CHAPTER XXIV
THE LOVE OF MARGARET CAMPBELL
As Jerome Caryl reached the street, softly closing the door behind him, a woman’s voice fell on his ears out of the darkness.
“Mr. Caryl! Mr. Caryl!”
He looked about him and discerned a shadow among shadows, a huge coach, a few paces from the house.
In the open door stood the Countess Peggy, the coach light showing her in a misty radiance.
She beckoned to him and he crossed the cobbles to her side.
“Mr. Caryl—I have been waiting for ye. I slipped awa’ when they grew noisy—I was wondering if they would let ye go.”
She fixed her eyes on his face.
“Maybe they will be pursuing ye?”
“I do not think so,” Jerome Caryl answered evenly, “their wits are confused—they hardly know that I have gone.”