She stopped abruptly, and both she and Stafford stared at the two men who were standing confronting each other. Sir Stephen was as white as a ghost, and there was a look of absolute terror in his dark eyes. On the face of the other man was an enigmatical smile, which was more bitter than a sneer.
"You are all right?" said Stafford; "but I am afraid you were very much frightened!"
The girl turned to him. "You!" she said, recognising him. "Did you stop them?"
"Yes; it was easy: they had had almost enough," he said.
While they were speaking, the two elder men drew apart as if instinctively.
"You, Falconer?" murmured Sir Stephen, with ashy lips.
"Yes," assented the other, drily; "yes, I am here right enough. Which is it to be—friend or foe?"
Sir Stephen stood gnawing his lip for a moment, then he turned to
Stafford.
"Stafford, this—most extraordinary—this is an old friend of mine.
Falconer, this is my boy, my son Stafford!"