“It may be his!” said Drexel.
“Oh! Oh!” She twisted her hands in agony. “Are you armed?”
“I am not. But my hands are enough.”
“You must go!” she cried. “Don’t you see—to stay may be your death! Please—please!” And she tried to push him toward the curtains.
“I shall stay. Open the door,” he ordered grimly.
“Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do?” Again she wrung her hands. “Listen! It would be foolish to meet him now. Wait, you can see him again—when you are armed. Besides, will you not give me a chance to prove my innocence? Don’t you wish to know the truth? I will make him tell everything—everything!”
He wavered. She saw it, and again tried to press him out. “Go—please—please!”
He looked at her darkly, suspiciously. “I still half think this is only a trick to escape.”
“I will not try to escape, I swear! And how can I escape, with you but a yard away?”
The door-bell rang once more.