“Because you have arranged to see her again?”
“Because she saved my life to-day, and is herself in danger.”
“She is in no danger,” said Blakeney simply, “since she saved the life of my friend.”
“Percy!”
The cry was wrung from Armand St. Just’s very soul. Despite the tumult of passion which was raging in his heart, he was conscious again of the magnetic power which bound so many to this man’s service. The words he had said—simple though they were—had sent a thrill through Armand’s veins. He felt himself disarmed. His resistance fell before the subtle strength of an unbendable will; nothing remained in his heart but an overwhelming sense of shame and of impotence.
He sank into a chair and rested his elbows on the table, burying his face in his hands. Blakeney went up to him and placed a kindly hand upon his shoulder.
“The difficult task, Armand,” he said gently.
“Percy, cannot you release me? She saved my life. I have not thanked her yet.”
“There will be time for thanks later, Armand. Just now over yonder the son of kings is being done to death by savage brutes.”
“I would not hinder you if I stayed.”