As she neared the terrace, she became conscious of several forms moving about at the foot of the steps, some few feet below where she was standing.

Soon she saw the glimmer of lanthorns, heard whispering voices, and the lapping of the water against the side of a boat.
Anon a figure, laden with cloaks and sundry packages, passed down the steps close beside her.

Even in the darkness Marguerite recognized Benyon, her husband's confidential valet.

Without a moment's hesitation, she flew along the terrace towards the wing of the house occupied by Sir Percy.

She had not gone far before she discerned his tall figure walking leisurely along the path which here skirted part of the house.
He had on his large caped coat, which was thrown open in front, displaying a grey travelling suit of fine cloth; his hands were as usual buried in the pockets of his breeches, and on his head he wore the folding chapeau-bras which he habitually affected.
Before she had time to think, or to realize that he was going, before she could utter one single word, she was in his arms, clinging to him with passionate intensity, trying in the gloom to catch every expression of his eyes, every quiver of the face now bent down so close to her.
"Percy, you cannot go...