But on Bennett’s face, ghastly, ravaged by disease, with its vast, protruding jaw, its narrow contracted forehead and unkempt growth of beard, the dawning of intelligence and surprise swiftly gave place to an expression of terrible anxiety and apprehension.

“What are you doing here, Lloyd?” he cried.

“Hush!” she answered quickly as she came forward; “above all things you must not sit up; lie down again and don’t talk.  You are very sick.”

“I know, I know,” he answered feebly.  “I know what it is.  But you must leave here.  It’s a terrible risk every moment you stay in this room.  I want you to go.  You understand—­at once!  Call the doctor.  Don’t come near the bed,” he went on excitedly, struggling to keep himself from sinking back upon the pillows.  His breath was coming quick; his eyes were flashing.  All the poor, shattered senses were aroused and quivering with excitement and dread.

“It will kill you to stay here,” he continued, almost breathless.  “Out of this room!” he commanded.  “Out of this house!  It is mine now; I’m the master here—­do you understand?  Don’t!” he exclaimed as Lloyd put her hands upon his shoulders to force him to lie down again.

“Don’t, don’t touch me!  Stand away from me!”

He tried to draw back from her in the bed.  Then suddenly he made a great effort to rise, resisting her efforts.

“I shall put you out, then,” he declared, struggling against Lloyd’s clasp upon his shoulders, catching at her wrists.  His excitement was so intense, his fervour so great that it could almost be said he touched the edge of his delirium again.

“Do you hear, do you hear?  Out of this room!”

“No,” said Lloyd calmly; “you must be quiet; you must try to go to sleep.  This time you cannot make me leave.”

He caught her by one arm, and, bracing himself with the other against the headboard of the bed, thrust her back from him with all his might.

“Keep away from me, I tell you; keep back!  You shall do as I say!  I have always carried my point, and I shall not fail now.  Believe me, I shall not.  You—­you—­” he panted as he struggled with her, ashamed of his weakness, humiliated beyond words that she should know it.  “I—­you shall—­you will compel me to use force.  Don’t let it come to that.”

Calmly Lloyd took both his wrists in the strong, quiet clasp of one palm, and while she supported his shoulders with her other arm, laid him down among the pillows again as though he had been a child.

“I’m—­I’m a bit weak and trembly just now,” he admitted, panting with his exertion; “but, Lloyd, listen.  I know how you must dislike me now, but will you please go—­go, go at once!”

“No.”

What a strange spinning of the wheel of fate was here!  In so short a time had their mutual positions been reversed.  Now it was she who was strong and he who was weak.  It was she who conquered and he who was subdued.  It was she who triumphed and he who was humiliated.  It was he who implored and she who denied.  It was her will and no longer his that must issue victorious from the struggle.