“Do you really wish to go back to the house, Miss Cranstoun?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“You have no desire to escape? Because you have only to say the word, and I will lay down my life trying to set you free. Don’t you want to be free?”
“No.”
She spoke mechanically, although he felt that in the darkness her eyes were fixed searchingly upon him.
He drew a long breath, and then said, in the same constrained tones:
“The woman Dakin is waiting for you on the terrace. Shall I take you to her?”
“Yes.”
Without another word he led the way through the trees on to the grass before the house. It was considerably more than half an hour since Dakin had lost Stella, but she was there on the terrace, anxiously awaiting her.
The rain had ceased, and the sky was clear. There was still sufficient light for Stephen, as he suddenly turned to look at his young mistress, to distinguish her features and expression.