"Why, what are you afraid of?" He looked up and was touched by the terror in her face. "I don't know. But I can bear it--I won't be silly and frightened--I can bear it if you'll only stay." She slid on to her knees beside him; and while she implored him to stay, her hands worked unconsciously, helping him to go--smoothing and folding his clothes, and laying them in little heaps about the floor, her figure swaying unsteadily as she knelt. He put his arm round her; he drew her head against his shoulder; and she looked up into his face, trying to smile. "You won't leave me?" she whispered hoarsely. He laid his hand upon her forehead. It was damp with the first sweat of her agony. He carried her to her room and sent for Mrs. Wilcox and the doctor and the nurse. Then he went back and began turning the things in and out of his portmanteau in a melancholy, undecided manner. Mrs. Wilcox came and found him doing it. "I'm not going," he said in answer to her indignant stare. "I'm glad to hear it. Because if you _do_ go--" "I am not going." But Mrs. Wilcox's maternal instinct had subdued her fear of Nevill Tyson, and he respected her defiance even more than he had respected her fear. "If you go you'll put her in a fever, and _I_ won't answer for the consequences." He said nothing, for he had a sense of justice, and it was her hour. Besides, he was no little conscience-stricken. He went out to look for Stanistreet, and found him in the courtyard, piling his own luggage on the dog-cart. He put his hand on his shoulder. "Look here," said he, "I can't go. It's a damned nuisance, but it's out of the question. Leave those things till to-morrow." "To-morrow?" Stanistreet stared vaguely at his host. "Yes; you must see me through this, Stanny. I can't trust myself by myself. For God's sake let's go and do something, or I'll go off my head." They spent the afternoon in the low coverts about the Toft, and the evening in the billiard-room, sitting forlornly over whiskey-and-soda. A peculiar throbbing silence and mystery seemed to hang about the house. Stanistreet was depressed and hardly spoke, while Tyson vainly tried to hide his nervousness under a fictitious jocularity. He looked eagerly for the night, by which time he had concluded that all anxiety would be ended. But when ten o'clock came and he found that nothing more nor less than a long night-watch was required of him, his nerves revolted. "I wonder how long this business is going to last? I wish to God I'd never stayed." He leaned back against the chimney-piece, grinding his heels on the fender in his irritation. "I was a fool not to get away in the morning when I had the chance." He looked up and saw Stanistreet regarding him with a curiously critical expression. Louis did not look very like sitting up all night; his lean face was haggard already.