Something in Tryon shuddered, but outwardly he gave no sign, only looked at her commiseratingly.
"It is that we are thinking of—Guthrie and I. Are you strong enough physically and well-enough off financially to undertake such a burden?" She regarded him piercingly, a startled look in her eyes. "Doubtless you are a rich women—and, of course, no one could doubt your generosity. Still, a blind man without means of his own——"
"What?" She fired the word at him like a pistol-shot.
"He does not know," said Tryon softly. "We are keeping it dark for some days yet. The two shocks together might——" He paused.
"What—what?" she panted at him, like a runner at the end of his last lap.
"The mine is no good. They are dropping back into it every penny they ever made, and the reef has pinched out. Guthrie told me this tonight on his oath." The woman gave a long, sighing breath and lay back painfully in her chair. But Tryon had a cruel streak in him. He would not let her rest. "He is a ruined man, and may be a blind man, but, thank God, he has you to lean on!"
"You are mad!" said she, and burst into a harsh laugh. Tryon's face was full of grave concern as he rose.
"Shall I send your nurse?"
She pulled herself together sharply.
"Yes, yes; send her—but, before you go, promise me, Mr. Tryon, never to let Druro know you told me."