The pallor and extreme thinness had vanished. She seemed more like the Marigold of olden times, yet with a difference, a ten-times’ difference. She had learnt everything that goes to make a woman, and no ordinary woman, but one in the highest, broadest sense--one born to true and natural impulse, but just now a bit thrown out of the course, and having no restraining force in the world’s opinion, Death being so near at hand. To her the room was so dimly lit, that, looking in, she mistook the figure sitting by the sleeper for St Armand, for she had learnt the deception of the white head and shrunken form. “You here!” she said, coming in and closing the door behind her; “you said you were going to leave me all alone.” Then he sprang to his feet with a start, and she stood still scarcely six paces off in the flickering firelight, her hand upon a chair, each looking at the other, almost horror-stricken--scarcely comprehending what it was that brought the other there. “Yes, I am here,” he said at last, deliberately, closing the book as slowly, and putting it away. “I am here. I’ve come to stay.” “Well now, that is very strange, because I’ve come for exactly the same thing.” Marigold looked dangerous--dangerous in temper as well as in beauty, though her voice was subdued. She had set her mind on this night’s escapade, still felt every pulse thrilling with the touch of St Armand’s hands upon her wrists, and in dressing she had laughed at and hated the Master, feeling that he, and he only, had driven her to this--hated him for making her hate herself through failing to win the love she coveted. “Then,” said he, just as slowly, his eyes full on her, “we will both stay.” “Oh no, I will awaken the High Priest, and he shall settle for us, I think--I really think you will have to go.” And she took another step forward, laughing. He shook his head. “He is too fast asleep. I’ve drugged him for a few hours to come. I did not know that you were coming.” She heard the heavy breathing, and her face set like marble, and a terrible anger flashed into her eyes; and then as suddenly she laughed. “Ah, well!” she said, “I will stay till he awakes.” And she took one of the unconscious hands, fondled it in her own, and kissed it. And, as she did so, she looked up sideways at the Master, her vivid eyes gleaming. “How long will he sleep?” she asked. “Till midnight.” “Oh, that’s not long, only a little over an hour. I have lived long enough to learn a little patience.” And still she held the thin intellectual hand, and yet she knew the gleaming eyes above were watching it and her, and that the silence had something terrible about it. “You will tire of standing. You had better take a chair.” “I can look after myself, thank you. I am perfectly acquainted with the room.”