With another glance at the shifting tide, she added seriously:  “And every silly Oriental of them all is free to go where he pleases—­to do what he pleases.  I would give everything for freedom, and they have it—­and don’t value it!”

Then she saw the hard strain of his face.  Slowly her own eyes lost the glow of pleasurable interest and saddened with the realization of being barred back from life.

The man bent forward.  His fingers tightened on the edge of the table with a clutch which drove the blood back under his nails.  It was a hard fight to retain his self-control.  His question broke from him in a low, almost savage voice.

“Cara!” he demanded.  “Cara, is there any price too high to pay for happiness?”

“What do you mean?” The intensity of his eyes held hers, and for a moment she feared for his reason.  Her own question was low and steadying, but he answered in an unnatural voice.

“I hardly know—­perhaps I have less right to speak now than ever—­perhaps more.  I don’t know, I only know that I love you—­and that the world seems reeling.”

Something caught in his throat.

“I’m a cur to talk of it now.  I want to think of—­of—­something else.  I ought to think only what a splendid sort he was—­but I can realize only one thing—­I love you.”

“Only one thing,” she repeated softly.  Then as she looked again into the feverishly bright eyes under his scowl, the meaning which lay back of his words broke suddenly upon her.

“Was!” she echoed in startled comprehension. “Was!—­did you say was?”

The man remained silent.

“You mean that—?” she said the three words very slowly and stopped, unable to go on.

“You mean—­that—­he—?” With a strong effort she added the one word, then gave up the effort to shape the question.  Her hand closed convulsively.

Benton slowly nodded his head.  The girl leaned forward toward him.  Her lips parted, her eyes widened.

The next instant they were misty with tears.  Not hypocritical tears for an unloved husband, but sincere tears for a generous friend.

“Delgado escaped,” he explained simply.  “Karyl was captured.”  Again he spoke in few words.  It seemed that he could not manage long sentences.  “Then he tried to escape,” he added.

She pressed her fingers to her temples, and leaned forward, speaking rapidly in a half-whisper that sometimes broke.

“Oh, it’s not fair!  It’s not fair!  I want to think only how splendid he was—­how unselfish—­how brave!  I want to think of him always as he deserves, lovingly, fondly—­and I’ve got to remember forever how little I could give him in return!”

“Yes, I guess he was the whitest man—­” Benton stopped, then blurted out like a boy.  “Oh, what’s the use of my sitting here eulogizing him.  I guess he doesn’t need my praises.  I guess he can stand on his own record.”