“I presume Brussels is very much excited over Miss Garrison’s disappearance,” said he to the livid-faced prince.

“Brussels is horrified, but she will rejoice tomorrow.  Thank God, we have not toiled in vain.”

“Sit down.  May I inquire for the health of Mrs. Garrison?” The four newcomers, more or less ill at ease, sat down with Lord Bob, the two Americans standing.  Quentin leaned against the big post at the foot of the steps, his face the picture of gloomy defiance.

“I am not her physician, sir.”

“Hoity-toity!  She is quite well, then, I may reasonably infer.  Can you tell me whether she is in Brussels?”

“She will be in Luxemburg in the morning, if my message reaches her to-night.  But we are not here for the purpose of bandying words with you, sir.  This house must be searched, whether you like it or not.  Captain, call in your men,” cried the prince, his rage getting the better of him.

“You will find that the door is barred, captain,” said Saxondale, easily.  The expression that came into the faces of the four men was one not soon to be forgotten.  For a full minute there was absolute silence.

“Do you mean that we are prisoners?” demanded Ugo, his teeth showing, but not in a smile.

“Not at all.  The door has a habit of locking itself.”

“I command you to open that door!” cried the prince, looking about him like a trapped rat.  He snarled with rage when he saw the smile on Quentin’s face.  Dickey’s sudden chuckle threw dismay into the ranks of the confident besiegers.

“Do not be alarmed, gentlemen,” said Saxondale.  “The door shall be opened in good time.  Ah, I think the ladies are coming.”

As he spoke Dorothy and Lady Saxondale appeared at the top of the stairs.  Ugo would have dashed up to meet them had not the two Americans blocked the way.  Slowly Dorothy came down the oaken steps, followed by Lady Saxondale.  Lady Jane and Father Bivot were not far behind them.

“Dorothy!” cried Ugo.  “Thank heaven, I have found you!”

She stopped on the bottom step, within arm’s length of Philip Quentin.  There was a moment of indecision, a vivid flush leaped into her lovely cheek, and then her hand went quickly forth and rested on Quentin’s shoulder.  He started and looked at her for the first time.

“I am sorry, Ugo, for the wrong I have done you,” she said, steadily, but her hand trembled convulsively on Phil’s shoulder.  Mechanically he reached up and took the slim fingers in his broad, strong hand and rose to the step beside her.

“The wrong?” murmured the prince, mechanically.

“In running away from you as I did,” she said, hurriedly, as if doubting her power to proceed.  “It was heartless of me, and it subjected you to the crudest pain and humiliation.  I cannot ask you to forgive me.  You should despise me.”

“Despise you?” he gasped, slowly.  The truth began to dawn on two men at the same time.  Ugo’s heart sank like a stone and Quentin’s leaped as if stung by an electric shock.  His figure straightened, his chin was lifted, and the blood surged from all parts of his body to his turbulent heart.