"One man's life—nothing!" Jaimihr breathed.
"It shall be done," Woodhouse whispered.
Jaimihr faded through the double doors like a spirit in a medium's cabinet. He had seen what the captain was slower to notice. The door from Jane Gerson's room was opening. The girl stepped swiftly into the room, and was by Woodhouse's side almost before he had seen her.
"I could not—go away—without—without——"
"Miss Gerson—Jane!" He was beside her instantly. His hand sought and found one of hers and held it a willing prisoner. She was trembling, and her eyes were deep pools, riffled by conflicting currents. Her words came breathlessly:
"I was not myself—I tried to tell myself you were deceiving me just—just as a part of this terrible mystery you are involved in. But when I heard General Crandall tell you to wait—that and what he said about the spies—I knew you were again in peril, and—and——"
"And you have come to me to tell me as good-by you believe I am honest and that you care—a little?" Woodhouse's voice trembled with yearning. "When you think me in danger, then you forget doubts and maybe—your heart——"
"Oh, I want to believe—I want to!" she whispered passionately. "Every one here is against you. Tell me you are on the level—with me, at least."
"I am—with you."
"I—believe," she sighed, and her head fell near his shoulder—so near that with alacrity Captain Woodhouse settled it there.