"Rita--my Rita! What have they done to you? Speak to me. . . . Oh God!
Spare her to me. . . . Let her hate me for ever, but spare her--spare
her. Rita, speak to me! I tried, heaven hear me, to save you little
girl. I only want you to be happy!"
She felt herself being lifted gently, tenderly. And as though the
man's passionate entreaty had called her back from the dead, she
reentered into life and strove to realize what had happened.
Sir Lucien was supporting her, and she found it hard to credit the
fact that it was he, the hard, nonchalant man of the world she knew,
who had spoken. She clutched his arm with both hands.
"Oh, Lucy!" she whispered. "I am so frightened--and so ill."
"Thank God," he said huskily, "she is alive. Lean against me and try
to stand up. We must get away from here."
Rita managed to stand upright, clinging wildly to Sir Lucien. A
square, vaguely luminous opening became visible to her. Against it,
silhouetted, she could discern part of the outline of Kazmah's chair.
She drew back, uttering a low, sobbing cry. Sir Lucien supported her,
and:
"Don't be afraid, dear," he said reassuringly. "Nothing shall hurt
you."
He pushed open a door, and through it shone the same vague light which
she had seen in the opening behind the chair.
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