Gurther rose and clicked his heels.
“Do you desire me again this evening?”
“No, no, Gurther.” The old man shook his head. “And pray remember that there is another day to-morrow, and yet another day after. We shall wait and hear what our friend has to say. Good night, Gurther.”
“Good night, Herr Doktor.”
The doctor looked at the door for a long time after his man had gone and took up his book. He was deep in the chapter which was headed, in the German tongue: “The Subconscious Activity of the Human Intellect in Relation to the Esoteric Emotions.” To Dr. Oberzohn this was more thrilling than the most exciting novel.
| Chapter XXVI | In Captivity |
THE second day of captivity dawned unseen, in a world that lay outside the brick roof and glazed white walls of Mirabelle Leicester’s prison-house. She had grown in strength and courage, but not so her companion. Joan, who had started her weary vigil with an almost cheerful gaiety, had sunk deeper and deeper into depression as the hours progressed, and Mirabelle woke to the sound of a woman’s sobs, to find the girl sitting on the side of her bed, her head in her wet hands.
“I hate this place!” she sobbed. “Why does he keep me here? God! If I thought the hound was double-crossing me . . . ! I’ll go mad if they keep me here any longer. I will, Leicester!” she screamed.
“I’ll make some tea,” said Mirabelle, getting out of bed and finding her slippers.
The girl sat throughout the operation huddled in a miserable heap, and by and by her whimpering got on Mirabelle’s nerves.