She was not sure that he was not in earnest. Panic-stricken she shook off his hold on her arm, meaning to pass him and reach the door. Why?—To make a futile bid for sympathy in this house of strangers?—
Who was it that had turned the handle and was coming in? Her gaze was unbelieving; she could neither breathe nor stir till the suffocating leap of her heart assured her that it was true. For it was Barnaby himself who was standing in the doorway, just as he had stood on that night when she had seen him first. Only the look in his eyes was changed.
The same faintness overcame her that had stricken her down that night. She did not know whose arms had caught her as she was falling ... falling.... But she was afraid of nothing, though all was darkness.
"Your race, Barnaby," said Rackham.
CHAPTER XIV
"I knew we should get you back," said Lady Henrietta.
That had been her first word last night, and she repeated it with the emphasis of a prophetess justified. Still her clasp of the truant had been almost fierce.
The journey to London had done her no harm. Rather had all this excitement given her a fillip. There was a triumphant pink in her cheek, and amusement twinkled in the fine lines surrounding the corners of her eyes. Whilst Barnaby had been searching she had been busy, dealing with an imposing but worldly personage in gaiters, who had been an old admirer of hers and was her sworn ally. The situation charmed her; it was like a thrilling but perfectly righteous bit of intrigue. Quizzically, delightedly, she was regarding Susan.
"Yes," she maintained. "I pinned my faith to that battered old brooch of mine. It's unlucky to wear, but still—when I remembered that it was doomed to come back to me I was tranquil. I knew it would."