Paul staggered aft again, balanced the wheel and put it in beckets.
"I'm pretty tired—tired," he said in a whisper. He crumpled in exhaustion where he had fought for thirty hours. Blood oozed from the ends of his swollen fingers. His eyes lay far back in his head. His breath came in moans and sobs.
CHAPTER XXIX
Pain which stabbed with daggers of fire and ground and twisted like the working of cogs stirred Paul about noon into consciousness. He lay across the wheel grating where he had dropped, nor had the gold woman's strength been equal to moving him inside. A pillow was under his head; a blanket covered him. At his feet wrapped likewise in a blanket and her head on one of the lounge cushions slept his "partner." As the hard deck was his pallet, so she had chosen to make it hers. He realized the wonderful meaning of this with a thrill which lifted the daze from his aching brain and eyes.
With the instinct which has been given to women alone to serve and watch by sense Emily awoke in the instant that Paul moved to a sitting posture. Their glances met in a smile of trustful, mutual understanding.
"Well, partner," Paul said drily and looking round the Daphne, "we are a bit battered, but I think we may say—we are still in the ring."
The humanness of the little speech lifted the cloud of the night from her spirit. She laughed. This man could fight as she had never dreamed it possible that human brain and flesh could, and when it was all over he could smile. She brushed away a mist which gathered on her lashes and struggled to her feet.
"And it is worth everything to be—be here in the ring—all the battering—all the strife—with you—a partner like you."
"Thank you. That pays for everything."