Cedric's weak, impressionable nature would be like wax in the hands of this unscrupulous adventurer; he would simply mould him to his will; the poor lad's passionate love for his sister would be turned to account and made to further his own wily purposes.

Malcolm groaned inwardly, as he realised that their sole chance lay with Leah herself.
Her message had given him a shade of hope, but he would not allow himself to be sanguine; he knew too well that women of Leah's calibre were not always to be depended on; in such cases one must reckon with moods and impulses.

Her brother dominated her; he was the evil genius of her life.

How could any one hope to influence her, when she, poor soul, lived under a reign of terror?
One might as well ask some wretched prisoner to break off the fetters that bound him, as to expect Leah Jacobi to walk out of that house of bondage a free woman.
Malcolm found it impossible to rid himself of these gloomy forebodings; nevertheless he made such good speed that it was barely half-past nine when he stood in the stone porch of 12 Gresham Gardens.

It was evident that he was expected, for though the maid who admitted him regarded him somewhat curiously, she did not ask his name, but conducted him at once upstairs to a handsome drawing-room where a fire was burning.
The little fox-terriers, Tim and Tartar, began barking furiously at the sight of a stranger; but before Malcolm could quiet them the plush curtains that veiled the archway were thrown back and Leah entered from an inner room.
Malcolm was quite shocked when he saw her face.