She turned in that direction, her wet
skirts clinging round her. And then, simultaneously, two things happened.
The key ground in the lock of the boat-house, and, ere Wentworth could
emerge, a man walked out from the shadow of some trees and met her on the
path. She stopped short in the moonlight, standing as one transfixed. It
was her husband.
He came to her, moving more quickly than was his won't. "My dear child!"
he ejaculated.
Feverishly she sought to make explanation. "I--I was hiding--down
on the bank. I slipped into the lake. It was very foolish of me.
But--but--really I couldn't help it."
Her teeth were chattering. He took her by the arm.
"Come up to the house at once!" he said.
She looked towards the boat-house. The door was ajar, but Wentworth had
not shown himself. With a gasp of relief she yielded to Field's insistent
hand.
Her knees were shaking under her, but she made a valiant effort to
control them. He did not speak further, and something in his silence
dismayed her. She trembled more and more as she walked. Her wet clothes
impeded her. She remembered with consternation that she had left her
cloak in the boat-house. In her horror at this discovery she stopped.
As she did so a sudden tumult behind them told her that Wentworth had
been sighted by his pursuers.
In the same moment Field very quietly turned and lifted her in his arms.
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