“Is he so unhappy? What has he done for Zyp’s sake?”
In a moment she bent and kissed me, with a soft kiss, on the forehead, and shooting a Parthian glance of defiance at Jason, who never spoke or moved, ran from the room.
All my soul thrilled with a delicious joy. Zyp, who had refused to kiss him, had kissed me. The ecstasy of her lips’ touch blotted out all significance her words might carry.
Half-stunned with triumphant happiness, I climbed the stairs and, getting into bed, fell into a luminous dream of thought in which for the moment was no place for apprehension.
I did not even hear Jason enter or shut the door, and it was only when he shook me roughly by the shoulder that I became conscious of his presence in the room.
He was standing over me, and the windows of his soul were down, and through them wickedness grinned like a skull.
“I’ve had enough of this,” he said in a terrible low voice. “D’you want to drive me to telling that I know it was you who killed Modred?”
CHAPTER XI.
CONVICT, BUT NOT SENTENCED.
So the blow had fallen!
Yet a single despairing effort I made to beat off or at least postpone the inevitable.