“Oh, you are a man, after all,” she cried, deep gratitude in her voice, and a relief at her heart she could as yet scarcely comprehend. And as she made to pass him she was startled by a shrill sharp whistle outside.
“The devil!” he cried anxiously, and ran to the window.
“What is it?” she called, frightened. It was not the low whistle that Monty had used, but a menacing, thrilling sound.
“Your friends of the secret service have come back,” he answered, “but they mustn’t see us together.” Quickly he lowered the window-shade, and stepped back to the centre of the room, coming to a sudden pause as he saw the terror on the girl’s face.
“Oh, my God,” she screamed, “what have you done? That was the signal to bring Taylor here.”
“Ah, then, it’s Taylor,” he cried triumphantly. “It’s Taylor!”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to tell,” she said, startled at the admission. “I didn’t mean to let anyone know.”
“I wish you had told me before,” he said with regret, “we could both have been spared some unhappy moments. I know Taylor and his way of fighting, and this thing is going to a finish.”
“Go, before he comes,” she entreated.
“And leave you alone to face him?” he said more tenderly. “Leave you to a man who fights as he does?” He looked at her for a moment in silence and then bowed his head over her white hand and kissed it. “I can’t do that. I love you.”