She had some moments of rest; every one was still, save for harsh breathing.  But she dared not stand long, lest their eyes too should adapt themselves to the dark.  It was evident that nobody had firearms; there was that much to be thankful for.  She gathered herself for an attack, a rush at the enemy with an active hatpin, when something touched her foot.  She bent, swiftly alert for war, but arrested the pin on its way.  It was a hand from under the bed; her protege had taken refuge there.  She took his wrist and pulled; he whimpered, and there was a grunt from the middle of the room at the sound, but he came crawling.  She dared not whisper, for those others were moving already, but with her cool, firm hand on his wrist, she sank down on all-fours and drew him on towards the door.  It was impossible to make no noise, but at any rate their noise was disconcerting; the robbers could not guess what it betokened.  Each of them had his stab, a tingling, unaccountable wound, a hurt to daunt a man, and they were separately standing guard each over his own life.

They encountered one half way across the room.  He felt them near him, and sent a smashing blow with a knife into the empty air.  Miss Gregory, always with that considered and careful swiftness that was so like deliberation, reared to her knees, her left hand still holding the youth’s wrist, and lunged.  Another yell, and the man, leaping back, fouled a comrade, who stabbed and sprang away.  They heard the man fall and move upon the floor like a dying fish, with sounds of choking.  Then the door was before them, and, crawling still, with infinite pains to be noiseless, they passed through it.  From within the room the choking noises followed them till they gained the open air.

The tortuous alley received them like a refuge; they fled along it with lightened hearts, taking all turnings that might baffle a chase, till at last Miss Gregory smelt acacias and they issued again into the little square.  To Miss Gregory it was almost amazing that the cafes should still be lighted, their tables thronged, the music insistent.  While history had paced for her the world had stood still.  She stood and looked across at the lights thoughtfully.

The youth at her side coughed.  “The least I can do,” he suggested inanely, “is ask you to ’ave a cup of coffee, ma’am.”

Miss Gregory turned on him sharply.

“And then?” she asked.  “After the coffee, what then?”

He shuffled his feet uneasily.  “Well, ma’am,” he said; “this hole in my back is more’n a bit painful.  So I thought I’d get along to the hotel an’ have a lie down.”

She looked at him thoughtfully.  Her head was bare, and the night breeze from the sea whipped a strand of grey hair across her brow.  She brushed it away a little wearily.

“Unless there’s anything more I can do for you,” suggested the young man smoothly.