CHAPTER XVIII.
"GOD SAVE THE KING!"
"Come back!" he shouted.
He might more effectually have summoned back the wind, as it swept past with a low snarling hiss, as if in mockery of his indignation; and before he had time to repeat the words, the last echo of Rumsey's footsteps had died on the lowermost stair, and Lawrence Lee heard the scraping of the key in the lock of the tower door.
"Coward!" he cried aloud, "will you have me fetch you back?" and gently replacing the wounded man upon the ground, he rose to his feet, and with a couple of strides reached the door; but scarcely had he done, so than a deep groan from Goodenough brought him to a halt, and he turned, dizzy with perplexity. "To allow this fellow to get clear off was not to be thought of; and yet, to give chase to him and leave the unfortunate Goodenough?—"
"Lawrence! Lawrence!" imploringly cried a voice which seemed to him to proceed from the wainscot to his right. He started and looked towards the spot.
"Lawrence!"
Ruth to the rescue.
"Ruth!" cried the young man in amazement, "is that you?"
"Yes, yes. For the pitying heaven's sake stay! See here, I am getting a light."
He waited, stock-still, listening to the scratching sound of the tinder-box, perfectly audible through the panel's rotten wood; and then, as the thin yellow streak of light broke through the crack, he flew to the spot. "Out of the way, Ruth!" he cried; and as he spoke he raised his clenched fist and struck the panel such a sledge-hammer blow as sent it splintering in all directions, revealing the figure of Ruth by the light of the candle she held in her hand, enframed by the woodwork, like some cunningly painted picture.