The woman who had rescued him was standing
near, but he could not distinguish her face. He heard the mob
assembling in the narrow street, their shouts, their trampling, and
speedily there began a great noise at the door. A beating with
sticks and fists, a thundering at the knocker.
'Are you the landlady?' Mutimer asked, turning to his silent
companion.
'No,' was the reply. 'She is outside, I must put up the chain. They
might get her latchkey from her.'
At the first syllable he started; the voice was so familiar to him.
The words were spoken with an entire absence of womanish
consternation; the voice trembled a little, but for all that there
was calm courage in its sound. When she had made the door secure and
turned again towards him, he looked into her face as closely as he
could.
'Is it Emma?'
'Yes.'
Both were silent. Mutimer forgot all about his danger; that at this
moment he should meet Emma Vine, that it should be she who saved
him, impressed him with awe which was stronger than all the
multitude of sensations just now battling within him. For it was her
name that had roused the rabble finally against him. For his wrong
to her he knew that he would have suffered justly; yet her hand it
was that barred the door against his brutal pursuers. A sudden
weakness shook his limbs; he had again to lean upon the wall for
support, and, scarcely conscious of what he did, he sobbed three or
four times.
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