But Anne never stirred.
He laid a very humble hand upon her arm. "Let me take you downstairs," he urged gently. "There's a friend there waiting for your ladyship—a friend as will understand."
"A—friend?" She turned her head stiffly, her eyes still striving to remain fixed upon that mighty, inert form.
"Yes, my lady. He only came a few minutes back. He is waiting in the drawing-room. It was Sir Giles he asked to see, said it was very particular. It was West here took the message to Sir Giles, and I think it was that as made him come up here so mad like. I came after him as soon as I heard. But the gentleman is still waiting, my lady. Will you see him and—explain?"
"Who is the gentleman?" Anne heard the question, but not as if she herself had uttered it. The voice that spoke seemed to come from an immense distance.
And from equally far seemed to come Dimsdale's answer, though it reached and pierced her understanding in an instant.
"It's Mr. Errol, my lady,—the crippled one. Mr. Lucas, I think his name is."
Anne turned then as sharply as though a voice had called her.
"Lucas Errol! Is he here? Ah, take me to him! Take me to him!"
And the old butler led her thankfully from the scene.