“Hist!” whispered Scarlett. “They do not know I’m here. Open the door. It will be best.”
As soon as he had spoken, he ran toward the great bedstead, but came back and whispered quickly—
“Open, dear mother, and try to invent some plan to get them all away from this room. Then I can easily escape. Quick. Open.”
He darted to the bedstead, and drew one of the head curtains round him; while driven, as it were, to obey the stronger will of her son, urged, too, by his words about escape, Lady Markham went to the door, opened it, and Mistress Forrester stepped in, to pause for a moment, then, forgetful of everything but their old friendship in the happy days, she threw her arms about the trembling woman, and kissed her passionately.
“I have come to fetch you and dear Lilian,” she said, “at my son’s wish. He has obtained permission from the general, and horses are waiting. You are to come at once.”
“Come—leave my husband’s house?”
“Hush! do not oppose the plan,” said Mistress Forrester, gently. “This is no longer a place for you. Perhaps for some time to come it may be the retreat of rough soldiery. My home is so near, and you will beat peace.”
“I cannot leave my husband’s home,” said Lady Markham, firmly.
“You must,” said her visitor. “It is for Lilian’s sake as well as your own.”
For Lilian’s sake? Yes, and it was for Scarlett’s sake. For what had he said? Get them away from this room, and he could escape. How or when she had no idea. All she knew was that he had said decidedly that he could, and she must believe him.