"Not a guest," he corrected, "but a prisoner. If you require a man, why not ask Forbes? You were ready enough to use him just now."
Again there was silence. When she spoke again it was in the meekest of tones—so meek, indeed, that he scarcely recognized it as Winifred's.
"Mr. Mortimer, I am very sorry. Please be generous. I threatened you with a weapon I did not possess. Forbes sleeps in the village."
Lionel could not repress a laugh. He had been bluffed, but bore no malice. Enough of vengeance had been exacted. He could accept the capitulation without loss of dignity, for Miss Arkwright—most properly—had been obliged to ask his help.
"A moment," he said, "and I shall be with you."
Jumping out of bed, he hastily put on his dressing-gown in the dark. Then he opened the door and joined Winifred in the corridor. She was in a dressing-gown, too, and looked charming en déshabille, her glorious hair unbound. But no time was allowed for more than a glance of admiration. Taking him by the arm, she hurried him along, explaining how she had not gone to sleep, but had lain thinking. "My light was out, of course," she said; "and this marauder, whoever he is, must have thought all the household asleep. I watched him cross the lawn and presently bring back a ladder from the potting-shed. He reared it against the window of an empty room. I at once came to you. As soon as he has discovered his mistake he will probably try another."
"Then shall I go down-stairs and capture him as he descends?" suggested Lionel.
"Let us see first from the window," she said. "We must make sure."
They entered her bedroom together and walked softly toward the window. The blind was up.
There was no moon, but the faint promise of the dawn lent a dim light, by which objects, grotesquely shadowed, could be distinguished. When they reached the window Lionel saw the top of a ladder resting against the sill.