The flame died away as Marion's voice sank into silence. The russet gold head drooped forward. For several minutes neither moved.
After a time Simone knelt down and gently examined her mistress's feet. The stockings were cut here and there, but the skin was unbroken. Presently she coaxed Marion to allow herself to be undressed. Marion got up and sat down mechanically as the deft hands did their work, and finally crept into the sweet, lavender-scented bed.
'Try to sleep, Mademoiselle,' said Simone, bending over the pillow to stroke the waving hair from the forehead. 'You will need all your strength.'
'Ay,' said Marion dully, 'all my strength and yours, and all my wits and yours. I have not time to sleep. I must think. There is one thing for which we cannot be sufficiently thankful: we are nearing Exeter. To-morrow night, with speed, should see us there, at the end of the journey, but,' she continued in a voice that matched her haggard face, 'at the beginning of a worse thing—a race with time. Get you to bed, Simone, and to-morrow——'
'Hist!' whispered the other, as a heavy stockinged tread sounded in the passage and the boards creaked outside the door, 'yonder comes our bodyguard. We had best be silent.'
Soon the steady snores came to their ears. The innkeeper moved about in a further room; then silence fell on the house.
Presently, Marion sat up in bed, her arms round her knees. Simone still crouched by her side.
'Have I ever said aught of my Aunt Keziah?' she whispered.
'No, Mademoiselle.'
'She lives in Exeter.'