“Please, sir, they are becoming very angry, and say they will break down the gates in the name of the law,” said the servant, reentering hurriedly.
“I will go out and talk to them about the law,” said Saxondale, grimly. “Don't be alarmed, Miss Garrison. We'll take care of you. Gad, you look as if you want to faint! Get her upstairs, Frances.”
“I must speak with you, Lord Saxondale,” cried Dorothy, clutching his arm and drawing him apart from the pale-faced group. Eagerly she whispered in his ear, stamping her foot in reply to his blank objections. In the end she grasped both his shoulders and looked up into his astonished eyes determinedly, holding him firmly until he nodded his head gravely. Then she ran across the room to the two ladies and the bewildered priest, crying to the latter:
“You must come upstairs and out of danger, Father. We have no time to lose. Good luck to you, Lord Saxondale!” and she turned an excited face to the three men who stood near the door.
“He shall not have you, Dorothy,” cried Quentin. “He must kill me first.”
“Trust to Lord Saxondale's diplomacy, Phil,” she said, softly, as she passed him on her way to the stairs.
XXXI. HER WAY
The grim smile that settled on the faces of the three men after the women and the trembling priest had passed from the hall, was not one of amusement. It was the offspring of a desperate, uneasy courage.
“Quentin, the safety of those women upstairs depends on your thoughtfulness. You must leave this affair to me. We can't keep them waiting any longer. Gad, they will tear down the historic gate I had so much difficulty in building last year. Wait for me here. I go to meet the foe.”