Her face was without colour, drawn, dazed.

With her from the interior came a reek of chloroform.
She had been the girl in there! Bryant had guessed it, feared it.

He ran forward and put an arm about her shoulders and led her to the tin oil canister on which he urged her to be seated.
"No, I won't faint," she said, weakly.

He knelt beside her and supported her form.

"I just feel dizzy and a little sick," she went on.