"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

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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.




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