"Good-bye," he said, gently loosening himself from her hold.
Her hands dropped and she turned half round, following him as he went towards the door. His hand was almost on the latch. He did not turn. But as he heard her swift feet behind him, he bent his head a little. Her arms went round his throat, reaching up to his great height.
"No! No!" she cried, drawing his head down to her.
But he took her by the wrists and held her away from him at his arms' length.
"Are you in earnest?" he asked fiercely. "If you play with me any more, you shall die, too."
"But not to-day!" she answered imploringly. "Not to-night! Give me time—a day—a little while—"
"To lose you? No. I have been near losing you. I know what it means. Make up your mind. Yes, or no."
"To-night? But how? There is not time—these clothes I wear—"
She turned her head distractedly to one side and the other as she spoke, while he held her wrists. Dalrymple saw that there was reason in the objections she made. So dangerous a flight could not be undertaken without some preparation. He loosed her hands and began to pace the room, concentrating his mind upon the details. She watched him in silence, leaning against the back of the easy-chair. Then he stopped just before her.
"My cloak would come down to your feet," he said, measuring her height with his eyes. "I have a plaid which would cover your head. Once on horseback, no one would notice anything. Can you ride?"