"I think," said Louis Craven presently, touching her gently on the arm—he had tried once in vain to attract her attention—"I think I hear some one asking for you outside on the landing—Mrs. Hurd seems to be bringing them in."
As he spoke, Anthony suddenly sprang to his feet, and the outer door opened.
"Louis!" cried Anthony, "it is he!"
"Are yer at home, miss?" said Minta Hurd, putting in her head; "I can hardly see, it's so dark. Here's a gentleman wants to see you."
As she spoke, Wharton passed her, and stood—arrested—by the sight of the three figures. At the same moment Mrs. Hurd lit the gas in the little passage. The light streamed upon his face, and showed him the identity of the two men standing beside Marcella.
Never did Marcella forget that apparition—the young grace and power of the figure—the indefinable note of wreck, of catastrophe—the Lucifer brightness of the eyes in the set face. She moved forward. Anthony stopped her.
"Good-night, Miss Boyce!"
She shook hands unconsciously with him and with Louis. The two Cravens turned to the door. Wharton advanced into the room, and let them pass.
"You have been in a hurry to tell your story!" he said, as Louis walked by him.
Contemptuous hate breathed from every feature, but he was perfectly self-controlled.