"Why, Paul, what have you been doing here all night? Do you know that it is past mid-day? Has anything happened? Are you ill?"
"Ill? No; I think not." He seemed to be speaking from a great way off. Nothing about him was natural. He was on his feet, but I expected every moment to see him reel and fall.
"But, Paul, what have you been doing—writing?" Lady de Vaux asked anxiously. Then, as though warned by his strange appearance, she checked his mechanical answer. "Never mind, never mind! You are tired, I can see. Won't you go and lie down for awhile? Come, I will go with you."
She had forgotten me, until she found that he paid no heed to her words; that his eyes travelled past her, and remained fixed upon me. Then she turned swiftly upon me.
"You had better go," she said in a low, imperative whisper. "Ask them to show you into my room, and wait there for me."
I took no notice of her. My eyes were fixed upon Paul. I felt that he was going to speak to me; and he did.
"Adrea! Adrea!" he said slowly. "How is it that you are here? You did not come with him, did you? No! no! of course not. And yet, how is it that you are here?"
"I feared Father Adrian and his threats, and I was alone, quite alone, and—and I could bear it no longer. I was obliged to come."
His face grew a trifle more animated; I could see that he was recovering. The dumb stupor which had held his features rigid was passing away.