"Yes, Mem-Sahib."
His voice was callous, toneless. She could not look at him.
"And you let him go? You had forgotten so easily?"
"Have you found it hard to forget, Mem-Sahib—you whom he loved——?" He awoke suddenly from his apathy. He bent towards her, his fevered hand on her arm. "Was not a little of that man's gold, stained with the sweat and blood of men, enough to buy your forgetfulness?"
And now she looked at him. She saw the quivering features—the eyes bloodshot and wretched with scorn of her.
"I went out of his life as you did, Ayeshi," she said gently. "Was that forgetfulness?"
"Mem-Sahib——!" he muttered.
"You tried to save him," she persisted—"as I tried. If we have both failed need we reproach each other now?"
"Mem-Sahib!" In that reiteration there was agony. His hand dropped from her arm. "It was for his sake—? Barclay Sahib threatened you?"
"Yes."