Minutes passed. She was beginning to despair. An icy dread was at her heart. He lay so lifeless, so terribly inert. She had attempted to lift him, but the dead weight was too much for her. She could only rest his head against her, and wipe away the blood that trickled persistently from that dreadful, sneering mouth. Would he ever speak again, she asked herself? Were the fiery eyes fast shut for ever? Was he dead—he whose vitality had always held her like a charm? Had her friendship done this for him, that friendship he had valued so highly?
She stooped lower over him. The anguish of the thought was more than she could bear.
"O God," she prayed suddenly and passionately, "don't let him die! Don't let him die!"
And in that moment Nap's eyes opened wide and fixed themselves upon her.
He did not attempt to move or speak, but the snarling look went wholly out of his face. The thin lips met and closed over the battered mouth. He lay regarding her intently, as if he were examining some curious thing he had never seen before.
And before that gaze Anne's eyes wavered and sank. She felt she could never meet his look again.
"Are you better?" she whispered. "Can I—will you let me—help you?"
"No," he said. "Just—leave me!" He spoke quite quietly, but the very sound of his voice sent a perfect storm of emotion through her.
"I can't!" she said almost fiercely. "I won't! Let me help you! Let me do what I can!"
He stirred a little, and his brow contracted, but he never took his eyes from her face.