“I am spared the pain of refusal,” Alban answered. “The time for interference has gone by. She is, at this moment, on her way to Monksmoor Park.”
Miss Jethro attempted to rise—and dropped back into her chair. “Water!” she said faintly. After drinking from the glass to the last drop, she began to revive. Her little traveling-bag was on the floor at her side. She took out a railway guide, and tried to consult it. Her fingers trembled incessantly; she was unable to find the page to which she wished to refer. “Help me,” she said, “I must leave this place—by the first train that passes.”
“To see Emily?” Alban asked.
“Quite useless! You have said it yourself—the time for interference has gone by. Look at the guide.”
“What place shall I look for?”
“Look for Vale Regis.”
Alban found the place. The train was due in ten minutes. “Surely you are not fit to travel so soon?” he suggested.
“Fit or not, I must see Mr. Mirabel—I must make the effort to keep them apart by appealing to him.”
“With any hope of success?”
“With no hope—and with no interest in the man himself. Still I must try.”