She turned like a flash, with a startled exclamation and an instinctive movement as if to shield herself from unbidden gaze.  Her lips parted and her heart pounded like a hammer.  Standing in the doorway was Randolph Shaw, his figure looming up like a monstrous, wavering genie in the uncertain light from the shaking lantern.  His right hand was to his brow and his eyes were wide with incredulous joy.  She noticed that the left sleeve of his dinner jacket hung limp, and that the arm was in a white sling beneath.

“Is it really you?” he cried, his hand going instinctively to his watch-pocket as if doubting that it was night instead of morning.

“I’ve—­I’ve run away from them,” she stammered.  “It’s two o’clock—­don’t look!  Oh, I’m so sorry now—­why did I—­”

“You ran away?” he exclaimed, coming toward her.  “Oh, it can’t be a dream.  You are there, aren’t you?” She was a pitiable object as she stood there, powerless to retreat, shaking like a leaf.  He took her by the shoulder.  “Yes—­it is you.  Good Lord, what does it mean?  What has happened?  How did you come here?  Are you alone?”

“Utterly, miserably alone.  Oh, Mr. Shaw!” she cried despairingly.  “You will understand, won’t you?”

“Never!  Never as long as I live.  It is beyond comprehension.  The wonderful part of it all is that I was sitting in there dreaming of you—­yes, I was.  I heard some one out here, investigated and found you—­you, of all people in the world.  And I was dreaming that I held you in my arms.  Yes, I was!  I was dreaming it—­”

“Mr. Shaw!  You shouldn’t—­”

“And I awoke to find you—­not in my arms, not in Bazelhurst Villa, but here—­here on my porch.”

“Like a thief in the night,” she murmured.  “What do you think of me?”

“Shall I tell you—­really?” he cried.  The light in his eyes drove her back a step or two, panic in her heart.

“N—­no, no—­not now!” she gasped, but a great wave of exaltation swept through her being.  He turned and walked away, too dazed to speak.  Without knowing it, she followed with hesitating steps.  At the edge of the porch he paused and looked into the darkness.

“By Jove, I must be dreaming,” she heard him mutter.

“No, you are not,” she declared desperately.  “I am here.  I ask your protection for the night.  I am going away—­to England—­to-morrow.  I couldn’t stay there—­I just couldn’t.  I’m sorry I came here—­I’m—­”

“Thank haven, you did come,” he exclaimed, turning to her joyously.  “You are like a fairy—­the fairy princess come true.  It’s unbelievable!  But—­but what was it you said about England?” he concluded, suddenly sober.

“I am go—­going home.  There’s no place else.  I can’t live with her,” she said, a bit tremulously.

“To England?  At once?  Your father—­will he—­”

“My father?  I have no father.  Oh!” with a sudden start.  Her eyes met his in a helpless stare.  “I never thought.  My home was at Bazelhurst Castle—­their home.  I can’t go there.  Good heavens, what am I to do?”