“Don’t leave this house to-night.”
“I can’t protect myself in it.”
“Don’t leave this house––most of all, with that man!” He pointed at de Spain with a frenzy of hatred. Without answering, the two were retreating into the semidarkness of the dining-room. “Nan,” came her uncle’s voice, hoarse with feeling, “you’re saying good-by to me forever.”
“No, uncle,” she cried. “I am only doing what I have to do.”
“I tell you I don’t want to drive you from this roof, girl.”
A rush of wind from an opening door was the only answer from the dark dining-room. The two Morgans started forward together. The sudden gust sucked the flame of the living-room lamp up into the chimney and after a brief, sharp struggle extinguished it. In the confusion it was a moment before a match could be found. When the lamp was relighted the Morgans ran into the dining-room. The wind and rain poured in through the open north door. But the room was empty.
Duke turned on his nephew with a choking curse. “This,” he cried, beside himself with fury, “is your work!”