"Wouldn't it be better he should go? If he recovers there would only be—"
"Oh yes, to be tried as a spy—a renegade Englishman! But he would rather live in spite of that, if it was only for an hour."
"To love life so much as that—a spy!" Stafford reflected.
"Not so much love of life as fear of—" She stopped short.
"To fear—silence and peace!" he remarked darkly, with a shrug of his shoulders. Then he added: "Tell me, if he does not die, and if—if he is pardoned by any chance, do you mean to live with him again?"
A bitter laugh broke from her. "How do I know? What does any woman know what she will do until the situation is before her! She may mean to do one thing and do the complete opposite. She may mean to hate, and will end by loving. She may mean to kiss and will end by killing. She may kiss and kill too all in one moment, and still not be inconsistent. She would have the logic of a woman. How do I know what I would do—what I will do!"
The door of the hospital opened. A surgeon came out, and seeing Al'mah, moved towards the two. Stafford went forward hurriedly, but Al'mah stood like one transfixed. There was a whispered word, and then Stafford came back to her.
"You will not need to do anything," he said.
"He is gone—like that!" she whispered in an awed voice. "Death, death—so many die!" She shuddered.
Stafford passed her arm through his, and drew her towards the door of the hospital.