He had not moved. He was not watching her. He sat as one sunk deep in
dejection, bowed beneath a burden that crushed him to the earth. But
there was even in his abasement a certain terrible patience that sent an
icy misgiving to her heart. She did not dare to leave him so.

It needed all the strength she could muster to approach him, but she
compelled herself at last. She came to him. She stood before him.

"Captain Monck!" she said.

Her voice sounded small and frightened even in her own ears. She
clenched her hands with the effort to be strong.

He scarcely stirred. His eyes remained downcast. He spoke no word.

She bent a little. "Captain Monck, if you have fever, you had better go
to bed."

He moved slightly, influenced possibly by the increasing steadiness of
her voice. But still he did not look at her or speak.

She saw that his hold upon the revolver had tightened to a grip, and,
prompted by an inner warning that she could not pause to question, she
bent lower and laid her hand upon his arm. "Please give that to me!" she
said.

He started at her touch; he almost recoiled. "Why?" he said.

His voice was harsh and strained, even savage. But the needed strength
had come to Stella, and she did not flinch.