"It's all right," said Derrick, in the tone he would have used to an
Englishwoman of his acquaintance. "Don't be frightened. You're not
alight; you're all right."
As he spoke, still holding her, he reached forward and caught hold of
the old-fashioned bell-rope; the major-domo rushed in, calling for
lights. When they were brought by the startled servants, Donna Elvira
was standing away from him, gripping the back of the chair. Her face was
as white as the driven snow, her lids drooped as if she had recovered
from a swoon, her lips were quivering. As Derrick, horribly frightened
by her death-like pallor, made a movement towards her, she stretched out
her hand and her lips formed, rather than spoke, the words, "Go! Go!"
Her woman in attendance hurried towards her mistress; and Derrick,
seeing that he could be of no further use, obeyed the command and left
the room.