He was watching her with a grave, unstirring attention that did not waver for an instant as she moved. It struck her that there was a strange remoteness about him, almost as if he belonged to another world. Or was it she—she who had for a space overstepped the boundary and wandered awhile through the Unknown?
He spoke, and in his voice was a depth that awed her.
"Do you know me?" he said.
She gazed at him, bewildered, wondering. "But of course I know you! Why do you ask? Are you—changed in any way?"
He made an odd movement, as if the question in her wide eyes pierced him. He did not answer her in words; only after a moment he took her hand and pushed up the sleeve as though looking for something.
She lay passive for a few seconds, watching him. Then suddenly, blindly, she realized what was the object of his search. She made a quick, instinctive movement to frustrate him.
His hand tightened instantly upon hers; he pointed to a tiny mark upon the inside of her arm. "How did you get that?" he said.
His eyes looked straight into hers. There was something pitiless, something almost brutal, in their regard. In spite of herself she flinched, and lowered her own.
"Answer me!" he said.
She felt the hot colour rush in a guilty flood over her face. "It was only—for once," she faltered. "I wanted sleep, and I couldn't get it."