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Updated: June 25, 2025
That night Quentin met, for the first time, the reigning society sensation, Prince Ugo Ravorelli, and his countrymen, Count Sallaconi and the Duke of Laselli. All London had gone mad over the prince. There was something oddly familiar in the face and voice of the Italian. Quentin sat with him for an hour, listening with puzzled ears to the conversation that went on between him and Saxondale.
It was addressed to "Philip Quentin, Esq., care of the Earl of Saxondale, Park Lane, London, W. S." Surprise stayed his fingers, and hers clutched the envelope ruthlessly. As they straightened themselves each was looking directly into the other's eyes. In hers there was shame, confusion, even guilt; in his, triumphant, tantalizing mirth.
For a long time she sat with expressionless eyes, staring at the wall opposite, thinking of the five persons who kept her a prisoner, thinking of the lives the people longed to take, thinking of death. Death to pretty Lady Jane, to Lady Saxondale, to Lord Bob, to Dickey Savage the hunted and to Philip Quentin, the arch conspirator!
You may not now consider us your friends, but some day you will look back and be thankful we took such desperate, dangerous means to protect you," said Lady Saxondale, coming to the window. Dorothy's eyes were upon the outside world and they were dark and rebellious. The older woman complacently stationed herself beside the girl and for a few moments neither spoke.
There was a sudden rush of warmth to her heart, the bubbling over of some queer emotion, and she was wringing their hands with a gladness she could not conceal. "I am so lonely up there, Lady Saxondale," she said, simply, unreservedly. "Try to look upon us as friends, Dorothy; trust us, and you will find more happiness here than you suspect.
"I could not miss them far in guessing, Lady Saxondale." "It was necessary for some one to deliver you from the villain you were to marry, by the most effective process. There is but one person in all this world who cares enough for you to undertake the stupendous risk your abduction incurred. You need not be told his name."
"My God, Bob, this will ruin you and Lady Saxondale!" groaned Quentin. "What can we do? Escape by the underground passage?" Lord Saxondale was the coolest one in the party. He squared his shoulders, sniffed the air belligerently, and said he would take the matter in his own hands. "Frances, will you take Miss Garrison upstairs with you?
One morning, therefore, shortly after the visit of Father Bivot, he asked Lord Saxondale for the use of a conveyance, announcing his intention to drive with Dorothy to the nearest railway station. There was dismay in the heart of everyone who sat at what had been a cheerful breakfast table.
A great sunlit room; a long table and high-backed Flemish chairs; a bewildering group of men and women; a chorus of friendly voices; and then familiar faces began to stand out plainly before her eyes. Lady Saxondale was advancing toward the door with outstretched hands and smiling face.
When Lady Saxondale rang for the candles near the midnight hour, she took her candlestick from the maid, with no little relief, and unceremoniously made her way toward the hall. She nervously uttered a general good-night to the party and flushed angrily when Quentin's voice responded with the others: "Good-night, Dorothy." "I cannot endure it," she cried to herself a dozen times before morning.
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