Mr. Blood strode in followed by his distraught companion, who, falling upon Arabella's slender bosom, surrendered herself to a passion of tears. But he wasted no time.
“Whom have you here with you? What servants?” he demanded sharply.
The only male was James, an old negro groom.
“The very man,” said Blood. “Bid him get out horses. Then away with you to Speightstown, or even farther north, where you will be safe. Here you are in danger—in dreadful danger.”
“But I thought the fighting was over...” she was beginning, pale and startled.
“So it is. But the deviltry's only beginning. Miss Traill will tell you as you go. In God's name, madam, take my word for it, and do as I bid you.”
“He... he saved me,” sobbed Miss Traill.
“Saved you?” Miss Bishop was aghast. “Saved you from what, Mary?”
“Let that wait,” snapped Mr. Blood almost angrily. “You've all the night for chattering when you're out of this, and away beyond their reach. Will you please call James, and do as I say—and at once!”
“You are very peremptory....”