"It would be a very good thing to feel sure of that," she said. "You will want a firm table, of course, and good light. You might be interrupted here. I will show you a better room for the operation."
"Thank you, madam, and I shall require plenty of hot water and towels."
"Certainly," said Millicent, and leading him to the hall, she directed him to a room which had at one time been fitted as a laundry, and in which was an ironing bench.
With sinking heart, she followed him to the top of the house—pointing the way through two attics into a third.
"I will just leave you to arrange your things while I get hot water and towels, and put on Mollie's nightdress," she said, and closing the door, turned the key. It grated noisily, but the visitor was too much occupied to notice it, and rushing through the other rooms, Millicent locked both doors, and fled downstairs.
Snatching her little one in her arms, she hurried through the garden—pausing at the gate to shift Mollie from her arms on to her back.
She had barely left the gate when a horrible yell of baffled rage rent the air, making her turn and glance up at the window of the attic.
The maniac had just discovered that the door was locked, and rushing to the window caught sight of his hostess and desired patient fleeing from the house.
One glance showed Millicent that he was about to get out of the window, but whether he intended to clamber down by the ivy, or creep in at the next attic, she did not stop to ascertain; only praying that she might have strength to gain a place of safety she sped on, staggering under the weight of her little one, who clung to her neck in wonder.
On and on, still with the wild yells of rage ringing in her ears, until she had put three fields between herself and the house, when she stopped for breath in a shady lane.