Torn from her Sphere.
The act was simultaneous.
Moved as if by the same set of nerves, Sir John Day and his brother dashed themselves against the door again and again, but the panelling was strong, and it was evidently well fastened within, and, for the time being, the door refused to yield. Then, as the brothers literally hurled themselves against it in their rage of disappointment, the fastenings gave way, and the door flew back with a crash, while Sir John fell forward into the darkness upon his knees.
“Quick, Jem, the light,” he cried, as he gathered himself up; but the major had forestalled him, and stepped back to take the candlestick from where it had been set down.
He had just passed the threshold, casting the light before him into the chamber, when Sir John’s hand was clapped upon his shoulder, and the candlestick snatched from his hand.
“Stand back, Jem, and guard the door. I am her father.”
The old officer promptly obeyed, and the door was swung to upon him, as others were being opened along the passage, and excited enquiries began to be heard on every hand.
For Sir John, in his one quick glance, as the light flashed into the room, had seen that which caused his prompt action. The door leading into Glynne’s little studio was wide open, and the current of soft, moist night air which struck his cheek told that the conservatory and its windows must be open too.
All this came to him in a flash as, after swinging to the door he had forced, Sir John ran to where, dishevelled, and with her face bleeding and distorted by the savage manner in which her cries for help had been stopped, lay Glynne by the bedside. She was insensible now, though a faint groan escaped her as he tenderly raised her from the carpet, and laid her upon the bed, a pang of combined rage and horror shooting through him as he felt one arm drop in a strangely unnatural way, which told that the bone had snapped.
One glance round, as he battled with his agony, showed how terrible a struggle had taken place; chairs were overturned, a little table, with its load of feminine knick-knacks, lay upon its side, and on every hand there were traces of the strife.