“They are.”
“Are they conscious?”
She nodded. “Harry,” she said, “I can tell you that. They are living and conscious. You have seen them. They have only one enemy—the Rhamda. But they must never come out of the Blind Spot. I am their friend and yours.”
A sudden courage came upon me. I remembered my word to Watson. I had loved the old professor. I would save them. If necessary I would follow to the end. Either myself or Fenton. One of us would solve it!
“I shall keep the ring,” I said. “I shall avenge them. Somehow, somewhere, I feel that I shall do it. Even if I must follow—”
She straightened at that. Her eyes were frightened.
“Oh,” she said, “why do you say it? It must not be! You would perish! You shall not do it! I must save you. You must not go alone. Three—it may not be. If you go, I go with you. Perhaps—oh, Harry!”
She dropped her head again; her body shook with her sobbing; plainly she was a girl. No real man is ever himself in the presence of a woman's tears. I was again on the point of surrender. Suddenly she looked up.
“Harry,” she spoke sadly, “I have just one thing to ask. You must see Charlotte. You must forget me; we can never—you love Charlotte. I have seen her; she's a beautiful girl. You haven't written. She is worried. Remember what you mean to her happiness. Will you go?”
That I could promise.