"Mr. Errol," she faltered, "my husband—does he know?"
"Yes, he knows." Very softly Nap made answer, as though he were soothing a child. "Don't trouble about that. Don't trouble about anything. Just lie still and rest."
But the anxiety in her eyes was growing. "He isn't here?" she questioned.
"No."
"Then—then I think I ought to go to him. He will think it so strange. He will—he will—"
"Lady Carfax, listen!" Quietly but insistently he broke in upon her rising agitation. "Your husband knows all about you. He couldn't come to-night, but he is coming in the morning. Now won't you be content and try to sleep?"
"I can't sleep," she said, with a shudder. "I am afraid of falling."
"No, you're not. See! I am holding your hands. You can't fall. Look at me! Keep looking at me and you will see how safe you are!"
His voice had sunk almost to a whisper. His eyes dusky, compelling, yet strangely impersonal, held hers by some magic that was too utterly intangible to frighten her. With a sigh she yielded to the mastery she scarcely felt.
And as she floated away into a peace indescribable, unlike anything she had ever known before, she heard a woman's voice, hushed to a sibilant whisper, remark, "My, Nap! You're too smart to be human. I always said so."