He rose cautiously and plucked the remaining stones from the hole. He placed them in his own bed; he arranged matters carefully. And then he made a motion towards the new-made opening.
"Will you lead?" he said quietly. "Will you be the first to confront—Fate?"
She gave a little gasp.
"I?" she said, and hesitated, fear in her eyes.
"You, if you will," he answered simply. "Make your way out and hide yourself in the nearest convenient shadow. Then, if he returns before I can join you, await me. If not—" He shrugged his shoulders. "I shall be at your heels."
She still paused, and her fingers clenched and unclenched.
"I did not expect—to be—separated," she breathed. "My strength—I did not realize it at first—is coming all from you."
His hand went out into the darkness and touched her.
"From now on, it will be used in your service," he said quietly. "For you and you alone." She felt the hand quiver. "Whether you ask it or not, whether I am to be all to you in the future, or nothing. It will be there—for your asking."
And then, because the need of that strength came upon her with a force which she could not control, she gripped the protecting hand between her fingers and—Fate alone knows why—raised it to her lips. The next instant she had slipped past him in the darkness and was drawing herself through the opening. She rose to her knees, to her feet. She stood out upon the wind-swept earth, free. Free of the material prison behind her. Had she not laid upon herself new bonds? It was a thought too new, too indefinite, too strangely sweet. The tumult of her feelings was in accord with the tumult of the night.