“But she's had an hour's start of us.”
“Where ees she coming to?” asked the count, with an anxious glance upward just in time to catch a skirmishing raindrop with his eye.
“That's just it. We don't know,” said the duke.
“But I must find her,” cried Lord Cecil. “Think of that poor girl alone in this terrible place, storm coming up and all that. Hi, Penelope!” he shouted in his most vociferous treble. The shrieking wind replied. Then the three of them shouted her name. “Gad, she may be lost or dead or—Come on, Barminster. We must scour the whole demmed valley.”
They were off again, moving more cautiously while the duke threw the light from his lamp into the leafy shadows beside the roadway. The wind was blowing savagely down the slope and the raindrops were beginning to beat in their faces with ominous persistency. Some delay was caused by an accident to the rear-guard. A mighty gust of wind blew the count's hat far back over the travelled road. He was so much nearer Bazelhurst Villa when they found it that he would have kept on in that direction for the sake of his warm bed had not his companions talked so scornfully about cowardice.
“He's like a wildcat to-night,” said the duke in an aside to the little Frenchman, referring to his lordship. “Demme, I 'd rather not cross him. You seem to forget that his sister is out in all this fury.”
“Mon Dieu, but I do not forget. I would gif half my life to hold her in my arms thees eenstan'.”
Dem you, sir, I'd give her the other half if you dared try such a thing. We did n't fetch you along to hold her. You've got to hold the horses, that's all.
“Diable! How dare you to speak to—”
“What are you two rowing about?” demanded his lordship. “Come along! We're losing time. Sit on your hat, Deveaux.” Away they swept, Penelope's two admirers wrathfully barking at one another about satisfaction at some future hour.