She started ever so slightly, but controlled herself again.
"And you will help me?" she asked in the same low tone.
"In all things so far as in my power lies."
"Thank you! thank you!" she murmured, lifting her intertwined fingers from her lap to her breast, and shrinking downward away from him just a trifle. "You will understand how I feel. You do not wish, any more than I, that he should sleep out there—in that lonely grave. You will help me to bring—his body here, and—and to find his murderer?"
Stolliker caught his breath hard as he watched the man—watched the cold, gray loam overspread his face—watched the stiffening of the joints and the slow lifting of the graceful form to an upright position.
The gray eyes were bent upon the dark head with an expression of horror which it was not necessary he should conceal, as she was not looking; but Stolliker observed that he pressed his hand above his heart, as if he feared she might hear its beating.
"I—I can't promise—that," he stammered helplessly. "It is so—useless. Of course, I will do all I can; but you can't understand the—the condition of the railroads there. It would be impossible—simply impossible—now, at least."
"Then—then later, when the—the condition of the country—has improved?" she gasped, hoarsely; and for a moment Stolliker feared she was going to faint.
"Yes, later," he assented, huskily.
"But—but the other?" she cried, almost fiercely. "You will help me with the other—you will help me to find his murderer?"