"No!" she cried passionately. "No! Is it fair, is it right to take advantage of our position; is it honorable?"
And then she regretted her words in the very speaking of them. The passion faded from his face, a shadow veiled his eyes, he made a gesture of contrition. And she? With feminine inconsistency she opened her lips to undo what she had done, to make her victory defeat.
Again Fate intervened. Aylmer whispered warningly, slipped across the flags, and stretched himself upon the pallet. One look through the barred window explained his action. A hundred yards away a couple of figures were advancing towards the building. She recognized Landon and in his companion, Miller, talking vehemently.
She left the window and waited, sitting on the rough stool which was placed at the pallet foot.
A minute later the sound of bolts withdrawn and a key in a lock echoed under the stone arch. Landon entered alone, debonair, smiling, but with eyes which were ominous of intention.
He looked down at the pallet.
"Our sufferer—our patient? Do we perceive no signs of progress?"
There was danger in his voice; she read it unmistakably.
She shrugged her shoulders.
"He is no different," she said apathetically. "He has spoken, once or twice. I see no change."