Silly Chris had tears in her eyes at the thought. She brushed them away hastily as Mr. Bradfield came hurriedly back. He looked excited, and there was a confident look on his face, which showed his belief that he could convert her to his own views of the madman.
“Come,” said he. “Come this way, through the front gate.”
Rather surprised, and wondering where he was going to lead her to, Chris followed Mr. Bradfield, not along the paths among the trees, but by a more open one, which passed nearer to the walls of the house, between two flower-borders. They turned the corner of the house, and as they did so, Mr. Bradfield looked up at the first-floor windows on the south side.
Mr. Richard was standing at one of them, with his face close to the glass, looking out.
“Mind,” said Mr. Bradfield, as he put one hand as if for protection on her shoulder, “when he sees you he will fall into a paroxysm of fury. But don’t be frightened; I’ll take care you come to no harm.”
The words were scarcely out of his mouth when Mr. Richard glanced down and saw the young lady with Mr. Bradfield. Just as the latter had predicted, Mr. Richard’s face changed in a moment from its quiet melancholy to an expression like that of an enraged wild animal. Before she had time either to run forward or backward, she heard the crash of glass above her, and a heavy glass goblet was flung down on to the ground beside her, narrowly missing her head. Then she heard a wild, unearthly cry, followed by a torrent of discordant utterances impossible to understand, except as the mad gibberings of a hopeless lunatic.
With a little scream she escaped from Mr. Bradfield, who had thrown his arm round her, and ran back towards the gate by which she had entered the enclosure.