“Hush, hush,” he whispered, almost fiercely. “It’s done—it’s finished. He will never touch you again. You need never see him again. Lie still and rest. There’s not a soul who knows where you are but me.” And even in the extremity of her terror his voice had power to soothe her and she relaxed in his arms with a shuddering sob. For a long time he held her silently, fighting the biggest battle of his life, striving to subdue self, to think only for her. But her nearness made thought impossible and at last, in despair, he sought to rise. She clung to him with a murmur of entreaty.
“Let me go, dear,” he muttered. “I’ve got to think—I’ve got to think what is best to do.” And tenderly he put aside her trembling hands.
Fear fled back into her eyes as she watched him cross the room to the open window, and slipping from the bed she waited for what seemed an eternity, shaking with weakness, afraid to question him, afraid for the moment of the man himself.
And when at length he spoke, in a voice that was almost unrecognisable, he did not look at her. “I can get you out of Algiers—that is easy. But to whom shall I take you? Where are your people?”
For a moment she stared in dazed unbelief, then with a pitiful sob, she staggered nearer to him. “Gervas, don’t you love me—don’t you want me?”
His face was anguished as he flung towards her. “Want you? My God!” he groaned, “but it’s not what I want that matters. It is you I am thinking of. You are Geradine’s wife—I can’t take you. I can’t dishonour you. I can’t drag you through the mud—”
“Mud!” she echoed, with a terrible laugh, “what mud could you drag me through that would be worse than the mud that has choked me for five ghastly years? Gervas, Gervas, I’ve come to the end. I can’t fight any more. I can’t bear any more. I’ve no one to turn to—no people—no friends. There’s nobody in all the world who can help me—but you. If you won’t save me I will kill myself. I swear it. Oh, Gervas, have pity! Take me away. I’m safe only with you. I’ll be your servant—your slave—anything you will—only save me, save me! If I see him again I shall go mad—mad—” She was at his feet, clasping his knees, her upturned face wild and distorted with terror. And as he swept her up into his arms with a gasp of horrified protest and looked into her frenzied eyes, he knew that she was very near to madness now. But still he hesitated.
“You know what it will mean if I take you with me into the desert?”
“I know, I know,” she sobbed, “it will mean heaven and rest and joy unspeakable. And I—who have lived in hell! Oh, Gervas, give me the chance of happiness!”
It was not what he meant, but he saw that she was past understanding. Only by keeping her could he avert the mental breakdown which was imminent. To save her reason he must do that for which his heart was clamouring, that which he had determined never to do.