"You didn't think I'd got the sense to put two and two together," said he; "but I have. Come, look here. I liked your looks from the first. I thought-- Never mind about that, though. I was wrong. But even now I like you better than any girl I've ever come across. Now, look here--" "Don't say any more," she urged, almost wildly. "Don't! I am married. You don't believe me, but I am. You were kind once; be kind now and let me go--" It was like a prisoner imploring a jailer. "Let you go?" he echoed. "I know better. Not till you say, 'Send for the motor,' and that you'll go out in it with me. Say that and you're free as air." And she might have said it, for the terror that lurked in that tower was coming back, in a new dress, but the same terror. But he went on, "Come, say it, and seal the bargain prettily." And then she said, "If you don't let me pass I swear I'll--" What the threat would have been she hardly knew, and he never knew, for he took a step toward her with his hands outstretched, and words seemed at once to become weak and silly. She clutched her rosy sunshade at about half its length and struck full at his head. The sunshade broke. He put his hands to his temples and held them a moment. "Now, by God," he said, "after that--" and came toward her. And even as he moved the feet of the deliverer sounded on the stairs. Hurried feet, spurning the stones, feet swifter than a man's, lighter than a woman's--little feet that gave out a thin, quick sound not like the sound of human footsteps. She called aloud on the name of the deliverer and he came, swift as the arrow from the bow of a master-archer. "Charles!" she cried. "Charles, seize him! Hold him!" And Charles, coming headlong into that dark place like a shaft of live white light, seized him, and held, by the leg. Mr. Schultz did his best to defend himself, but he had no stick, and no blows of the human fist confused or troubled that white bullet head, no curses affected it, and against those white teeth no kicks or struggles availed. "Hold him! hold him!" she cried, the joy of vicarious battle lighting her eyes. "Confound it!" said Schultz. "Call the devil off." "I will," said she, "from the top of the stairs. And I'll leave you this for comfort: If you behave yourself for the future I won't tell my husband about this. He'd half kill you." "I don't know about that," said Schultz, even with Charles's teeth quietly but persistently boring his leg. "I don't know so much about that." "I do," she said, with almost the conviction of the woman in love. "You'd better stay here till we've gone away. I'm not ungrateful for what you did for me on that day, and if you never dare to speak to me again I'll never tell." "I don't care what you tell," said Schultz. "Call the devil off, I say." She ran up the stairs, and at the top called out, "Charles, drop it. Come here, sir." And Charles dropped it and came.