His voice broke into a kind of sob, and he strode toward the door.
As he did so, as, half-blind with misery, he fumbled at the handle, the door opened from the outside, and a tall figure stood on the threshold.
It was Lady Eleanor Dallas! She was wrapped in a very dark cloak, dripping wet, above which her beautiful face gleamed white as that of a Grecian statue.
She held the door, and leaned against it to support herself, and the hand she raised, as if to stop him, shook and quivered as if with ague.
"Stop, Yorke!" she moaned, rather than said.
CHAPTER XLII.
LOVE AND PRIDE.
"Eleanor!" he said hoarsely.
She looked at him as if she found it impossible to speak for a moment; then she drew herself upright, and pushed the wet hair from her forehead.