Nance was awakened that night by the sound of some one walking on the stone-paved path below her window. She sat up in bed with a fluttering of the heart, wondering whether the footsteps were the footsteps of her father, or whether Jeremy had ridden over late with news.
She was about to slip out of bed when she heard voices on the terrace. There appeared to be several men talking together in undertones. Then came the crash of glass being broken, as though they were battering in one of the lower windows.
Nance went cold, her heart drumming, her ears straining to catch the slightest sound. The smashing of glass had ceased. She heard the voices again, and then a thud as of a man leaping from a window-sill into one of the lower rooms.
She told herself that these must be thieves. There was little to steal in Stonehanger, but even this thought was not altogether comforting. She knew that some of the country-folk were little better than savages, and that acts of brutal and even wanton violence were by no means uncommon. Some of the wild tales she had heard flashed vividly across her consciousness.
What should she do? Try and join her father? Or would it be better to lie still and wait, and even pretend to be asleep? She was still shivering with indecision when she heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
They came up slowly, steadily, with no attempt at concealment. Nance could see streaks of light showing under her door. The man, whoever he was, carried a lantern or a candle.
She held her breath when the footsteps turned aside at the landing and came toward her door. They paused there, and she knew that the man would be standing within four feet of her bed. With the door open he could reach in and almost touch her.
Her heart leapt at the sound of a knock, and she had to moisten her lips before she could speak.
"Who's there?"
"Have nothing to fear. It is the Chevalier de Rothan."
For the moment she felt an irrational rush of gratitude and relief. She could have embraced the man; he seemed so much less terrible than some low gipsy or rough footpad. The mere physical fear was appeased for the moment, but it was to be followed by a dread that was more spiritual and refined.
"The Chevalier de Rothan?"
"Your very good friend—in spite of many prejudices. Miss Nance, I am here to secure you and your father. Will you wake him, or shall I?"
She swung her feet out of the bed, and sat with her arms wrapped round her.
"But what does this mean? Breaking into the house?"
"It means that I am shrewder than you think. I insist upon befriending you, on placing you somewhere where you will be safe. I must beg you to rise and dress."
"But still—I do not understand. What right——?"
"It is not necessary that you should understand. I hold myself responsible. You and Mr. Durrell are coming back with me to my house. I mistrust your friends. That is sufficient."
There was a confident irony about his masterfulness. She could picture him standing there with those hard Irish eyes of his smiling at the door. Her wits groped hither and thither in the darkness, searching for motives. One thing she realised very vividly, that De Rothan was in a temper that would not wait to argue.
"But this is ridiculous! You cannot compel us in this way——"
He brushed her words aside.
"I do not explain. In half an hour we leave Stonehanger. You will go with me, if I have to break down your door and wrap you up in blankets. I do not desire to use force, so spare me the necessity."
Nance was still groping for his motives, but a fresh drift of thought obscured the main issue. Out of it emerged a clear spark, shining in the thick of her bewilderment, the thought that she would be under the same roof as Jasper Benham, and that she might be able to help Jeremy in his plans for a release.
"Since you are ready to use force, I do not see how we are to resist you."
"Sweet Nance, roughness is very far from my desire."
"I will be ready."
She might have seen him smiling at her surrender. He could keep step with her motives, and visualise her girl's plans even before she had conceived them.
"Then I will leave you to wake your father."
"Yes."
"I shall wait for you in the hall."
Nance dressed, and went to her father's room. She had to wake him and to tell him what had happened. Durrell, in the thick of his contemptuous amazement at De Rothan's audacity, absolutely refused to leave Stonehanger.
"But, father, what are we to do? We are in the man's power."
"Refuse to do anything."
He persisted in remaining in bed, and Nance had to leave him, and go down alone into the hall. A lantern stood on the oak chair by the door, and De Rothan was standing with his back to it. He came forward gallantly when he saw Nance upon the stairs.
"Nance, you will forgive these highwayman's methods. I cannot help myself. It is for the best."
He would have taken her hand, but she held aloof, pausing upon one of the lower steps. His elaborate courtesy repelled her. It was artificial. The half-amused and half-triumphant glint in his eyes betrayed the real man.
"Father refuses to leave the house."
"I am sorry. I shall have to persuade him. You will pardon me."
She barred the way.
"No—no roughness; he is an old man."
"You misjudge me; I am not a cut-throat. A few gentle words will serve."
He turned, picked up the lantern, and came back toward the stairs. His eyes were fixed upon Nance's eyes, and he smiled as he passed her.
"Why will you not do me justice?"
His voice caressed her, and she shrank aside, as though from physical contact. For the moment a great dread of the man made her wild to escape, but she steadied herself and remained true to her purpose.
De Rothan walked into Anthony Durrell's room and held the lantern over the bed.
