His utter silence answered her; she turned about in a strange and desperate manner.
“Is not your wife here?”
“Do not push me, mistress,” he answered thickly. “My affairs will bear no meddling.”
Delia cried out passionately:
“Poor coward—so she could not be loyal to the last—she knew perhaps what I am come to tell you—that to-night the mob are coming here.”
“What you came to tell me?” he exclaimed.
She crushed her hands together in a helpless manner.
“They mean to kill you I think—Johnstone is setting them on—O God in Heaven!”
She turned to the mantelpiece and pressed her forehead against the marble slab; her hood had fallen back, and the candle-light flickered over the soft hazel curls.
Lord Stair was watching her.