Royda said nothing, either through faintness or because she seemed overwhelmed with mortification and disappointment. She turned her face away and remained passive, as though utterly beaten and discomfited, with teeth set hard and the hand of the unwounded arm clenched.
“What madness it has been,” Philippa continued, not heeding her adversary’s sullen attitude. “Why would you not listen to my explanation? We are utterly ruined now.”
“You are hurt too?” the wounded girl asked, in a tone more of satisfaction than concern.
“It is not much,” Philippa answered, with a glance at the blood on her arms and breast. “But you, Fräulein, must have a doctor. What shall I do? How can we explain this?”
“I shall be all right,” replied Royda, raising herself with an effort and making a gesture of pushing Philippa from her. “For Heaven’s sake, get away from this and leave me. Fate is on your side; I cannot fight against it, and the sooner I am dead the better.”
“Fräulein d’Ivady, if you knew——” Philippa began in her distress.
“I know enough, too much, of you, Philippa Harlberg. You bring me evil. I never knew what failure was till you crossed my path. Go, in Heaven’s name; I cannot bear the sight of you. There is a door behind that trophy. It leads to a passage through the rock and so out upon the side of the valley.”
“I cannot go and leave you like this,” Philippa protested. “Hateful as I may be to you, I shall not desert you now.”
“Then I must go,” Royda said, rising by sheer power of will. “You stay at your own peril. I have shown you the way of escape, if that is what you seek. At least you shall not see Aubray Zarka.”
“It is the last thing I wish,” Philippa returned.