"Get up, sir, get up. When I offer you my hospitality are you childish enough to refuse it?"
"I refuse to leave this house."
"Is that so? Then I shall have to take your daughter and leave you behind."
Durrell started up in bed, vehement and scornful.
"You are an abominable rogue, De Rothan."
"No, sir, I play to make my point. Are you coming with us, or must Nance and I go alone?"
Durrell rose and began to dress.
Nance was sitting in the half-lit hall. She could see a man standing in the stone parlour with a lantern in his hand. He was watching her through the open doorway as though he had been left on guard. Nance was wondering whether it was possible for her to get at David Barfoot and leave some message with him for Jeremy Winter. She racked her brains for some ruse, some excuse.
Why should she not try being boldly frank, and challenge interference? She rose and walked toward the passage leading into the kitchen, only to become conscious of some live thing filling the darkness. She recoiled. Another man was on guard there. She had almost felt his breath upon her face.
"Pardon, madame, there ees no way heer."
She returned to the hall in time to see the fight of De Rothan's lantern coming down the stairs. He radiated a triumphant tranquillity, and smiled at her with whimsical satisfaction.
"Mr. Durrell accepts my hospitality."
"You were able to persuade him?"
"With ease."
In twenty minutes they were in the yard, and De Rothan's men unfastening the horses. De Rothan had suffered Nance to go up and pack a small valise. He waited for her and for Anthony Durrell, and bowed them out into the yard. They had brought two spare mounts, a quiet old nag for Anthony Durrell, and De Rothan's favourite mare Étoile for Nance.
He hung near to Nance, overshadowing her with his presence.
"We have improvised a saddle for you. Étoile is very quiet. Let me help you up."
"Thank you—I can——"
"Pardon me, you cannot."
His confident courtesy dominated her, and she did not care to bicker with him.
"Step into my hand. So."
He lifted her up into the seat that was half pannier, half saddle. Gaston and François had hoisted Durrell on to the old horse. De Rothan mounted his own, drew up beside Nance, and took Étoile's bridle. They rode out under the hollies and laurels and across the little stone bridge into the lane.
It was a fine night, splendid with stars. The world was black and silent and breathing in its sleep to the faint drift of a light sea breeze. The air was fresh and dewy. On Stonehanger Common a wood of birch trees with their delicate fingers caressed the stars.
De Rothan drew deep breaths.
"A southern night, and full of the smell of adventure. Has the desire to wander at will over the world ever come to you?"
She mistrusted the intimacy of his mood, and his nearness to her. Moreover, her thoughts were working against him, planning and scheming perpetually.
"I am so very sleepy."
She felt that he was looking at her.
"Poor Nance, poor girl. You shall go to bed, and not be worried."
He was silent a moment, and she hated him because he seemed so confident.
"Mr. Benham will be asleep. But to-morrow we shall have a stupendous surprise for him. Yes, you shall see him. He will be overwhelmed."
She kept a white and stark reserve.
"You do not thank me! Am I not the kindest of friends? You will find me even more sympathetic than the little fencing-master with the black jowl. Besides, I have the fly in amber, and he has not."
Nance yawned behind her hand.
"You have a wonderful imagination, Chevalier."
He leaned over and stroked the mare's neck.
"Étoile, you are carrying the Queen of Hearts to-night. She is very proud, my child. She twists her mouth at your master."
It was two in the morning when they reached the Brick House. There were candles burning and supper set out in the oak dining-room. De Rothan was grandiloquent and gracious. He bowed them in as though he put the whole house at their service.
Durrell was morose and bitter, and Nance tired. Neither wine nor food was welcome. Distraught and restless, they avoided each other's eyes.
De Rothan called for candles.
"Mr. Durrell, I will show you and your daughter to your rooms."
Their rooms were on the first floor, but not next to one another. De Rothan gave Nance her candle and threw open the door for her.
"Good night, Miss Nance. There is a little bell within. Ring it if you should desire anything."
He turned back to show Anthony Durrell to his room.
Nance was standing looking about her at the mahogany furniture, the gay chintzes, the carved low-post bed. She put the candle down, opened the window, and looked out. Garden ground seemed to lie some fifteen feet below; it was all black, but she saw something that glimmered like water. She was still standing there when she heard the key turned in the lock of her door. Footsteps died away down the passage. She realised that she was a prisoner.
It was still early when Tom Stook came lumbering on his long shanks to Rush Heath Hall. He asked for Mr. Jeremy, and Jeremy came out to him on the grass before the house.
"He have gone and stole the young leddy and her father."
"What, man, what?"
"They be at t' Brick House. De Rothan brought 'en back from Stonehanger two hours after midnight."
Jeremy swore a big oath.
"Caught napping—by God!"