He began to walk up and down the tiny room, still maintaining that ominous silence. But she sobbed on, utterly unstrung, utterly hopeless, utterly spent.
He paused at last, and poured some water into a glass.
"Drink this," he said, stopping beside her. "And then lie quiet until I speak to you."
But she could neither raise herself nor take the glass. He stooped and lifted her, holding the water to her trembling lips. She leaned against him with closed eyes while she drank. She was painfully anxious to avoid his look. And yet when he laid her down, the sobbing began again, though she struggled feebly to repress it.
He fetched a chair at last and sat down beside her, gravely waiting till her breathing became less distressed. Then, finding her calmer, he finally spoke:
"You need not be afraid of me, Anne. I shall not hurt you."
"I am not afraid," she whispered back.
He sat silent for a space, not looking at her. At last:
"Can you attend to me now?" he asked her formally.
She raised herself slowly.