CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where?
AGATHA. It is at our heels.
ERNEST. Look out, Crichton.
CRICHTON. H’sh!
(TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.)
TREHERNE. Listen!
ERNEST. The grass is moving. It’s coming.
(It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.)
LADY MARY. Father.
LORD LOAM. Mary—Catherine—Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear!