"You fiend," he muttered, with a dark glance at Mrs. Seaton's house. "You abominable fiend!" And then he called softly, "Emilia, Emilia! Look up, my darling. We are safe now, and we will never part." His voice, but not the words he spoke, reached her senses. She opened her eyes, and clung more closely to him, murmuring, "For Heaven's sake, take me from this place." "Come, then," he said, supporting her. It was not until they had traversed two or three streets that Gerald began to feel perplexed. Where should he take her? He had no lady friend to whom he could apply and who would be willing to receive Emilia. It would be dangerous to her character to go to an hotel. The hour, the circumstances, Emilia's agitated state, were all against them. She was too weak to speak for herself; upon him devolved the responsibility of providing for her, of protecting her, and he was conscious that anything he might say to strangers would do her more harm than good. There was already a danger that she was being compromised. Some persons had passed them in the streets, and dark as was the night, they could scarcely fail to see that his arm was round her waist and that she was clinging to him. Now and then sobs escaped from her overcharged heart. A few of the people they met turned and looked after them, and Gerald heard one laugh. It went through him like a sharp knife. If he could only get her safely housed before she was recognized! But he was by no means sure that this danger had been averted. Certainly two men who had passed them were men he knew. As for Emilia, happily or unhappily for herself, she noticed nothing. This terrible crisis had completely prostrated her, and all that she was conscious of was that she was under the protection of an honorable man, and had escaped from the oppression of a vile woman. Something must be done, and done soon. They could not walk the streets the whole night. Every moment added to the dangers of the position. "Emilia, will you listen to me?" "I am listening, Gerald." It was as if she had called him so all her life; and, indeed, in the purest innocence, she had often murmured his name in secret to herself. He was thrilled with ineffable happiness. "You understand what I am saying to you, Emilia?" "Yes." "It is very late." With sudden terror she cried, "You will not leave me, Gerald? You will not desert me?" "No, indeed. Do not be afraid. I am yours forever, in truth and honor. But we must be prudent." "I will do whatever you bid me, Gerald. I have no friend in the world but you." In his honor and honesty lay her safety. Well was it for her that she had by her side a man like Gerald. "Where did you live before you went to Mrs. Seaton?" She shuddered at the name, and answered, "In Grafton Street," and mentioned the number.