Master and man looked at one another, the same grim smile half visible upon each face. Then Mr. Barringcourt took out his watch and looked at it. “It wants still twenty minutes till the dance is ended. It is barely twenty minutes after twelve. Are they impatient of delay?” “I did not ask them.” “We’ll go upon the supposition that they’re patient.” Then turning to Rosalie, he continued: “There was a time you told me that you scorned to run away, and never had done. Afterwards, upon much less occasion, you trusted to the fleetness of your feet. And now? Are you prepared to meet the enemy?” “Indeed, no. Or perhaps I cannot tell. If you stood for council on my behalf I think I might enjoy it. For myself, I could never get much farther than the truth.” “A marvellous short journey, with a sudden ending, but little reckoned upon Lucifram. What think you of lifetime imprisonment, Rosalie?” “Ah! It is that that frightens me. I never liked the thought of prison. Must I really go?” “What plan of escape is there?” Her brow knitted thoughtfully; then suddenly clearing, she said: “Take me away with you. Take me to your mother?” And she looked so very beautiful, with something so imperious in her manner, yet so sweet, that little wonder if the Master consented. “It’s a long journey, and a very final one, and, moreover, my horses are black.” “I’ll trust to the rule of contrary where you’re concerned, and trust you too. Take me where you will. I have sufficient power given me of my own to guard against a vital evil.” “You trust me to a certain point. No farther.” She laughed. “I trust you altogether, but wish to show it is not quite from weakness I wish to come with you.” “Then we’ll go. My mother is hospitable, and so are others round about her. Some are better known to you, no doubt, than she. A stranger is a rarity among them. You will be welcomed.” “Alas! But who can travel in a dress like this—at midnight, in the depth of winter? It is so conspicuous.” “No dress could be so suitable. Safe-guarded against wind or snow, and simple in comparison of those where we are going. Heat or cold, darkness or light cannot touch it. It was sewn in the inner darkness, and shines in the inner light. Come, Rosalie, the time is up. We must away to see the sun rise on the New Year.” Then he led her through those great empty rooms into the fuller ones, where general hilarity preceded the closing of the dance. But here they never waited. Across the palm-house to the doors of glass with the image of the toad and temple so finely and so clearly worked in them. At one touch they both flew open, and there, flooded in a tide of light—red—red—and an accompanying silence. It travelled swiftly, yet without sound or violence into the rooms of feasting and of mirth, carrying silence and a vague alarm. And noting where it came from, the guests instinctively crowded out towards that curious garden, on which faced the real front of Marble House.