“Do not be alarmed, gentlemen,” said Saxondale. “The door shall be opened in good time. Ah, I think the ladies are coming.”
As he spoke Dorothy and Lady Saxondale appeared at the top of the stairs. Ugo would have dashed up to meet them had not the two Americans blocked the way. Slowly Dorothy came down the oaken steps, followed by Lady Saxondale. Lady Jane and Father Bivot were not far behind them.
“Dorothy!” cried Ugo. “Thank heaven, I have found you!”
She stopped on the bottom step, within arm's length of Philip Quentin. There was a moment of indecision, a vivid flush leaped into her lovely cheek, and then her hand went quickly forth and rested on Quentin's shoulder. He started and looked at her for the first time.
“I am sorry, Ugo, for the wrong I have done you,” she said, steadily, but her hand trembled convulsively on Phil's shoulder. Mechanically he reached up and took the slim fingers in his broad, strong hand and rose to the step beside her.
“The wrong?” murmured the prince, mechanically.
“In running away from you as I did,” she said, hurriedly, as if doubting her power to proceed. “It was heartless of me, and it subjected you to the crudest pain and humiliation. I cannot ask you to forgive me. You should despise me.”
“Despise you?” he gasped, slowly. The truth began to dawn on two men at the same time. Ugo's heart sank like a stone and Quentin's leaped as if stung by an electric shock. His figure straightened, his chin was lifted, and the blood surged from all parts of his body to his turbulent heart.
“I loved him, Prince Ravorelli, better than all the world. It was a shameless way to leave you, but it was the only way,” she said, her voice full. Then she lifted her eyes to Quentin's and for the moment all else was forgotten.
“My God, you—you did not leave Brussels of your own free will!” cried the prince, his eyes blazing, Sallaconi and Laselli moved toward the door, and the police officer's face was a study.