“Diable!  How dare you to speak to—­”

“What are you two rowing about?” demanded his lordship.  “Come along!  We’re, losing time.  Sit on your hat, Deveaux.”

Away they swept, Penelope’s two admirers wrathfully barking at one another about satisfaction at some future hour.

The storm burst upon them in all its fury—­the maddest, wildest storm they had known in all their lives.  Terrified, half drowned, blown almost from the saddles, the trio finally found shelter in the lee of a shelving cliff just off the road.  While they stood there shivering, clutching the bits of their well-nigh frantic horses, the glimmer of lights came down to them from windows farther up the steep.  There was no mistaking the three upright oblongs of light; they were tall windows in the house, the occupants of which doubtless had been aroused at this unearthly hour by the fierceness of the storm.

“By Jove,” lamented the duke, water running down his neck in floods.  “What a luxury a home is, be it ever so humble, on a night like this.”

“Mon Dieu!  Mon Dieu!” groaned the count.  “How comfortab’ zey look.  And here? Eh bien!  Qui fait trembler la terre! I am seeck!  I die!”

“Penelope is out in all this,” moaned his lordship.

“I am not so sure of that.  Trust a woman to find a place where she can’t ruin her hat.  My word for it, Cecil, she’s found a safe roost.  I say, by Jove!” The duke was staring more intently than ever at the windows far above.  “I have it!  Isn’t it rather odd that a house should be lighted so brilliantly at this hour of night?”

“Demmed servants forgot to put out the lamps,” groaned Bazelhurst without interest.

“Nonsense!  I tell you what:  some one has roused the house and asked shelter from the storm.  Now, who could that be but Penelope?”

“By Jove, you’re a ripping clever ass, after all, Barminster—­a regular Sherlock Holmes.  That’s just it!  She’s up there where the windows are.  Come on!  It’s easy sailing now,” cried his lordship, but the duke restrained him.

“Don’t rush off like a fool.  Whose house is it?”

“How the devil do I know?  This is Shaw’s land, and he hasn’t been especially cordial about—­”

“Aha!  See what I mean?  Shaw’s land, to be sure.  Well, hang your stupidity, don’t you know we’re looking at Shaw’s house this very instant?  He lives there and she’s arrived, dem it all.  She’s up there with him—­dry clothes, hot drinks and all that, and we’re out here catching pneumonia.  Fine, isn’t it?”

“Gad!  You’re right!  She’s with that confounded villain.  My God, what’s to become of her?” groaned Lord Cecil, sitting down suddenly and covering his face with his hands.

“We must rescue her!” shouted the duke.  “Brace up, Cecil.  Don’t be a baby.  We’ll storm the place.”

“Not in zis rain!” cried the count.

“You stay here in the shade and hold the horses, that’s what you do,” said the duke scornfully.