Once before he had seen her cry, and now as then he stood apart. It was for Vardri to dry her tears.
He glanced at the clock. Of course it was wrong, but he knew by the shadows that filled the room that it must be time for her to leave if she was to appear in public again to-night.
He must hurry the interview to a close, for he could not play his part much longer.
"You ought to be glad to get rid of me, Arithelli. Vous avez la chance! What have I given you but work and grumbles, eh?"
The soft, broken voice answered him:
"I shall feel afraid without you."
"You will have Vardri,—your lover." His tone was brutal as the blow of a knife. The natural animal jealousy of a man had risen in him again. When he was between stone walls, she would have the warmth of a lover's arms; every nerve in his own body would know it, and long for that which he had himself resigned.
He would have long hours to sit and think the thoughts that drive men to insanity or self-destruction.
"Yes, but one can care in different ways, and you have done so many things for me."
The man drew in his breath sharply. The knife was in her hand now, but she had stabbed unconsciously. He knew that she spoke quite simply, thinking only of his care for her physical well-being.