“Come—sister,” whispered Isabel, and she bent down and pressed her lips to the forehead so near her.
Marion’s colour flushed to her temples, and she looked up wildly and flung her arms about Isabel’s neck, kissing her passionately.
“Yes,” she said. “I will come.”
There was a tap at the door, and Chester hurried across the room to prevent the maid from entering.
“Yes,” he said excitedly; “what is it?”
“If you please, sir, it is the police; two of them, and they say they must see you directly.”
“Great heavens!” cried Chester, wildly, as he turned and gazed at where Marion had started to her feet and stood pale and ghastly, for she had heard the words. “Too late—too late! Yes; I know. Marion, that hound! that fiend! He is taken, and in his cowardly revenge he has sent them here.”
In the full belief that the police would be coming up to the room, Chester ran to the door.
“Where are they?” he whispered sharply to the maid, who was wondering at the undue excitement displayed.
“In the hall, sir.”