‘O, will you take care of me?’
‘Always.’
She unlocked the door, and retreated again. Manston came forward from the other room with a candle in his hand, as Owen pushed open the door.
Her frightened eyes were unnaturally large, and shone like stars in the darkness of the background, as the light fell upon them. She leapt up to Owen in one bound, her small taper fingers extended like the leaves of a lupine. Then she clasped her cold and trembling hands round his neck and shivered.
The sight of her again kindled all Manston’s passions into activity. ‘She shall not go with you,’ he said firmly, and stepping a pace or two closer, ‘unless you prove that she is not my wife; and you can’t do it!’
‘This is proof,’ said Owen, holding up the paper.
‘No proof at all,’ said Manston hotly. ‘’Tis not a death-bed confession, and those are the only things of the kind held as good evidence.’
‘Send for a lawyer,’ Owen returned, ‘and let him tell us the proper course to adopt.’
‘Never mind the law—let me go with Owen!’ cried Cytherea, still holding on to him. ‘You will let me go with him, won’t you, sir?’ she said, turning appealingly to Manston.
‘We’ll have it all right and square,’ said Manston, with more quietness. ‘I have no objection to your brother sending for a lawyer, if he wants to.’