It was she who hid her face now. He saw that she was trembling; he knew that she was struggling with her tears; he went round to her and laid his hand on her shoulder, very gently, almost reverently. "Don't cry," he said. "I'm not worth it. I am sorry you should be so distressed. I wish--for your sake, now--that you had not come in. Hadn't you better go now?"
Celia rose; her cheeks were wet, her lips were quivering.
"What--what will you do?" she asked, fighting with a sob.
He met her eyes moodily. Celia held her breath; then, with a sudden tightening of the lips, a flash of the eyes, he said, grimly, as if every word cost him an effort,
With a gasp of relief, and yet with infinite pity and sorrow in her eyes, she flung out both hands to him.
He took them in his, which were burning now, and gripped them tightly.
"My God! what a woman you are," he said, with a sudden uplifting of the brows. "Someone else will find that out some day."
Celia drew her hands away and moved to the door. As he opened it for her, his glance fell on the revolver she had laid on the table.
"You have forgotten," he said, with a mirthless smile. "Hadn't you better take it with you?"
She looked straight into his eyes, not in doubt, but with infinite trust and confidence.
"No," she said; and with the word, she passed out.
Celia went back to her room and sank into a chair. She had been upheld during the scene by the excitement and the strain; she had been strong and purposeful a few minutes ago; but now the reaction had set in and she felt weak and exhausted. It was difficult to realize that the thing was real; it was the first time in her life that anything dramatic, tragical, had touched her. She had read of such incidents in novels, and even then, presented in the guise of fiction, with all its licence, such a self-sacrifice, so absolutely illogical and immoral, had seemed incredible to her; and yet here was a case, under her very eyes.
When she was able to think clearly, one or two points in the affair stood out from the rest. If the forgery was detected, and the young man under suspicion, how was it that he was still free, still unarrested? Perhaps they had not yet been able to trace him; but, no doubt, they were on his track, they might discover him and capture him any moment. She shuddered, and crouched over the fire as if she had been struck by a sudden chill. The pity of it, oh, the pity of it! He was so young--he still seemed to her little more than a boy--and he was so good to look upon, so frank, so honest; and what a noble, generous nature he must have to sacrifice his future, his career, for the woman he loved; why, he had been going to face death itself!