There was a tapping at the door--a footstep--next a tap at the window. The hands were there; I saw the fingers--the snow falling round them--on them. I saw, too, the eyes of Gramont peering in at me.
"What is it?" I cried hoarsely. "What? What?"
Then through the roar of the tempest without, through the shriek of the wind, above the loud hum of the torrent, I heard--or was I mad and dreaming that I heard?--the words:
"Open. To me--her father."
CHAPTER XXIX.
"LET US KISS AND PART."
As I unbarred the door that gave directly from the miserable living-room of the house to the outside he came in, the snow upon the shoulders of the cape he wore--some flakes even upon his face.
"You are alive! Escaped!" I whispered, recognising that this was no phantom of my brain, but the man himself. "Safe! Thank God!"
"Where is she?" he asked, pausing for no greeting, giving me none. "My child! Is she safe? Or--have I come too late?"
"She is here--safe. It is not too late."