She turned upon him her white scared face. "What is she doing?" she managed to say through chattering teeth.
Octavius repented him, that under the strain of the situation he had spoken to her as he had. "Go to bed, Aileen," he said firmly, but gently; "this ain't no place for you now."
She needed but that word; she was half way up the stairs before he had finished. He heard her shut herself into the room. He hung up his coat, noiselessly opened the door into the main hall, closed it softly behind him and took his stand half way to the library door. He saw nothing, but he heard all.
For a moment there was silence in the room; then Aurora spoke in a dull strained voice:
"I don't know what you mean—I haven't had any message, and—and"—she swallowed hard—"nothing is final—nothing—not yet—that's why I've come. You must help me, Almeda—help me to save Champney; there is no one else in our family I can call upon or who can do it—and there is a chance—"
"What chance?"
"The chance to save him from—from imprisonment—from a living death—"
"Has he been taken?"
"Taken!"—she swayed back from the table, clutching convulsively the edge to preserve her balance—"don't—don't, Almeda; it will kill me. I am afraid for him—afraid—don't you understand?—Help me—let me have the money, the amount that will save my son—free him—"
She swayed back towards the table and leaned heavily upon it, as fearing to lose her hold lest she should sink to her knees. Mrs. Champney was recovering in a measure from the first excitement consequent upon the shock of seeing the woman she hated standing so suddenly in her presence. She spoke with cutting sarcasm: