“Yes,” he said quietly. “But all the same, you’ll not start back till to-morrow—”
“Oh, but I must!” interrupted Gillian. “We can’t afford to waste a moment.”
He glanced down at her and shook his head. Her face was white and drawn, and there were deep violet shadows underneath her eyes. Suspense and her anxious impatience had told upon her, and she had slept but little on the journey. And now, with the addition of this last, totally unexpected disappointment, she looked as though she could not stand much more.
“We can afford to waste a single day better than we can afford the three or four which it would cost us if you collapsed en route,” said Storran.
“I shan’t collapse,” she protested with white lips.
“So much the better. But all the same, you’ll stay here till to-morrow and get a good night’s rest.”
“I shouldn’t sleep,” she urged. “Let’s go right on, Dan. Let’s go——”
But the sentence was never finished. Quite suddenly she swayed, stretching out her hands with a blind, groping movement. Dan was just in time to catch her in his arms as she toppled over in a dead faint.
It was a week later when, in the early morning, a rather wan and white-faced Gillian sprang up from her seat as the train ran into Bayeux.
“Thank goodness we’re here at last!” she exclaimed.