Sir John, who was trembling violently, grasped all this as he hurried back to the door, to find that the whole house had now been alarmed, and people were gathering fast.
“Find Morris, Jem,” said Sir John, in a hoarse voice. “Quick! send for Oldroyd.”
“Yes,” said the major, with military promptitude; “but, one word—Glynne?”
Sir John made an impatient gesture, and his brother ran down the corridor at once, the frightened women giving way at his approach, while their host looked sharply round at the scared faces of those present.
“Ah, Mason,” he cried, “go in to your mistress.”
“Sir John, what can I do?” cried a piteous voice. “Dearest Glynne, pray, pray let me help.”
He turned sharply upon the speaker to see Marjorie, with her beautiful hair lightly looped up, but resting upon her long pale blue peignoir; and as the wild, troubled eyes met his, Sir John softened a little towards her.
“Thank you,” he said hastily. “It is no place for you, my child. Yes: go to her. You are a woman, and your gentle face should be at her side.”
Marjorie darted into the room after Mason, and Sir John barred the door against further entrance.
“Here, Miss Emlin,” he whispered, “secure the door from within. No one enters till the doctor comes.”