'After ten? Oh, I must go at once!'

She left her place, and as quickly as possible made her way through
the crowd. Just at the door she saw a face that she recognised, but
a feeling of faintness was creeping upon her, and she could think of
nothing but the desire to breathe fresh air. Already she was on the
stairs, but her strength suddenly failed; she felt herself falling,
felt herself strongly seized, then lost consciousness.

She came to herself in a few minutes in the bar-parlour; the
landlady was attending to her, and the door had been shut against
intruders. Her first recognition was of Luke Ackroyd.

'Don't say anything,' she murmured, looking at him imploringly.
'Don't tell Lyddy.'

'Not I,' replied Ackroyd. 'Just drink a drop and you'll be all
right. I'll see you home. You feel better, don't you?'

Yes, she felt better, though her head ached miserably. Soon she was
able to walk, and longed to hasten away. The landlady let her out by
the private door, and Ackroyd went with her.

'Will you take my arm?' he said, speaking very gently, and looking
into her face with eloquent eyes. 'I'm rare and glad I happened to
be there. I heard you singing from downstairs, and I asked, Who in
the world's that? I know now what Mr. Boddy means when he talks so
about your voice. Won't you take my arm, Miss Trent?'