How much had she heard he
wondered.
"Don't move!" he said.
She nodded.
"Can any one see me?" she asked.
"Not from the road."
"From the house?"
"They could," he admitted, "but it is the servants' dinner hour. Don't
you notice how quiet the house is?"
"Yes."
She was very white. She seemed to find some difficulty in speaking.
There was fear in her eyes.
"It would not be safe for you to leave here at present," he said. "I am
going to take you into a little room leading out of my study. No one
ever goes in it. You will be safe there for a time."
"If I could sit down--for a little while."
He took her arm, and led her unresistingly towards the house. The
library window was closed, but he opened it easily, and helped her
through. At the further end of the room was an inner door, which he
threw open.
"This is a room which no one except myself ever enters," he said. "I
used to do a little painting here sometimes. Sit down, please, in that
easy-chair. I am going to get you a glass of wine."
They heard the library door suddenly opened. A voice, shaking with
passion, called out his name.
"Duncombe, are you here? Duncombe!"
There was a dead silence.
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