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As she did so a sudden tumult behind them told her that Wentworth had been sighted by his pursuers.

In the same moment Field very quietly turned and lifted her in his arms. She gave a gasp of astonishment.

“I think we shall get on quicker this way,” he said. “Put your arm over my shoulder, won’t you?”

He spoke as gently as if she had been a child, and instinctively she obeyed. He bore her very steadily straight to the house.

CHAPTER VIII

In the safe haven of her own room Violet recovered somewhat. Field left her in the charge of her maid, but the latter she very quickly dismissed. She sat before the fire clad in a wrapper, still shivering spasmodically, but growing gradually calmer.

“I believe there is a letter on the writing-table,” she said to the maid as she was about to go out. “Take it with you and put it in the box downstairs!”

The girl returned and took up the letter that Field had written that evening. “It isn’t stamped my lady,” she began; and then in a tone of surprise: “Why, it is addressed to your ladyship!”

Violet started. “Give it to me!” she commanded “That will do. I shall not be wanting you again to-night.”

The girl withdrew, and she crouched lower over the fire, the letter in her hand.

Yes, it was addressed to her in her husband’s clear, strong writing–addressed to her and written in her presence!

Her hands were trembling very much as she tore open the envelope. A baffling mist danced before her eyes. For a few seconds she could see nothing. Then with a great effort she commanded herself, and read:

“My own Beloved Wife,

“If I have made your life a misery, may I be forgiven! I meant otherwise. I saw you on the ramparts this evening. That is why I want you to leave this place to-morrow. But if you do not wish to share my life any longer, I will let you go. Only in Heaven’s name choose some worthier means than this!

“I am yours to take or leave. P.F.”

Hers–to take–or leave! She felt again the steady hold upon her arm, the equally steady release. That was what he had meant. That!

She sat bowed like an old woman. He had seen! And instead of being angry on his own account, he was concerned only on hers. She was his own beloved wife. He was–hers to take or leave!

Suddenly a great sob broke from her. She laid her face down upon the note she held….

There came a low knock at the door that divided her room from the one adjoining. She started swiftly up as one caught in a guilty act.

“Can I come in?” Field said.

She made some murmured response, and he opened the dividing door. A moment he stood on the threshold; then he came quietly forward. He carried her cloak upon his arm.

He deposited it upon the back of a chair, and came to her. “I hoped you would be in bed,” he said.

“I am trying–to get warm,” she muttered almost inarticulately.

“Have you had a hot drink since your accident?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I told West–I couldn’t.”

He turned and rang the bell. He must have seen his note tightly grasped in her hand, but he made no comment upon it.

“Sit down again!” he said gently, and, stooping, poked the sinking fire into a blaze.

She obeyed him almost automatically. After a moment he laid down the poker, and drew the chair with her in it close to the fender. Then he picked up the cloak and put it about her shoulders, and finally moved away to the door.

She heard him give an order to a servant, and sat nervously awaiting his return. But he did not come back to her. He went outside and waited in the passage.

There ensued an interval of several minutes, and during that time she sat crouched over the fire, holding her cloak about her, and shivering, shivering all over. Then the door which he had left ajar closed quietly, and she knew that he had come back into the room.