“I have come to tell you the whole story, from your wedding to the present moment. Nothing is to be hidden from you, my dear Miss Garrison. You may not now consider us your friends, but some day you will look back and be thankful we took such desperate, dangerous means to protect you,” said Lady Saxondale, coming to the window. Dorothy's eyes were upon the outside world and they were dark and rebellious. The older woman complacently stationed herself beside the girl and for a few moments neither spoke.
“I am ready to hear what you have to say,” came at last from Miss Garrison.
“It is not necessary to inform you that you were abducted—”
“Not in the least! The memory of the past two days is vivid enough,” said Miss Garrison, with cutting irony in her voice.
“But it may interest you to know the names of your abductors,” said the other, calmly.
“I could not miss them far in guessing, Lady Saxondale.”
“It was necessary for some one to deliver you from the villain you were to marry, by the most effective process. There is but one person in all this world who cares enough for you to undertake the stupendous risk your abduction incurred. You need not be told his name.”
“You mean,” said Dorothy, scarcely above a whisper, “that Philip Quentin planned and executed this crime?”
Lady Saxondale nodded.
“And I am his prisoner?” breathlessly. “You are under his protection; that is all.”