“Ah!” he gasped.
Faradeane held up his hand.
“I will save you,” he said, and his voice sounded grim and solemn. “Do not speak, but listen. Every moment is one of life or death—to you. You speak of flying. It would be useless. You cannot get away; if you did, suspicion would turn upon you at once. You understand, you realize that? Get up!”
Bradstone obeyed with the prompt obedience of a dog, and stood shuddering and shivering, wiping his face and lips. Faradeane thought for a moment.
“Go to The Maples and change your clothes, and stay there.”
Bartley Bradstone looked at him.
“And stay there,” said Faradeane, slowly and sternly. “On one condition only will I attempt to save you. You can guess what it is.”
The red of shame, perhaps of remorse, flickered on his pallid lips.
“You—you mean that—that I’m not to go near her!”
Faradeane made a gesture of assent.