"Yes," she answered.
"I hardly had time to notice who you were before. You're a brave woman. For your sake I hope your husband gets away."
The blood surged to her face, and then left it pallid. The shadow of her sorrow had been forgotten during the strenuous moments she had gone through; the tactless remark brought it back upon her with cruel emphasis. She turned aside and slipped through the door at the back of the hut while the doctor, oblivious to his blunder, went out at the other.
Harding was about to follow her, when one of the troopers appeared at the door through which the doctor had gone. He held a letter in his hand.
"I found this where the lady knelt when she tied up the sub-inspector's head—I fancy it's either hers or yours."
On the flap of the envelope Harding saw the bank's impress.
"It probably is hers," he answered as he took it. "I will give it to her at once."
There was no sign of her as he passed out of the little door at the back of the hut and, believing she had gone round to the other, he turned to go back when, in a limp and dishevelled heap, he saw her lying on the ground against the wall of the hut.
Her upturned face was white and drawn as he stooped over her.
"Jess!" he whispered. "Jess! Are you ill?"