“Yet another question? Certainly. One hears nothing here?”
“Not from Count Zarka?” His questions flashed out like the quick thrusts of a rapier.
“Will the examination be much longer?” Philippa asked with a little grimace of impatience. “For I must be going homewards; my father will be anxious.”
“Herr Harlberg—that is your father’s name?” he asked with dart-like suddenness. Philippa nodded assent. “Herr Harlberg may be glad that he sees you at all.”
“That is true.”
“Shall I tell you,” he continued, in the same sharp, masterful tone, “why I have detained you to ask these questions?”
Had she dared she would have declined to hear the reason, but she was in the power of this strange questioner, and knew it would not serve to ignore the curiosity which, indeed, she felt.
“You at least owe it to me to tell that,” she replied with a smile.
CHAPTER XII
AFTER THE PERIL
He drew a step nearer to her and fixed his dark eyes piercingly on her face. His manner was not rough; hardly, in its outward form, uncivil; yet there was in it a suggestion of a wild purpose, a strong reckless will that overmastered her. Still she fought against her fear and his indefinable mastery, facing him boldly for the explanation which she dreaded.