She pondered it all with ever-deepening perplexity until a change came over the night--a wind stirred, leaves rattled, boughs soughed plaintively, the waters wakened and filled the void of silence with soft clashing. Then, shivering, Sally rose and crept back toward the house.
But when she paused on the edge of the last shadow, preparatory to the dash across the moonlit space to the door, a step sounded beside her, a hand caught at her cloak.
She started back with a stifled cry.
"Steady!" Lyttleton's voice counselled her guardedly. "Don't make a row! Blessed if it ain't Miss Manwaring!"
CHAPTER IX
PICAROON
Plucking peremptorily at her cloak, Lyttleton drew the girl to him and, seizing her hand, without further ceremony dragged her round the clump of shrubbery to a spot secure from observation.
She submitted without a hint of resistance. But she was trembling violently, and the contact with his hand was as fire to her blood.
Pausing, he stared and laughed uncertainly.
"Of all people!" he said in an undertone. "I never for an instant thought of you!"