I was by this time well aware of my lover's determination of character, but I was not prepared for the tone in which he addressed the icy woman calling herself his mother. “I am ready to listen,” he answered. “John!” she returned, with mingled severity and sharpness, “let us have no masquerading! You are perfectly fit to come home, and you must come at once. The carriage is at the door.” “You are quite right, mother,” answered John calmly; “I _am_ fit to go home with you. But Rising does not quite agree with me. I dread such another attack, and do not mean to go.” The drawing-room had a rectangular bay-window, one of whose three sides commanded the door. The opposite side looked into a little grove of larches. Lady Cairnedge had already realized the position of the room. She darted to the window, and saw her carriage but a few yards away. She would have thrown up the sash, but found she could not. She twisted her handkerchief round her gloved hand, and dashed it through a pane. “Men!” she cried, in a loud, commanding voice, “come at once.” The moment she went to the window, I sprang to the door, locked it, put the key in my pocket, and set my back to the door. I heard the men thundering at the hall-door. Lady Cairnedge turned as if she would herself go and open to them, but seeing me, she understood what I had done, and went back to the window. “Come here! Come to me here--to the window!” she cried. John had been watching with a calm, determined look. He came and stood between us. “John,” I said, “leave your mother to me.” “She will kill you!” he answered. “You might kill her!” I replied. I darted to the chimney, where a clear fire was burning, caught up the poker, and thrust it between the bars. “That's for you!” I whispered. “They will not touch you with that in your hand! Never mind me. If your mother move hand or foot to help them, it will be my turn!” He gave me a smile and a nod, and his eyes lightened. I saw that he trusted me, and I felt fearless as a bull-dog. In the meantime, she had spoken to her servants, and was now trying to open the window, which had a peculiar catch. I saw that John could defend himself much better at the window than in the room. I went softly behind his mother, put my hands round her neck, and clasping them in front, pulled her backward with all my strength. We fell on the floor together, I under of course, but clutching as if all my soul were in my fingers. Neither should she meddle with John, nor should he lay hand on her! I did not mind much what I did to her myself. “To the window, John,” I cried, “and break their heads!”