She was growing hysterical with terror.
"Don't shrink from me," he urged. "Try to calm yourself. Try to look upon me as a friend—as a possible saviour. Lie quiet, do, for a little while. Think it all out for yourself."
He knelt there before her while she sobbed out the last agony of alarm. There were no tears in her eyes; racking sobs shook her slender body; every nerve was aquiver, he could see. Patiently he waited, never taking his firm, encouraging gaze from her face. She grew calmer, more rational. Then, with the utmost gentleness, he persuaded her to rise and walk about the little room with him.
"It will give you strength and courage," he urged. "Poor little girl! Poor little girl!"
She looked up into his face, a new light coming into her eyes.
"Don't talk now," he said softly. "Take your time. Hold to my arm, please. There! In a little while you'll be able to tell me all about it—and then we'll set about to find a way to escape these devils. We'll laugh at 'em, after all."
For five or ten minutes he led her back and forth across the room, very tenderly. At first she was faint and uncertain; then, as her strength and wits came back to her, courage took the place of despair. She smiled wanly and asked him to sit down with her.
"A way to escape, you said," she murmured, as he dropped to her side. "Where are we? What is it all about?"
"Not so loud," he cautioned. "I'll be perfectly candid with you. You'll have to be very, very brave. But wait. Perhaps it will be easier for you to tell me what has happened to you, so far as you know. I can throw light on the whole situation, I think. Tell me, please, in your own way and time. We're in a sorry mess, and it looks black, but, this much I can tell you: you are to be set free in a few days, unharmed. You may rest easy. That much is assured."
"And you?" she whispered, clutching his arm tightly, the swift thrill of relief dying almost as it was born. "What of you?"