She did not answer him.  There was something horrible to her in that low-spoken question, something that yet possessed for her a species of evil fascination that restrained her from open revolt.

He waited for a while, his eyes so immovably fixed upon hers that she had a mild wonder if they were lidless—­as the eyes of a serpent.

Then at last, through grim pale lips that did not seem to move, he spoke again.  “Madam, it lies with you whether Guy Ranger lives or dies.  You can open to him the earthly paradise or you can hurl him back to hell.  I have only Drought him a little way.  I cannot keep him.  Even now, he is slipping—­he is slipping from my hold.  It is you, and you alone, who can save him.  How do I know this thing?  How do I know that the sun rises in the east?  I—­have—­seen.  It is you who have taken from him the desire to live—­perhaps unintentionally; that I do not know.  It is you—­and you alone—­who can restore it.  Need I say more than this to open your eyes?  Perhaps they are already open.  Perhaps already your heart has been in communion with his.  If so, then you know that I have told you the truth.  If you really desire to save him—­and I think you do—­then everything else in life must go to that end.  Women were made for sacrifice, they say.”  A sardonic flicker that was scarcely a smile touched his face.  “Well, that is the only way of saving him.  If you fail him, he will go under.”

He got up with the words.  He had evidently said his say.  As his hand left hers, Sylvia drew a deep hard breath, as of one emerging from a suffocating atmosphere.  She had never felt so oppressed, so fettered, with evil in the whole of her life.  And yet he had not urged her to any line of action.  He had merely somewhat baldly, wholly dispassionately, told her the truth, and the very absence of emotion with which he had spoken had driven conviction to her soul.  She saw him go with relief, but his words remained like a stone at the bottom of her heart.

CHAPTER XI

THE REMEDY

When Sylvia went to Guy a little later, she found him installed in Burke’s room.  Burke himself was out on the farm, but it was past the usual hour for luncheon, and she knew he would be returning soon.

Kieff rose up noiselessly from the bedside at her entrance, and she saw that Guy was asleep.  She was conscious of a surging, passionate longing to be alone with him as she crept forward.  The silent presence of this stranger had a curious, nauseating effect upon her.  She suppressed a shudder as she passed him.

He stood behind her in utter immobility as she bent over the bed.  Guy was lying very still, but though he was pale, the deathly look had gone from his face.  He looked unutterably tired, but very peaceful.

Lying so, with all the painful lines of his face relaxed, she saw the likeness of his boyhood very clearly on his quiet features, and her heart gave a quick hard throb within her that sent the hot tears to her eyes.  The sight of him grew blurred and dim.  She just touched his black hair with trembling fingers as she fought back a sob.