'It is unnecessary,' said Mirelle, rising. 'A coach has come. John Herring is here.'
A rap at the door, and in another moment John Herring was ushered into the room.
'Thank you! thank you for coming,' said Mirelle, advancing to meet him, and holding out both her hands.
Herring was not looking strong. His fall, and a hard ride during the night from West Wyke to Launceston, had made him look pale and worn and unwell. But Orange, her mother, and Mirelle were too engaged in their own troubles to notice the change in him.
'You have come to take us away from this house?' asked Mirelle.
'Yes, I have. You called me.'
He held her hands, and looked into her eyes, and was lost in wonder at their depth and beauty, and in a dream of love. She met his gaze frankly, but, as it was prolonged, her eyes fell.
'Whither are you going to take us?' asked Orange.
But Herring had ears for one voice only; he had thoughts at that moment for one person only, who stood before him.
'Oh, Mr. Herring,' said Mirelle—and she looked up timidly again, but, again encountering his eyes, lowered her dark lashes—'take us away—anywhere. We cannot remain here any longer. We are turned out of the house. We trust you perfectly; take us where you will.'