He returned to his own rooms and began to write savagely, using all his will to expel from his brain the vision of the girl as he had seen her last, semi-conscious, and yet with his name on her lips.
Michael had promised to see her again at six o'clock. It would be time enough if he also went then. Besides, the Cause came first always, and there were many women in the world. His pen tore fiercely over the paper as something whispered: "Women? Yes. But another Arithelli—?"
CHAPTER XII
"I have something more to think of than Love. All the women in the world would not make me waste an hour." SAYING OF NAPOLEON.
The stolid niece blundered heavily about the room, doing things that were entirely unnecessary, and raising much dust. She was a conscientious person in her own way, and felt that she must get through a certain amount of work in return for the anticipated reward.
She banged chairs and table about, folded up scattered clothes, investigated them with much interest, and fingered and re-arranged the row of boots with muttered ejaculations and covetous eyes. She had previously contrived to get Arithelli into a night dress, had brushed her hair back and plaited it, and pulled the green shutters together to keep out the midday glare.
As she looked at the livid face patched with scarlet against the coarse linen, Maria began to feel a little perturbed. Something in the atmosphere of the room had penetrated even the brick wall of her stolidity. She hoped the two Señors would soon return and relieve her of the responsibility of her charge.
The stillness oppressed her, for Arithelli had ceased her moaning and muttering for a merciful stupor.
As the hours went on the fever increased, and the horrible fungus in her throat spread with an appalling rapidity.
As Michael Furness had prophesied, the crisis would soon be reached, and she had everything save youth against her in the fight for life.