"Suppose I were to take you away?" he asked.
Hope shone out in her face again.
"Ask of me anything you will," she cried. "Anything but this."
She had forgotten everything in the supreme horror of the hideous hole in which she had found herself.
That morning when she had left Lynton Hora's abode she had thought she had been incapable of further suffering. She had gone out into the park and sat there hour after hour, conscious at first only of the one fact that Guy was lost to her forever. She had told herself that she would never return to Lynton Hora's roof to face his sneers. He had always hated her. She had no doubt that he was aware all the time that Guy would never marry her, and that he had only bidden her try to win his love that she might be humiliated by its rejection. Perhaps he had lied to her about her mother and her home, merely that she might not be tempted to escape from him. The sound of the word mother appealed strongly to her in her dazed condition. Her mother could not be worse than Hora. She had the address. One day she had copied it down carefully. The slip of paper was still in her purse.
She had found her way thither with difficulty. Not until she had lost herself amongst the streets in the neighbourhood of Fancy Lane did she begin to regain her senses. Then the words of coarse abuse from the doors of public houses, the shrill voices of women from open doors, made her wish for flight. Darkness had fallen on the face of the town by that time, and she became aware that she was nearly exhausted. Then a child had led her to Fancy Lane, and another youngster, for the gift of a sixpence, had acted as guide to her destination. Everybody in Fancy Lane knew "Ma" Norton.
The bully on his way to his favourite drinking shop had seen her passing along the street. A flash of the stones set in the bracelet she still wore on her wrist—the bracelet Guy had given her—attracted his attention. He had changed his purpose and followed her.
Myra had known that Hora had spoken only too truly the moment she entered the den, where Mrs. Norton was soaking herself to death in alcohol. The old woman had been just too tipsy to comprehend who her visitor was. Myra had soon given up the task of trying to explain. She had found a lamp, and, after lighting it, had shuddered with disgust at the filthy surroundings revealed by the light. She could not stop there. She had risen to leave, but found the exit blocked by the burly figure of Bully Hagan.
He had heard her attempts to make Mrs. Norton understand who she was. This was "Ma's" lady daughter. He foresaw profit in the fact. When his eyes rested on Myra's perfect figure silhouetted against the lamp she had lighted, another thought entered into his brain. He did not at first disclose his thought. Myra thought he was merely intent upon plunder. When she understood, she realised how the Sabine women must have felt; she experienced the emotions of the women of a Balkan village when an Albanian regiment was let loose upon it.
For an hour Myra had kept him at bay, her faculties racked to the utmost. Then Lynton Hora had come on the scene, and she had appealed to him.