If he had only known he would have fallen on his knees and prayed for the protection of his guardian angel until the red dawn broke through the dread shadows of the fatal night.
The rapid scratching of the pen, the sharp peremptory tick of the clock, and suddenly a distinct knock at the door. Sir Rupert raised his head with an expectant look on his face.
"Come in!"
A woman entered, tall and stately, arrayed in sombre garments; she entered slowly, with a faltering step, and paused in the shadow before the desk. Sir Rupert, his eyes dazzled by the glare of the lamp, could see her face but indistinctly in the semi-twilight, and only heard her short hurried breathing, which betokened great agitation.
"Mrs. Belswin, is it not?"
The woman placed one hand on her throat, as if striving to keep down an attack of hysteria, and answered in a low, choked voice--
"Yes!"
"I beg your pardon, I did not hear what you said, madam."
"I--I am Mrs. Belswin."
Sir Rupert started, and passed his hand across his face with a confused sense of memory, but, dismissing the sudden flash of thought, he arose to his feet, and pointed politely to a chair.