"What the deuce are they waiting for?" Harry growled, after one
of their visits with food and water. "Why don't they end it?"
"Most likely because a well man can appreciate torture better
than a sick one," I answered, not having seen fit to speak of it
before. "You may be sure we'll get all that's coming to us."
"But what will they do?"
"Heaven knows. They are capable of anything. We'll get the
worst."
There was a silence; then Harry said slowly, hesitating:
"Paul--do you think--Desiree--"
"I don't think--I dare not think about her," I interrupted. "And
it is our fault; we failed her. I should have put her beyond
their reach, as I promised. I have reproached myself bitterly,
Hal; you need add nothing."
"Do you think I would? Only--there is something else. About
what she said to you. I knew that, you know."
I was silent; he continued:
"I knew it long ago. Do you think I am blind? And I want to say
this while I have a chance--it was uncommon good of you. To take
it the way you did, I mean."
His simplicity made me uncomfortable, and I made no answer.
Indeed, the thing was beyond discussion; it was merely a bare
fact which, when once stated, left nothing to be said.
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