Lloyd looked surprised for a moment—startled. Then he responded, laughing a trifle, "You must be mistaken. The doctor thought the hurt was from the fall—not a blow. He had no motive. I never saw him till to-day. I haven't an enemy in the world."
"He was in disguise," Lucia whispered.
"Oh, that, indeed." Lloyd looked down at her with a doubting but lenient smile. "If ever I have to go on the road again, I'll get you to write me a play!—you are a prodigy at plots—I can see that!"
Lucia was on the verge of collapse—fit to fall. For the sake of this moment she had controlled her fears, and tried to the limit her powers of endurance, and followed into this abyss the guidance of a known traitor. She had risked her life in this cavern of darkness and despair whence she might never issue, that she might tell Lloyd that his own life was in danger—and for naught! She could not appeal to his fears—for to fear he seemed impervious.
And so he thought she had come, simply because she wanted to see the cave—the folly of it! And he would never know that she loved him and his safety better than her life—and indeed why should he know this, when she would have none of him, and his bizarre past, and his humdrum future with his "bit of money" and his little dingy home of a six-room frame house on a small plantation! He had already offered her these values—which she had rejected, though she loved him, as she had already told him—why should he know how much—how much!
She hung heavily on his arm, so had the elasticity of her gait failed her, and almost at once he noticed the change.
"This is too much for you," he said considerately. "You are tired. Look here, guide," he called out peremptorily. "Get us out of here now—the shortest way."
The mountaineer, after his sullen manner, made no comment, but set out at once at a fair pace, preceding Frank, whom he still permitted without protest to carry the lantern. Young Laniston, crestfallen and very considerably dismayed, sought to lessen the distance between them, some twenty feet, by spurting in a fast walk, whereupon the guide broke into a jog trot, keeping the interval exactly the same.
"Hold on for the light," exclaimed Frank, realising that Lucia must needs be distressed to keep this pace or fall hopelessly to the rear. He relapsed into his former gait and at once the guide relaxed his speed in exact proportion. "You had better wait a bit," said Frank, ignoring that aught of unpleasantness had happened; "you will fall into a crevice if you don't mind."
He sent a shaft of light flickering on ahead, but sullen and sinister the man made no response, still steadily preceding them into the dense glooms, his figure barely glimpsed by the lantern's fluctuating light as they followed.