He walked away defiantly with the police officer, and Sylvester went up to Ella. The guard was just fitting the key in the door to lock it. Sylvester laid a detaining touch upon his arm.
“The lady is getting out.”
The door was thrown open. Sylvester took Ella's travelling-bag from the rack.
“Your companion is not going abroad this evening,” said he, pausing with the bag on the seat. “And it will be scarcely worth your while to go to Amsterdam alone.”
The girl's white, questioning face made him relent for a moment.
“Forgive me,” he said more kindly. “But what has happened was inevitable. I have only saved you from the hands of a scoundrel.”
“How dare you call him that?” she whispered with trembling lips.
He did not reply, but handed the bag and wraps to a porter whom he summoned, and descending from the carriage stood in readiness to assist Ella to the platform. She obeyed his sign involuntarily, but as soon as she stood opposite him, she turned upon him with flashing anger.
“Now tell me at once what all this means,” she said in a low, concentrated tone. “I am not a child to have things hidden from me. I have lived too many hours to-day in darkness. What does it mean? Why are you here, coming between me and the man I am to marry? Where has Roderick gone? Tell me. I must know.”
“I should like to spare you the knowledge,—at all events, for the present.”