“I have no time to waste in bandying words further,” he exclaimed impatiently. “I hoped you would not force me to use my power, but if you will be so foolishly obstinate——”
He moved to the window and flung back the curtain. The wall of rock rose sheer and grey within a few feet, blocking out all view of the sky, and mocking the sight with a poor wedge of daylight which served but to illuminate its black monotony.
“That is all the outside world you will see till you have told me the truth,” Irromar said quietly.
Repressing the shudder which the prospect induced, she turned quickly to him. “Then we are prisoners?”
He smiled uncompromisingly. “Scarcely that, as yet. But you may be.”
“You will keep us here at your peril, Count,” she flared out, her indignation getting the better of her fear.
“It may be,” he returned, as smiling at a child’s threat. “I will take the risk.”
“It may be greater than——” she stopped. In the stress of resentment her tongue was outstripping her judgment.
“Yes?” he asked, with his irritating, probing smile.
“Then this is why I have been locked in my room,” she went on, covering the slip with an excess of indignation. “And is Fräulein von Bertheim a prisoner too under this hospitable roof?”