ived him of the ardently sought
felicity of widowing her. He drew back his arm for the thrust;
Diana huddled into her chair too horror-stricken to speak or move:
Richard--immediately behind his sister--saw nothing of what was passing,
and thought of nothing but his own safety.

Then Blake paused, stepped back, returned his sword to its scabbard, and
bending himself--but whether to bow or not was not quite plain--he took
some paces backwards, then turned and went out by the window as he had
come. But there was a sudden purposefulness in the way he did it that
might have warned them this withdrawal was not quite the retreat it
seemed.

They watched him with many emotions, predominant among which was relief,
and when he was gone Diana rose and came to Ruth.

"Come," she said, and sought to lead her from the room.

But there was Richard now to be reckoned with, Richard from whom the
palsy was of a sudden fallen, now that the cause of it had withdrawn.
He had his back to the door, and his weak mouth was pursed up into a
semblance of resolution, his pale eyes looked stern, his white eyebrows
bent together in a frown.

"Wait," he said. They looked at him, and the shadow of a smile almost
flitted across Diana's face. He stepped to the door, and, opening it,
held it wide. "Go, Diana," he said. "Ruth and I must understand each
other."

Diana hesitated. "You had better go, Diana," said her cousin, whereupon
Mistress Horton went.

Hot and fierce came the recriminations from Richard's lips when he and
his sister were alone, and Ruth weathered the storm bravely until it
was stemmed again by fresh fear in Richard. For Blake had suddenly
reappeared. He came forward from his window; his manner composed and
full of resolution. Young Westmacott recoiled, the heat all frozen out
of him. But Blake scarce looked at him, his smouldering glance was all
for Ruth, who watched him with incipient fear, despite herself.

"Madam," he said, "'tis not to be supposed a mind holding so much
thought for a husband's safety could find room for any concern as to
another's. I will ask you, natheless, to consider what tale I am to bear
Lord Feversham."

"What tale?" said she.

"Aye--that will account for what has chanced; for my failure to
discharge the task entrusted me, and for the slaughter of an officer of
his and twenty men.

"Why ask me this?" she demanded half angrily; then suddenly bethinking
her of how she had ruined his enterprise, an