"Wait," she said. "Walter shall let you out of the house. Do not say anything: I will explain; I will invent some story to satisfy the servants as to your coming here, and also to justify your being allowed to go."
They clung to one another in a parting caress. Lady Beltham tore herself away.
"Till to-morrow!" she whispered.
She stole to the door and unlocked it noiselessly, then crossed the room and rang the bell placed near the fireplace. Resuming her impassive mask, and the haughty air and attitude of cold indifference that were in such utter contrast to her real character, she waited, while Gurn stood upright and still in the middle of the room.
Walter, the porter, came in.
"Take that man to the door, and let no harm be done to him," said Lady Beltham proudly and authoritatively. "He is free."
Without a word, or sign, or glance, Gurn went out of the room, and Walter followed behind him to obey his mistress's command.
Once more alone in the great hall, Lady Beltham waited nervously to hear the sound of the park gate closing behind Gurn. She did not dare go on to the balcony to follow her departing lover with her eyes. So, shaken by her recent emotions, she stood waiting and listening, in an agony to know that he was safe. Then, of a sudden, the noise that she had heard an hour before broke on her ears again: the noise of hurrying feet and broken shouts, and words, vague at first but rapidly growing clearer. She crouched forward listening, filled with a horrible fear, her hand laid upon her scarcely beating heart.
"There he is: hold him!" some one shouted. "That's him all right! Look out, constable!"