Yermah found her lying prostrate, twisting her hands in and out of her disheveled hair; and when he gently raised her and spoke kindly to her, she broke into a fit of hysterical laughter, infinitely sadder than tears. She had the curses of her father still ringing in her ears, and remorse held such carnival that blows would have been easier to bear.
“Beat, curse and abuse me, Yermah, or I shall go raving mad! Don’t even look at me kindly! I cannot endure it!”
Yermah feigned not to hear her.
“Where is Rahula?” he asked in an ordinary tone. “Hast thou seen her?”
“No. She must be with Alcamayn.”
“That were not possible. He is in solitary confinement, and is allowed to see no one. She is probably occupied with his defense.”
“Dost thou think there is any hope for him? I have loved him from early childhood—more than I did Orondo,” she said simply. “Canst thou not plead for him?”
Even with tear-stained, grief-distorted face, Ildiko was attractive and winning.
“All that is possible will I gladly do, for both thy sakes.”
The Dorado talked long and earnestly with her, knowing that words would be a harmless safety-valve for her tortured mind, and when he left her she was comparatively calm.