"The doctor said you were to have something if you waked up," he said quietly, as though there were nothing out of the way. "There's something here ready in a little saucepan. I've only got to heat it up. Shall I give it to you?"
She nodded and lay motionless, watching with languid eyes the blue flame of the spirit-lamp as he made ready a cup of broth, then submitted with the docility of a child while he put another pillow under her head and fed her the hot liquid, a spoonful at a time, slowly, for fear of making her sick. When she had finished she sank back with closed eyes, and he thought a faint tinge of warmer colour crept into her cheeks. For what seemed to him a long period there was complete silence. He gazed at her with searching eyes, tortured by doubts and questionings. When he had begun to think she had again fallen asleep, she quietly spoke.
"That was good," she murmured; "I needed that…. It's a long time to go without food, you get so weak."
He could bear the suspense no longer. So cautiously he said:
"My dear, how was it you didn't have anything to eat for two and a half days? What do you mean?"
She looked at him for a long puzzled moment, then drew her hand across her brow.
"Of course," she answered slowly, "you don't know about that. No. How could you?"
He hoped she was going to continue, but instead she raised herself on her elbow and whispered, "Tell me this. What have you done about him?"
"You mean the doctor? Nothing. He's in his room now, asleep, I suppose. It's about three o'clock, you know."
She drew in her breath sharply, her pupils dilating.