"But, my dear boy, quarrelling with Trevor on her behalf won't make for peace," Hilda ventured to point out.
He acknowledged the truth of this with a brief nod. "All the same, I'm damned if I'll stand by and see him wreck her life. Let me know how she goes on. Send a wire to the club to-morrow. No, don't! I'll wire to you first, and let you know where I am. I'm going straight back to the station now. With any luck I ought to catch the afternoon express. Where's Percy?"
"You must have something to eat," urged Hilda. "You've had nothing whatever."
He frowned impatiently. "Oh, rats! I can feed on board. I shan't starve."
But she knew, with sure intuition, that the moment he was out of her presence all thought of refreshment would leave his mind.
She saw him go, and then returned to Chris.
She found her sitting up in bed, rocking herself to and fro, and crying, crying, crying, the tears of utter despair. But this distress, despite its violence, was better—Hilda knew it instinctively—than her former cold inertia. She gathered her to her breast, and held her close pressed till her anguish had somewhat spent itself.
By degrees and haltingly the story of Chris's tragedy was unfolded.
"I've told Jack everything," she said at last. "And now I've told you, but we won't ever talk about it any more. Jack is going to see Trevor, and—and try to make him understand. I didn't want him to, but he would do it. But he has promised me that Trevor shan't follow me here. Do you think he will be able to prevent him? Do you? Do you?"
She shuddered afresh uncontrollably at the bare thought, and Hilda had some difficulty in calming her.