Letitia stood up, her cheeks ghastly pale. She, too, was struggling now for composure.
"Really," she exclaimed, "this is an evening full of incidents.—Don't touch me," she added. "I shall be all right directly."
For a single moment he knew that she had nearly fainted. She caught at the side of the wall. Then they heard a cry from outside. A spark flew past the window. A hoarse voice from somewhere below shouted "Fire!" And then something more alarming still. All down the corridor, doors were thrown open. There was the sound of eager voices—finally a loud knocking at the door which they were guarding. Letitia shrugged her shoulders.
"This," she murmured, "is fate."
She opened the door. There was a little confused group outside. The Marquis, fully dressed, stood with his eyes fixed upon Thain at first in blank astonishment,—afterwards as one who looks upon some horrible thing. Grantham in a dressing gown, took a quick step forward.
"My God, it's Thain!" he exclaimed. "What in hell's name—?"
Letitia turned towards her father.
"Father," she began—
The Marquis made no movement, yet she was suddenly aware of something in his expression, something which shone more dimly in the face of her aunt, which throbbed in Grantham's incoherent words. Her brave little speech died away. She staggered. The Marquis still made no movement. It was David who caught her in his arms and carried her to the couch. He turned and faced them. In the background, Sylvia was clinging to Grantham's arm.
"You gibbering fools!" he cried. "What if an accursed chance has brought me here! Isn't she Lady Letitia, your daughter, Marquis? Isn't she your betrothed, Grantham? Your niece, Duchess? Do you think that anything but the rankest and most accursed accident could ever have brought me within reach even of her fingers?"