He moved away, but before he had gone two steps she was at his side, her hand on his arm, her face turned appealingly to him.
"No, you must not! Mr. Durham, I ask you. Don't go. You may be throwing your life away. They may come back. Don't leave me alone in the place. Don't, please don't. For my sake, for my sake, stay till it is light."
Gently he took her hand in his and lifted it from his arm.
"You who have been so brave to-night, would not have me show cowardice," he said softly. "These scoundrels must not remain at large a moment longer than we can help. There is more now at stake than the bank's money—I shall not rest till they are captured, for only then shall I feel you are safe."
"But you must not go now."
Her disengaged hand was laid gently, caressingly, on his shoulders; her face, showing white amid the tumbled mass of her tresses, was close to his, so close he could feel the faint fanning of her breath and catch the subtle perfume from her hair. The fingers of the hand he held gripped his in a clinging, lingering clasp; the hand on his shoulder pressed firmer; she leaned against him.
"You must not go—you must not—for my sake," she murmured.
The head drooped till the tumbled tresses met the caressing hand; one pale cheek was so close to his he had but to bend his head to touch it with his lips. His arm slipped round her, drawing her soft, yielding form yet closer to him, and over him there swept a wave of emotion which in another moment had carried him away upon its crest, away from duty, away from the prosaic material world, away from everything but the woman he held.
"You must not say that," he said hoarsely. "You must not. You are the last who should try to turn me from my duty."
"Oh, but I cannot—I cannot let you go—it may be to your death. Wait till day comes," she answered. "There are horses in the paddock. Patsy can fetch you one. If you go now you will only wander aimlessly in the dark while they may turn upon you, if they do not get farther and farther away. Stay till the dawn."