The grasp tightened on her arm.
“Come,” he commanded, and drew her after him, leading the way.
She did not speak until he paused to open the library door, then she looked back into the flame-lit hall and cried out she would die.
Paying no heed he was dragging her into the dark room when something rushed out of the door, between them and up the stair.
“What was that?” cried Lord Stair; he let go his hold upon the woman and stepped back.
Half-way up the stairs a little black cat peered through the oaken rails with ears cocked and its green eyes glittering with excitement; round its neck was a tumbled bow of scarlet.
For a moment the man and the animal gazed at each other, then the Earl began reascending the stairs.
“What are you going to do?” cried Delia, barring his way. “You are not going back? My God! Look how the flames are mounting—they will cut off your escape.”
Lord Stair looked up at the kitten.
“It is alive,” he said, “and I cannot let it burn.”