Nicanor opened his eyes, without moving, but Eldris saw, and sat stiffened with fear, self-betrayed in her swift flush. He raised himself on an elbow and looked at her, smiling slightly.
"Thou?" he said, with no surprise in his voice, as though he had thought of nothing but to find her there. "I thought Nicodemus said thou hadst not come."
"I did not go to him," said Eldris. "I was at another house a little while. Now I am taken care of by the priests of Saint Peter's."
Nicanor nodded. His eyes had not left her face.
"Perhaps that is best. Why dost thou weep?"
Eldris flushed again. But his gray eyes were inexorable; they dragged truth from her in spite of all her will.
"I—thou wert sleeping, and I thought thee ill, and I—was sorry."
"I am not ill," he answered, and his voice was gentle. "But let us speak of thee. Now I have come, not so soon as I had thought to come. It was not mine to say what I should do."
"You mean—?" Eldris said quickly. "Tell me of it. Tell me all of it, I pray you!"
Nicanor's eyes changed with the quick sweet smile which at rare times had power to lighten his face as a shaft of sunshine lights a thundercloud.