They both rose; something fell with a clatter on the floor.
It was his sword.
She put her foot on it; he looked in her eyes and saw that she had unbuckled it while she had lain against him.
“By God—trapped!” he said softly.
The coach door was opened from without and the bitter night mists floated in. The moon was shining dimly; Jerome Caryl strode to the door; he saw a vast spread of fields before him; Hounslow Heath.
A frosty vapor lay over everything; now and then the moon was hidden; a cruel iciness was in the air.
Guarding the door stood the two Highland servants, immovable, waiting orders.
Jerome Caryl looked from them to the woman behind him.
“Is it to be murder?” he asked with a faint smile.
She shuddered violently.