“Hold me!” cried Sir David eagerly; and he bent and whispered in his sister’s ear: “Thanks, Angel; you were right--you have the better wit.” The girl was turning radiantly to her cavalier, when there came the sound of quick breathing at the door; and there stood Darda, her hand to her panting side, her face set in an expression of bitter resentment. “Her!” she gasped, pointing at Miss Royston--“her, to plead for him and take the credit, to feed her beastly vanity withal? She shan’t--I’ll tear her wi’ my nails first.” Tuke stood at watch. “Release the man, if you will, Miss Royston,” he said. “Your brother will conduct and assist you. I must stay and look after this pretty member of my household.” As he spoke, the mad creature sprung forwards; but he was quick and caught her in his arms, where she writhed, screaming. “Make haste,” he said--“and is it not an enviable _rôle_ to be a keeper of wild beasts?” Sir David hurried his sister from the room. She threw her knight a very grateful rose of gratitude over her shoulder as she went. As they passed out, Tuke tightened his grip, almost cruelly, on the struggling girl. Suddenly she fell passive in his hands. He looked down, and she up at him, her face running with tears. “Don’t hurt me,” she said, with a catching sob. “I will be quiet.” “Will you give me your word not to stir from here till I bid you?” “Yes,” she answered, faint and pathetic. “And not to touch the lady when she returns?” “Yes.” All in a moment she sank down at his feet, crying as if her heart were broken. “He will see an angel in her,” she moaned; “and will love her for releasing him.” CHAPTER XXIII. At breakfast the next morning Darda waited upon her master, with swollen eyes and a very sullen manner of attention. He was in a strange mood himself, compound of perplexity and exaltation. In the girl’s piteous acknowledgment of his mastery over her, he had warmed to a toleration of her foibles that was almost a regard for her as something a possession of his own. He could secretly applaud that loyalty to her brother, when--after venting itself in rebellion against his own mandates--it sunk from arrogance to a heart-broken appeal to his mercy. Having subdued, he could be gentle with her. Moreover, reason resuming a certain sway over his passions, he felt he had acted hastily in that little question of the “Priest’s Hole.” But, there was a third and very engaging side to his meditations--a thought that, by stooping his stiff neck to the thread of a little glossy sandal, he had tacitly pronounced himself in humble subjection to the owner thereof; in fact, that by submitting Miss Royston as his proxy of grace, he had indirectly suggested, in thin outline, a declaration to her.