Recognising the step, or guessing whose it was, Audrey raised her head, and uttered, in a hoarse whisper, the one word: “Gerard!”
Lord Clanfield looked angrily, uneasily at the door, the window and at Audrey. Then, crossing the floor quickly towards the French window, he pushed it wide open, inviting her by a gesture to go out.
She threw at him one imploring look, saw that he was unyielding, and summoning all her self-control, made one tottering step towards the open window.
But her docility came too late. Before she had reached the window the door opened, and Gerard, leaning on a stick, appeared in the doorway.
“Uncle, may I come in?”
But the words had scarcely passed his lips when he saw who it was that was cowering between him and the viscount, and throwing down his stick, he crossed the intervening space at one bound, and flinging himself into his wife’s arms, clung to her, his face, his voice full of a passionate joy.
“Audrey! Audrey! And I thought you were dead! Oh, thank God, thank God!”
For a few moments there was not a word more spoken. Audrey did indeed try to articulate, but the words stuck in her throat; she could utter nothing more coherent than low moans indicative of emotions which indeed were deeper and more painful than she could well express.
In the meantime Lord Clanfield stood motionless beside the open French window, and the first thing that Audrey said was to him.
“Lord Clanfield,” she cried, when she had suddenly caught a glimpse of his face, and read that there was no softening there, “I—I want to speak to you. I want you to hear what I have to tell Gerard. You know that it’s true, and he wouldn’t believe me if you were not here to support what I’m going to say.”