"And take the man prisoner?" Iris added.

"Certainly!"

With that startling reply, the banker hurried away to receive the
police in another room. Iris dropped into the nearest chair. The turn
that the affair had now taken filled her with unutterable dismay.

Sir Giles came back, after no very long absence, composed and smiling.
The course of proceeding had been settled to his complete satisfaction.

Dressed in private clothes, the Sergeant was to go to the milestone at
the appointed time, representing the banker in the darkness, and giving
the password. He was to be followed by two of his men who would wait in
concealment, within hearing of his whistle, if their services were
required. "I want to see the ruffian when he is safely handcuffed," Sir
Giles explained; "and I have arranged to wait for the police, to-night,
at my office."

There was but one desperate way that Iris could now discern of saving
the man who had confided in her godfather's honour, and whose trust had
already been betrayed. Never had she loved the outlawed Irish lord--the
man whom she was forbidden, and rightly forbidden, to marry--as she
loved him at that moment. Let the risk be what it might, this resolute
woman had determined that the Sergeant should not be the only person
who arrived at the milestone, and gave the password. There was one
devoted friend to Lord Harry, whom she could always trust--and that
friend was herself.