Persistently, perversely, Bennett stopped his ears to every consideration, to every argument.  She wished to hazard her life.  That was all he understood.

“No, Lloyd,” he answered, “you must not do it.”

“—­and I want to love you,” she went on, as though she had not heard.  “I want you to be everything to me.  I have trusted you so long—­had faith in you so long, I don’t want to think of you as the man who failed me when I most needed his help, who made me do the thing that was contemptible and unworthy.  Believe me,” she went on with sudden energy, “you will kill my love for you if you persist.”

But before Bennett could answer there was a cry.

“It is the servant,” exclaimed Lloyd quickly.  “She has been watching—­there in the room with him.”

“Nurse—­Miss Searight,” came the cry, “quick—­there is something wrong—­I don’t know—­oh, hurry!”

“Do you hear?” cried Lloyd.  “It is the crisis—­he may be dying.  Oh, Ward, it is the man you love!  We can save him.”  She stamped her foot in the frenzy of her emotion, her hands twisting together.  “I will go.  I forbid you to keep—­to hinder—­to—­to, oh, what is to become of us?  If you love me, if you love him—­Ward, will you let me go?”

Bennett put his hands over his ears, his eyes closed.  In the horror of that moment, when he realised that no matter how he might desire it he could not waver in his resolution, it seemed to him that his reason must give way.  But he set his back to the door, his hand gripped tight upon the knob, and through his set teeth his answer came as before: 

“No.”

“Nurse—­Miss Searight, where are you?  Hurry, oh, hurry!”

“Will you let me go?”

“No.”

Lloyd caught at his hand, shut so desperately upon the knob, striving to loosen his clasp.  She hardly knew what she was doing; she threw her arms about his neck, imploring, commanding, now submissive, now imperious, her voice now vibrating with anger, now trembling with passionate entreaty.

“You are not only killing him, you are killing my love for you; will you let me go—­the love that is so dear to me?  Let me love you, Ward; listen to me; don’t make me hate you; let me love you, dear—­”

“Hurry, oh, hurry!”

“Let me love you; let him live.  I want to love you.  It’s the best happiness in my life.  Let me be happy.  Can’t you see what this moment is to mean for us?  It is our happiness or wretchedness forever.  Will you let me go?”

“No.”

“For the last time, Ward, listen!  It is my love for you and his life.  Don’t crush us both—­yes, and yourself.  You who can, who are so powerful, don’t trample all our happiness under foot.”

“Hurry, hurry; oh, will nobody come to help?”

“Will you let me go?”

“No.”