For one delicious moment she let her head lie on his breast; then she suddenly pushed him away from her.  “Why do you come here?  He will kill you if he finds you in the house.  Where is he?”

Launce knew even less of Turlington’s movements than the servant.  “Wherever he is, thank God, I am here before him!” That was all the answer he could give.

Natalie and her aunt heard him in silent dismay.  Sir Joseph woke, and recognized Launce before a word more could be said.  “Ah, my dear boy!” he murmured, faintly.  “It’s pleasant to see you again.  How do you come here?” He was quite satisfied with the first excuse that suggested itself.  “We’ll talk about it to-morrow,” he said, and composed himself to rest again.

Natalie made a second attempt to persuade Launce to leave the house.

“We don’t know what may have happened,” she said.  “He may have followed you on your way here.  He may have purposely let you enter his house.  Leave us while you have the chance.”

Miss Lavinia added her persuasions.  They were useless.  Launce quietly closed the heavy window-shutters, lined with iron, and put up the bar.  Natalie wrung her hands in despair.

“Have you been to the magistrate?” she asked.  “Tell us, at least, are you here by his advice?  Is he coming to help us?”

Launce hesitated.  If he had told the truth, he must have acknowledged that he was there in direct opposition to the magistrate’s advice.  He answered evasively, “If the vicar doesn’t come, the doctor will.  I have told him Sir Joseph must be moved.  Cheer up, Natalie!  The doctor will be here as soon as Turlington.”

As the name passed his lips—­without a sound outside to prepare them for what was coming—­the voice of Turlington himself suddenly penetrated into the room, speaking close behind the window, on the outer side.

“You have broken into my house in the night,” said the voice.  “And you don’t escape this way.”

Miss Lavinia sank on her knees.  Natalie flew to her father.  His eyes were wide open in terror; he moaned, feebly recognizing the voice.  The next sound that was heard was the sound made by the removal of the ladder from the balcony.  Turlington, having descended by it, had taken it away.  Natalie had but too accurately guessed what would happen.  The death of the villain’s accomplice had freed him from all apprehension in that quarter.  He had deliberately dogged Launce’s steps, and had deliberately allowed him to put himself in the wrong by effecting a secret entrance into the house.

There was an interval—­a horrible interval—­and then they heard the front door opened.  Without stopping (judging by the absence of sound) to close it again, Turlington rapidly ascended the stairs and tried the locked door.

“Come out, and give yourself up!” he called through the door.  “I have got my revolver with me, and I have a right to fire on a man who has broken into my house.  If the door isn’t opened before I count three, your blood be on your own head.  One!”