As Sybil entered she heard again that strange, choked cry. The sick man
was struggling to rise, but could not.
She went straight to the narrow pallet on which he lay and bent over
him.
"Robin!" she said.
He gave a great start, and became intensely still, lying face downwards,
his body twisted, his head on his arm.
She stooped lower. She touched him. A superhuman strength was hers.
"Robin," she said, "do you know me?"
He turned his face a little, and she saw the malignant horror of the
disease that gripped him. It was a sight that would have turned her sick
at any other time. But to-night she knew no weakness.
"Who are you?" he said, in a gasping whisper.
"I am Sybil," she answered steadfastly. "Don't you remember me?"
He lay motionless for a little, his breathing sharp and short. At
length:
"You had better get away from this pestilent hole," he panted out. "It's
no place for a woman."
"I have come to nurse you," she said.
"You!" He seemed to collect himself with an effort. He turned his face
fully towards her. "Didn't you marry that devil Mercer, after all?" he
gasped, gazing up at her with glassy eyes.
Only by his eyes would she have known him--this man whom once long ago
she had fancied that she loved--and even they were strained and
unfamiliar. She bent her head in answer. "Yes, Robin, I married him."
He began to curse inarticulately, spasmodically; but that she would not
have. She knelt down suddenly by his side, and took his hand in hers.
The terrible, disfigured countenance did not appal her, though the
memory of it would haunt her all her life.
"Robin, listen!" she said earnestly. "We may not have very long
together. Let us make the most of what time we have! Don't waste your
strength! Try to tell me quietly what happened, how it was you gave me
up! I want to understand it all. I have never yet heard the truth."
Her quiet words, the steady pressure of her hand, calmed him. He lay
still for a space, gazing at her.
"You're not afraid?" he muttered at last.
"No," she said.
He continued to stare at her.
"Is he--good to you?" he said.
The words came with difficulty. She saw his throat working with the
convulsive effort to produce sound.