The Senator had been a famous man. Through nearly two decades, as even Henry dimly knew, he had stood out, a figure of continuous national importance. And now he was just—this. Here in Henry's arms; inert.
'Ring the bell, will you!' said Henry shortly.
The cabman moved.
There was a light step within. The lock turned. The door swung open, and Cicely stood there.
She was wrapped about in a wonderful soft garment of blue. She was pale. And her hair was all down, rippling about her shoulders and (when she stepped quickly back out of the cabman's vision) down her back below the waist.
Henry carried his burden in, and she quickly closed the door.
'Has anybody seen? Does anybody know?' she asked, in a whisper.
He leaned back against the wall.
'No. Nobody. But you——'
'I've been sitting up, watching. I was so afraid aunt might——'