They both looked westward. In this direction, the direction of East Angels, the path's course was straight for a long distance; the wood had grown dimmer in the slowly fading light, and the figure they now saw at the far end of this vista, coming towards them, was not yet clearly outlined; yet they both recognized it.
"Dr. Kirby!" whispered Garda. "He knows—he is coming after me. He would never be here at this hour unless it were for that." She seized Margaret's hands. "Oh, what shall I do? It isn't for myself I care, but he mustn't meet Lucian."
"Come into the woods. This way." And Margaret hurried her from the path, in among the trees on the south side of it.
But Garda stopped. "No—that leaves him to meet Lucian. And he mustn't meet Lucian. He mustn't meet Lucian."
From the point in the forest to which Margaret had brought her, the southern end of Madam Giron's house was in sight. At this instant Lucian himself appeared; he opened the door, walked across the piazza, and stood there looking about him.
The sight of him doubled Garda's terror. "I must go and warn him," she said; "there's time."
"What is it you are so afraid of?" Margaret asked.
"The Doctor will shoot him."
"Nonsense! The Doctor won't do anything of the sort." The idea struck the northern woman as childish.
"That only shows how little you know him," responded Garda, still in a whisper. "He thinks, of course, that Lucian has been to blame."