“And to what shelter? Poor Diana!”
Her smile took something of the divine, maternal pity which lurks in every good woman’s heart for the man she loves.
“But a stone’s throw from this place, my dear lord,—her Majesty’s House of the Blue Nuns will not refuse to open its doors to me,—as, indeed, I should have minded me sooner.”
She rose, and moved steadily toward the door, striving to seem as though she had no fear of his arresting her. But before she had time to raise the latch, his clasp of iron was on her wrist.
A cry rising from the street drove them apart like a sword:—
“Father—father!”
They looked at each other with starting eyes, blanched cheeks. Then the cry rose again:—
“My lord,—my Lord Rockhurst!—father, are you within?”
The colour rushed back to Diana’s face; a flame of joy leaped to her eye.
“This is no spirit-call, but good human sound. Harry, honest Harry here!—Ah, my lord, in time to save us!”