"My dearest, if you want me--if you need me,--I will stay," he said.

"But you can't," she said hopelessly. "Even to-night--even to-night--I thought you were never coming. And I went at last to look for you--behind your iron bars. But, oh, Piers, the agony of it! And I couldn't reach you after all, though I tried so hard--so hard."

"Never mind, my darling!" he whispered. "We are together now."

"But we shan't be when the morning comes," sobbed Avery. "I know it is all a dream. It's happened so many, many times."

He clasped her closer, hushing her with tender words, vowing he would never leave her, while the Shadow of Death gathered closer about them, threatening every instant to come between.

She grew calmer at last, and presently sank into a state of semi-consciousness lying against his breast.

Time pa.s.sed. Piers did not know how it went. With his wife clasped in his arms he sat and waited, waited--for the falling of a deeper night or the coming of the day--he knew not which. His brain felt like a stopped watch; it did not seem to be working at all. Even the power to suffer seemed to have left him. He felt curiously indifferent, strangely submissive to circ.u.mstances,--like a man scourged into the numbness of exhaustion. He knew at the back of his mind that as soon as his vitality rea.s.serted itself the agony would return. The respite could not last, but while it lasted he knew no pain. Like one in a state of coma, he was not even aware of thought.

It might have been hours later, or possibly only minutes, that Maxwell Wyndham came round to his side and bent over him, a quiet hand on his shoulder.

"You had better lay her down," he said. "She won't wake now."

"What?" said Piers sharply.

The words had stabbed him back to understanding in a second. He glared at the doctor with eyes half-savage, half-frightened.

"No, no!" said Wyndham gently. "I don't mean that. She is asleep. She is breathing. But she will rest better if you lay her down."

The absolute calmness with which he spoke took effect upon Piers. He yielded, albeit not very willingly, to the mandate.

They laid her down upon the pillow between them, and then for many seconds Wyndham stood, closely watching, almost painfully intent. Piers waited dumbly, afraid to move, afraid to speak.

The doctor turned to him at last. "What about that meal you spoke of?

Shall we go down and get it?"

Piers stared at him. "I am not leaving her," he said in a quick whisper.

Wyndham's hand was on his shoulder again--a steady, compelling hand. "Oh yes, you are. I want to talk to you," he said. "She is sleeping naturally, and she won't wake for some time. Come!"

There was nothing peremptory about him, yet he gained his end. Piers rose. He hung for a moment over the bed, gazing hungrily downwards upon the shadowy, motionless form, then in silence turned.

Tudor had risen. He met them in the doorway, and between him and the London doctor a few words pa.s.sed. Then the latter pushed his hand through Piers' arm, and drew him away.

They descended the wide oak stairs together and entered the dining-room.

Piers moved like a man dazed. His companion went straight to the table and poured out a drink, which he immediately held out to Piers, looking at him with eyes that were green and very shrewd.

"I think we shall save her," he said.

Piers drank in great gulps, and came to himself. "I say, I'm beastly rude!" he said, with sudden boyishness. "For goodness' sake, help yourself! Sit down, won't you?"

Maxwell Wyndham seated himself with characteristic deliberation of movement. He had fiery red hair that shone brazenly in the lamplight.

"I can't eat by myself, Sir Piers," he remarked, after a moment. "And it isn't particularly good for you to drink without eating either, in your present frame of mind."

Piers sat down, his att.i.tude one of intense weariness. "You really think she'll pull through?" he said.

"I think so," Wyndham answered. "But it won't be a walk over. She will be ill for a long time."

"I'll take her away somewhere," said Piers. "A quiet time at the sea will soon pick her up."

Maxwell Wyndham said nothing.

Piers glanced at him with quick impatience. "Don't you advise that?"

The green eyes countered his like the turn of a swordblade. "Certainly quiet is essential," said Wyndham enigmatically.

Piers made a chafing movement. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," very calmly came the answer, "that if you really value your wife's welfare, you will let someone else take her away."

It was a straight thrust, and it went home. Piers flinched sharply. But in a moment he had recovered himself. He was on guard. He looked at Wyndham with haughty enquiry.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because her peace of mind depends upon it." Wyndham's answer came with brutal directness. "You will find, when this phase of extreme weakness is past, that your presence is not desired. She may try to hide it from you. That depends upon the kind of woman she is. But the fact will remain--does remain--that for some reason best known to yourself, she shrinks from you. I am not speaking rashly without knowledge. When a woman is in agony she can't help showing her soul. I saw your wife's soul to-day."

Piers was white to the lips. He sat rigid, no longer looking at the doctor, but staring beyond him fixedly at a woman's face on the wall that smiled and softly mocked.

"What did she say to you?" he said, after a moment.

"She said," curtly Wyndham made reply,--"it was at a time when she could hardly speak at all--'Even if I ask for my husband, don't send--don't send!'"

"Yet you fetched me!" Piers' eyes came swiftly back to him; they shone with a fierce glint.

But Wyndham was undismayed. "I fetched you to save her life," he said.

"There was nothing else to be done. She was in delirium, and nothing else would calm her."

"And she wanted me!" said Piers. "She begged me to stay with her!"

"I know. It was a pa.s.sing phase. When her brain is normal, she will have forgotten."

Piers sprang to his feet with sudden violence. "But--d.a.m.n it--she is my wife!" he cried out fiercely.

Maxwell Wyndham leaned across the table. "She is your wife--yes," he said. "But isn't that a reason for considering her to the very utmost?

Have you always done that, I wonder? No, don't answer! I've no right to ask. Only--you know, doctors are the only men in the world who know just what women have to put up with, and the knowledge isn't exactly exhilarating. Give her a month or two to get over this! You won't be sorry afterwards."

It was kindly spoken, so kindly that the flare of anger died out of Piers on the instant, and the sweetness dormant in him--that latent sweetness that had won Avery's heart--came swiftly to the surface.

He threw himself down again, looking into the alert, green eyes with an oddly rueful smile. "All right, doctor!" he said. "I shan't go to her if she doesn't want me. But I've got to make sure she doesn't, haven't I? What?"

There was a wholly unconscious note of pathos in the last word that sent the doctor's mouth up at one corner in a smile that was more pitying than humorous. "I should certainly do that," he said. "But I'm afraid you'll find I've told you the beastly truth."

"For which I am obliged to you," said Piers, with a bow.