A crumbled wheel hung, rotten and moss-grown, over a dry water-course, where straggling willows stretched out from the bank and trailed their long, feathery ends a yard or so above the level of the weeds and grasses that carpeted the sandy bed of it, and along its edge—­once built as a protection for the heedless or unwary, but now a ruin and a wreck—­a moss-grown wall with a narrow, gateless archway made an irregular shadow on the moon-drenched earth.  She saw that archway and that dry water-course, and a new, strong hope arose within her.  Discretion had played its part; now it was time for Valour to take the stage.

“Come, get out—­this is the end,” said Merode, as he unlatched the door of the limousine and alighted.  “You may yell here until your throat splits, for all the good it will do you.  Lanisterre, show us a light; the path to the door is uncertain, and the floor of the mill is unsafe.  This way, if you please, Miss Lorne.  Let me have the boy—­I’ll look after him!”

“No, no!—­not yet!  Please, not yet!” said Ailsa, with a little catch in her voice as she plucked his little lordship to her and smothered his frightened cries against her breast.  “Let me have him whilst I may—­let me hold him to—­the last, Monsieur Merode.  His mother trusts me.  She will want to know that I—­I stood by him until I could stand no longer.  Please!—­we are so helpless—­I am so fond of him, and—­he is such a very little boy.  Listen!  You want me to write to Mr. Cleek; you want me to ask something of him.  I won’t do it for myself—­no, not if you kill me for refusing.  I’ll never do it for myself; but—­but I will do it if you won’t separate us until he has had time to say his prayers.”

“Oh, all right, then,” he agreed.  “If it’s any consolation doing a fool’s trick like that, why—­do it!  Now come along, and let’s get inside the mill without any more nonsense.  Lanisterre, bring that lantern here so that mademoiselle can see the path to the door.  This way, if you please, Miss Lorne.”

“Thank you,” she said as she alighted and moved slowly in the direction of the door, soothing the child as they crept along almost within touch of the crumbling wall.  “Ceddie, darling, don’t cry.  You are a brave little hero, I know, and heroes are never afraid to die.”  From the tail of her eye she watched Merode.  He seemed to realise from these words to the child that she was reconciled to the inevitable, and with an air of satisfaction he put the pistol back into his pocket and walked beside her.  She kept straight on with her soothing words; and, in the half-shadow, neither Merode nor Lanisterre could see that one hand was lost in the folds of her skirt.

“Ceddie, darling, let Miss Lorne be able to tell mummie that her little man was a hero; that he died, as heroes always die, without a fear or a weakening to the very last.  I’ll stand by you, precious; I’ll hold your hand; and, when the time comes—­”

It came then!  The gateless archway was reached at last; and the thing she had been planning all along now became possible.  With one sudden push she sent the boy reeling down the incline into the dry water-course, flashed round sharply, and before Merode really knew how the thing happened, she was standing with her back to the arch and a revolver in her levelled hand.