The floodgates of memory opened and the great waters poured over her soul. She felt the walls and the floor of the vast gloomy hall reeling about her; but, with an almost superhuman effort of will, she regained her composure, and met the eyes that looked into her ashen face with a look of wonder and amazement. The fever seemed to have left him, and for the moment Niall was perfectly conscious. She bent down and pillowed his head on her arm.
"Helene," he whispered, "is it you?... where am I?"
"It's all right, dear," she said soothingly. "You're quite safe. Don't speak—you must rest."
The servants returned and Niall was made as comfortable as possible. Helene thought rapidly. At all costs she must be alone with him for a time. She dismissed the whispering women upon various errands. Yes, she said to their enquiries, she would stay with him till they returned.
When they were alone Niall looked up.
"I escaped, you know," he said weakly. "I've had an awful time—but I'm safe now, Helene, am I not?... across the frontier, eh?"
"Yes, yes, my Gordon," she answered, smoothing back his matted hair, "you're across the frontier, and you'll soon be well." She almost choked as she remembered that the frontier was only five miles away.
He sighed contentedly and closed his eyes. For a while he lay very still; then he spoke, with difficulty.
"My left tunic pocket," he gasped, "feel in it, Helene ... that's right ... now, open that flap."