a new sheath. Deliberately he stabbed it against her shoulder and--held it there!
She shrieked.
There was a stirring from the pallet bed. With a mighty leap Aylmer was on his feet! His face was convulsed; his eyes were lightnings.
For the third time Landon laughed, triumphantly. In the same motion he released his prisoner and sent her spinning against Aylmer's outstretched arm. He himself was at the door and outside it, slamming it, locking it, flinging home bolt after bolt before the two inside had recovered from the sudden shock. A moment later he reappeared at the window.
"Well, my early convalescent!" he mocked. "Have you no thanks for such a sudden recovery? And you, sister-in-law, for such a lesson in the healing art? Think of the efforts wasted on that malingerer. Aren't you blushing for the ease with which you were deceived?"
And then the twinkle of wicked laughter faded from his eyes. He drew near the window bars and glowered down at them evilly.
"Or are you blushing for yourself, you wanton!" he cried. "You who deceived me into leaving you with him as a nurse, and knew that he needed none. A little paragraph with hints--or more than hints, the truth--about such a matter, and where do you stand? Are there society rags in London and New York ready to accept that sort of matter? Yes, virtuous cousin and sister-in-law, I think there are, I think there are!"
Neither of them flinched. They looked at him fixedly and, in the girl's case, almost wonderingly. And Landon read the message of her incredulity with a chuckle of enjoyment.
"I keep on presenting surprises to you, do I not?" he grinned. "My versatility, the quickness with which I seize new points of humor impresses you?"
For a moment she was silent. And then, as if a force beyond her control forced her to speak, she answered him.
"I did not believe in the possibility of there being a thing as vile as yourself," she said. "I did not think G.o.d allowed such as you to live!"
The satyr-like grin broadened across his haggard cheeks. He leered down at them.
"I revel in it!" he answered. "By the Lord! Till you've tried absolutely unrestrained wickedness, till you've thrown off every sort of control, till you're one with the devil and proud of it, you don't know what enjoyment is!" His eyes glowed; he smote his fist ecstatically on the stones. "It's great!" he cried. "Great!"
A gray figure came suddenly into view behind him. Miller's face showed white against the shadow of the dusk which was heralding its coming by the deepening azure of the sea and sky. And his glance seemed to hold a significance which the prisoners were meant to read, but for which they had no clue.
Landon heard him and wheeled.
He surveyed him slowly and then he laughed.
"I'm beyond you now, teacher!" he derided. "I used to admire you--the callousness, the relentlessness--which you could put into a job! But I'm way up above you. Decency had to be part of your stock-in-trade."
He laughed again, his harsh, cackling merriment, and there was a note in it which struck a new chord of fear in Claire's heart. It was inhuman, unintelligent, this laughter. It fell poignantly, horribly on the ear.
"To-morrow--_manana_!" chuckled Landon. "I'm coming back with all my friends. We'll give hours of daylight to the job and, by G.o.d! we'll make a good one! Think it over; give it your attention through the night! My terms, every word of them or--well, try and guess the persuasions I'll use. Meditate on them; paint them up in your imaginations and then you'll fall short! And as for restraints, remember that in my particular case there isn't such a thing, not one!"