Mr Braine laid his hand upon his old friend’s arm, and pointed downwards to the floor, beneath which lay the open space formed by the house being raised on posts, while the flooring was so slight that anything spoken in the room could easily be heard by a listener below.
“There is not likely to be any one there who could understand us,” said the doctor, impatiently. “Man, man, what is to be done?”
There was a few moments’ silence, and then Mr Braine said despondently:
“I am at my wits’ end. I never felt our helplessness so thoroughly as at the present moment.”
Murray drew a long deep breath, and the veins in his temples seemed to throb as he stood listening to his companions’ words, and waiting to hear what they intended to do next.
At last he could contain himself no longer.
“We are wasting time, gentlemen,” he said. “I have not heard you say a word that promises to help us out of our difficulty.”
“Ah, Mr Murray!” said the doctor, “I had almost forgotten you. Yes, it is us indeed. Well, sir, you see now our position; what can we say or do?”
“Surely you are not going to stand still, and see that insolent savage force his attentions upon your daughter.”
“Sir, I would sooner see her dead than hurried into such a degrading position, but you know how we are situated, and our utter helplessness.”