"Good night, Sir Willoughby."
"I am in your power," he said, in a voice between supplication and menace that laid a claw on her, and she turned and replied:
"You will not be betrayed."
"I can trust you . . . ?"
"I go home to-morrow before breakfast."
"Permit me to escort you upstairs."
"If you please: but I see no one here either to-night or tomorrow."
"It is for the privilege of seeing the last of you."
They withdrew.
Young Crossjay listened to the drumming of his head. Somewhere in or over the cavity a drummer rattled tremendously.