He strode
over to it, and it was Betty Vanderpoel, holding her whip in a clenched
hand and showing to his eagerness such hunted face and eyes as were
barely human. He caught her unsteadiness to support it, and felt her
fingers clutch at the tweed of his coatsleeve and move there as if the
mere feeling of its rough texture brought heavenly comfort to her and
gave her strength.
"Yes, they are lies, Lord Mount Dunstan," she panted. "He said that he
meant to get what he called 'even' with me. He told me I could not get
away from him and that no one would hear me if I cried out for help. I
have hidden like some hunted animal." Her shaking voice broke, and she
held the cloth of his sleeve tightly. "You are alive--alive!" with a
sudden sweet wildness. "But it is true the bell tolled! While I was
crouching in the dark I called to you--who died to-day--to stand between
us!"
The man absolutely shuddered from head to foot.
"I was alive, and you see I heard you and came," he answered hoarsely.
He lifted her in his arms and carried her into the cottage. Her cheek
felt the enrapturing roughness of his tweed shoulder as he did it. He
laid her down on the couch of hay and turned away.
"Don't move," he said.
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