An instant later, David was dashing up the stairs, three steps at a time. She had started down. He met her at the bend.
"Not just now, dearest," he cried. "Wait! He wants to see your mother first."
She clutched the rail, putting one hand out as if to ward him off. The dread in her eyes went straight to his heart. Her lips were stiff, her voice was low with anxiety.
"Is—is she safe, David,—is he himself? Oh, I must go down there. I know I can reason—"
He stopped her gently. "Please, Christine," he commanded. She suddenly put her hands to his face, and looked into his eyes.
"If anything were to happen to her," she whispered in agony, "I would—"
"She is perfectly safe," he broke in. "Your father will not mistreat her." He clasped her hands and held them to his breast. "My poor darling!"
Her head dropped, her lip quivered. Then she quietly withdrew her hands and sank to a sitting posture on the step, leaning her head wearily against the banister.
Ruby Noakes, a discarded wet towel in her hand, came into the hallway above them. She saw them, hesitated for a moment, and then quietly returned to Christine's bed-chamber.
David dropped to his sweetheart's side. His arm fell about her shoulders. She did not offer to remove it, but sat listless, unresponsive, her eyes lifted to a narrow window beyond which the hot sky gleamed.