"I was, but I'm not so anxious now. How is Mr. Kauffman?"
"Much easier. He was sleeping when I left."
"I'm glad of that. He's had a hard week, and so have you, and yet"—he hesitated—"you are looking well in spite of it all."
"That is the strange part of it," she admitted. "I am stronger and happier than I have been for two years. I have just heard from my family in the East."
His eyes became grave. "Then you will go back to them?"
"I think so, but not at once—not till after your trial—it would be grossly ungrateful for me to go now. I shall wait till you are free."
His fine, clear, serious eyes were steadily fixed upon her face as she said this, and she knew that he was extracting from every word and tone their full meaning, and it frightened her a little.
At last he said, in a voice which was tense with emotion, "Then I hope I shall never be free."
She hastened to lessen this tension. "The judge has promised to grant you a hearing soon. Mr. Rawlins thinks it only a case for Justice Court, anyway." She rose. "But let me see Mrs. Throop for a few minutes and then we will go."
"Wait a moment," he pleaded, but she would not stay her course—she dared not.