“You had better let me in,” he said with authority. “You know who I am—Mr Bayre’s nephew. I have just been witness to an assault made upon him by Pierre Vazon, who would have killed him but for my interference.”
Whether the woman would have dared to let him in, torn as she evidently was between fear of offending her master and terror of the Vazons, Bayre did not know. But at that moment Olwen, who evidently knew something of the business already, came running into the hall, and held the door wide for him to enter.
“Thank heaven you were still here!” she whispered hoarsely. “You’ve saved his life, and he knows it.”
The servant had disappeared, leaving the two young people alone.
“How is he? Shall I go across for a doctor?” asked Bayre.
She shook her head.
“He won’t allow it. I’ve just asked him. He’s very weak, but he’s so determined, so obstinate, that I think his spirit will pull him through. Wait here. He shall see you before you go.”
But Bayre had already made up his mind that he would not leave the house until he had seen the second member of the Vazon family turned out of it; as he well knew that, though Marie might not be as brutal as her father, she could only remain as a traitor in the camp, and her presence, as a connection of a would-be murderer, could not be tolerated there any longer.
“I don’t mean to go,” said he, “until I have seen Vazon’s daughter as well as himself not only out of the house but off the island. You might tell the young woman so, and perhaps she will take herself off at once and save trouble.”
It is more than probable that Marie Vazon, who had already heard from her master something of what had happened, was listening outside the door as the young man spoke. However that may be, when Olwen left the room with the intention of giving her notice to go, Marie was nowhere to be seen. Olwen found her uncle lying on the sofa in the ground-floor room he usually occupied in the day time, the room where he had had the memorable interview with his nephew and Monsieur Blaise.