Her eyes met his. She made him a little gesture, half of appeal, as it seemed, half of command.
As he covered the few yards which separated them, he noted, with a queer tightening of the heart, the deep shadows which had grown beneath her eyes. But at the same time it was not all anxiety or weariness which her face expressed. There was determination also. And this was reflected in Mr. Van Arlen's glance. It dwelled upon Aylmer with expectancy and more than expectancy,—with hope.
Without preamble he answered the question which their eyes had asked. They heard him in silence to the end, and as he finished, the girl's first comment was no more than a little sigh.
"The sergeant's surmise is right; my instinct tells me that," said Aylmer. "A few hours—and I shall be putting the child in your arms again."
She looked up at the double rank of horsemen. A sudden vivid flash of feeling passed over her features. Her breath came with a little pant.
"Ah, if I could ride with you!" she said fiercely. "If I could do more than wait!"
The color mounted to her cheeks, to her brow. A new note sounded in her voice.
"If they show fight—these men? If, rather than lose the child, he"—her voice sank unsteadily for a moment—"does him an injury? You would not spare him?"
He smiled a little wearily.
"So you distrust me still?" he asked. "Why should I spare him? Because, to my shame, we are of one blood?"