The doubt and suspense of it all became overwhelming, and she stood groping in the dim light for the doorway and beating upon it with both her hands. No one, however, answered her. The little gypsy crouching by the fire seemed afraid to move or to speak. The silence of the house remained unbroken. Evelyn turned away in such despair as seemed to her scarcely human.
"When is your brother coming here?" she asked the child.
Djala answered without looking up.
"I do not know, but he will come, excellency ... and he will speak for me to the Count. Yes, and then——"
The words were stilled upon her lips and she sat up to listen. A sound of men's voices suddenly made itself audible in the room below. The gypsy heard it first and spoke no more of her vengeance.
"That is my brother's voice," she said—and then, realizing what she had done, she caught at Evelyn's dress with both her hands and implored her pity.
"Save him, excellency, for Christ's dear sake, save the man I love," she implored.
"I cannot save him, Djala—am I not as helpless as you? ... I cannot save him."
They waited together, hand in hand, listening to the story which the voices told them. Now it would be to the voice of argument, then to that of entreaty, ultimately to the swift interchange of phrase which spoke of anger. When the duologue ceased, the silence had greater terrors of doubt than any they had yet suffered. What had happened, then? Why did none come to them? They could but hope that reason had prevailed.
"Let us light a lamp, excellency; I am afraid of the dark."