There came another deafening crash. The glare filled the room with a brilliant, greenish hue. Ranjab was standing at the window, holding the curtains apart while he peered upward across the space that separated them from the apartment building beyond the court.
“Take me home, Frederic!” cried Lydia frantically. She ran toward the door.
“Let me telephone to your mother, Lyddy,” he cried, hurrying after her into the hall.
“No! no! no!” she gasped as she ran. “Don't come with me if you——”
“I will come!” he exclaimed, as they raced down the stairs. “Don't be frightened, darling. It's all right. Listen to me! Mrs Desmond is as safe as———”
“Oh, Freddy, Freddy!” she wailed, breaking under a strain that he was not by way of comprehending. “Oh, Freddy dear!” Her nerves gave way. She was sobbing convulsively when they came to the lower hall.
In great distress he clasped her in his arms, mumbling incoherent words of love, encouragement—even ridicule for the fear she betrayed. Far from his mind was the real cause of her unhappy plight.
He held her close to his breast, and there she sobbed and trembled as with a mighty, racking chill. Her fingers clutched his arm with the grip of one who clings to the edge of a precipice with death below. Her face was buried against his shoulder.
“There! There!” he murmured, appalled by this wild display of fear. “Don't worry, darling. Everything is all right. Oh, you dear, dear girlie! Please, please! My little Lyddy!”
“Take me home, Freddy—take me home,” she whispered brokenly. “I cannot stay here another second. Come, dearest—come home with me.”