"Father?" murmured Colina.
"They have been wrought up to a high pitch against him," Strange said deprecatingly.
"Oh, why did that man have to come here!" murmured Colina.
They were silent for a while, Colina looking on the ground, and Strange watching Colina with his peculiar limpid, candid eyes, which, when one looked deep enough, were not candid at all.
He finally looked away from her.
"There is something I want to say," he began an low tones. "Your father—he shall be my special care to-night. They can strike at him—only through me."
"Ah, you're so good to me!" murmured Colina.
"Do not thank me," he said quickly. "Remember I owe him everything.
All I am. All I have I would gladly—gladly—I sound melodramatic,
don't I. But I don't often inflict this on you. You know what I mean.
If I could save him!"
Colina impulsively seized his hand. Tears of gratitude sprang to her eyes. "I will thank you!" she cried. "You're the best friend I have in the world!"
"And even if I owed him nothing," Strange went on, not looking at her, "he would still be your father!"