"I shall run back through the shrubbery," she whispered.
"I shall wait."
"Yes, wait. When I get in, I will show you a light from my window. A good-night light, Dale."
She sped away down a side-path, and Dale leaned against a tree, in the moonlight, fixing his lovelorn eyes on the window.
As Janet turned down her path, she rushed, in her rapid flight, against a man who stood there in lurking.
Dale's side was to him, but he was watching Dale, with a sneering smile on his lips. When she saw him, she started back. In a moment he seized her shoulder with one hand, and pressed a pistol to her head.
"If you make a sound, I'll kill you," he hissed. "Don't stir—don't scream."
She was paralyzed with surprise and fright. It was Roberts, and—what did he mean?
He pushed her slowly before him, the revolver still at her head, till they reached the drive. Dale's eyes were set on his mistress' window, and their feet made no noise on the grass-edges of the drive. Roberts gave a low laugh, and whispered in her ear.