But as he opened it, Mordaunt spoke. "I will see you again in the morning."
"Is it necessary?" Bertrand said.
"I desire it." Mordaunt spoke with authority.
Bertrand turned and made him a brief, punctilious bow. "That is enough," he said, and left the room martially, his head in the air.
CHAPTER V
A DESPERATE REMEDY
The clock on the mantelpiece struck two, and Mordaunt rose from his chair to close the window. The night was very still and dark. He stood for a few moments breathing the moist air. From somewhere away in the distance there came the weird cry of an owl—the only sound in a waste of silence. He leaned his head against the window-sash with a sensation of physical sickness. His heart was heavy as lead.
"Trevor!"
It was no more than a whisper, but he heard it. He turned. "Chris!"
She stood before him, her white draperies caught together with one hand, her hair flowing in wide ripples all about her, her eyes anxiously raised to his.