“No, no! You must go. Oh, what shall I do? I am lost—undone.”
“Hush, little woman! Be calm,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “I don’t know much about this house. Here, I will go downstairs.”
“But you cannot; the footman will see you.”
“Then, curse it all, hide me upstairs,” cried Sir Harry impatiently.
“My father—my sister—what shall I do!—Oh!”
That was all the visitor heard, and the faint cry that ended the sentence was drowned in a second tremendous peal at knocker and bell.
“Confound her! she’s gone. May! hist!—May!—Don’t leave me like this!”
He felt about for the door, but could not find it in his dread and confusion. Only one part of the room could he make out, and that was the window, by which flight was impossible without being seen.
“Little wretch!” he muttered. “What a fool I am! Where is the cursed door? There were three here somewhere. What the devil am I to do? Curse—”
He kicked against a chair, and nearly knocked it over, and then stumbled against a couch.