“Hush, madam!” said Antony, sternly, his eyes flashing green-blue fire.  “We were very comfortable at the table.  Shall we not all sit down again?”

Lady Wakely at once returned to her chair.  The meek Mrs. Broun put her hand on my arm in sympathy, but I annihilated her with a look as I swept back to my seat, and soon my guests were once more in their places.

Then it was that Antony exerted himself to amuse this company.  With the most admirable tact and self-composure, he kept the whole party entertained for half an hour.  And when we again left the room it was en bande, without ceremony, the men accompanying us.

Lady Wakely kindly said good-night in quite a few minutes, and the other women followed her example.  I spoke no word of thanks to Antony.  I did not even look into his face.

When I got to my boudoir I could hear Augustus’s drunken snores from the room beyond.  He had mercifully fallen asleep.

I did not ring for McGreggor.  I would stay in my sitting-room all night.  Roy came up to me and licked my hand.  Then suddenly something seemed to give way in my will, and I dropped on the rug beside my dog and cried as I have never cried in my life, my head buried in his soft, black coat.

Oh, grandmamma, forgive me for such weakness!  But surely, if we had known of this horror, even the Calincourts need not have kept their word to a drunken man!

I did not hear the door open, but suddenly was conscious of Antony’s voice.

“Ambrosine, for God’s sake don’t cry so!” he whispered, hoarsely.

I did not look up.

“Oh, I want to thank you for your kindness,” I sobbed, “but if you would continue it you will leave me now.”

He knelt on the rug beside me, but he did not even touch my hair.

“I cannot leave you—­miserable like this,” he said, brokenly, as if the words were dragged from him.  “Ambrosine, my dearest!  Little Comtesse, please, please do not cry!”

Joy ran through me at his words.  My sobs ceased.

The drunken voice of Augustus began the song again from the next room.

I started up in terror.  Oh, if he should burst into this room!

“Antony,” I implored, “if you want to serve me, go!” And I opened the passage door.

He drew me into the corridor with him.

“I tell you, you shall not stay here alone with that brute!” he said, fiercely.  “Promise me you will go to your maid’s room and not come into this part of the house to-night.  I will see his valet and arrange things safely for him.”

“Very well,” I said, and then I ran.  If I had stayed another moment—­ah, well!

* * * * *

Augustus was too ill to get up next morning.  It was raining again, and, by common consent, our guests left by mid-day trains.

Sir Samuel Wakely said, with gruff kind-heartedness, when I appeared at breakfast: