The shrieking
wind replied. Then the three of them shouted her name. "Gad, she may
be lost or dead or--Come on, Barminster. We must scour the whole
demmed valley." They were off again, moving more cautiously while the
duke threw the light from his lamp into the leafy shadows beside
the roadway. The wind was blowing savagely down the slope and
the raindrops were beginning to beat in their faces with ominous
persistency. Some delay was caused by an accident to the rear-guard. A
mighty gust of wind blew the count's hat far back over the travelled
road. He was so much nearer Bazelhurst Villa when they found it that
he would have kept on in that direction for the sake of his warm bed
had not his companions talked so scornfully about cowardice.
"He's like a wildcat to-night," said the duke in an aside to the
little Frenchman, referring to his lordship. "Demme, I'd rather not
cross him. You seem to forget that his sister is out in all this
fury."
"Mon Dieu, but I do not forget. I would gif half my life to hold her
in my arms thees eenstan'."
"Dem you, sir, I'd give her the other half if you dared try such a
thing. We didn't fetch you along to hold her. You've got to hold the
horses, that's all."
"Diable! How dare you to speak to--"
"What are you two rowing about?" demanded his lordship. "Come along!
We're, losing time. Sit on your hat, Deveaux."
Away they swept, Penelope's two admirers wrathfully barking at one
another about satisfaction at some future hour.
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