The hot throb of repulsion—of hate, even—throbbed up in her, knowing, as she knew, that he was false to her, but she kept her face unmoved. She nodded.
"Yes," she answered quietly, "unless—you think my duty is to let him—die?"
His imperturbable face lost its calm for a moment. He was genuinely startled.
"But no!" he cried quickly. "Things are not as bad as that! The threats he used? Those were the results of shock, of delirium. I would prevent that—I."
She looked at him very steadily.
"Yes?" she said. "You—a prisoner, like myself. How?"
He shrugged his shoulders vaguely.
"He is open to reason," he said. "He could not afford it; I could make that plain to him, I have every assurance that I could."
He was looking at her searchingly—frowning, showing dissatisfaction with himself for his slip. She was content to let it pass.
"Thank you," she answered. "You give me hope," and truly enough a wild, incredulous hope had just arisen in her heart, for her gaze had been still on Aylmer's pallid face at her feet.