And then with a sharp movement she turned.
"Mr. Field!" she said, and stopped.
He waited with absolute composure.
She made a small but desperate gesture--the gesture of a creature trapped
and helpless.
"I--will do it!" she said in a voice that was barely audible. "But if--if
you ever come--to repent--don't blame me!"
"I shall not repent," he said.
She passed on rapidly.
"And--you will do your best--to save--Burleigh Wentworth?"
"I will save him," said Field.
She paused a moment; then moved towards him, as if compelled against her
will.
He put the cloak around her shoulders, and then, as she fumbled with it
uncertainly, he fastened it himself.
"Your veil?" he said.
She made a blind movement. Her self-control was nearly gone. With
absolute steadiness he drew it down over her face.
"Have you a conveyance waiting?" he asked.
"Yes," she whispered.
He turned to the door. He was in the act of opening it when she stayed
him.
"One moment!" she said.
He stopped at once, standing before her with his level eyes looking
straight at her.
She spoke hurriedly behind her veil.
"Promise me, you will never--never let him know--of this!"
He made a grave bow, his eyes unchangeably upon her.
"Certainly," he said.
She made an involuntary movement; her hands clenched. She stood as if she
were about to make some further appeal.
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