"And Mater said you weren't to come in here."
From the area below a shrill voice floated upwards.
"Mr. Bob! Mr. Bob! Daon't you believe 'im. They got Miss 'Cilia locked
up in 'er room."
"By Jove!" said Bob between his teeth. "Bless you, Eliza! Open that
door, Wilfred, or I'll make it hot for you." He thrust a foot into the
opening, with a face so threatening that Wilfred shrank back.
"I shan't," he said. "You're not going to get her."
"Am I not?" said Bob. He leaned back, and then suddenly flung all his
weight against the door. The chain was old and the links eaten with
rust--it snapped like a carrot, and the door flew open. Bob brushed
Wilfred out of his way, and went upstairs, three at a time.
Avice blocked his path.
"You aren't coming up."
"Oh, yes, I think so," Bob said. He stooped, with a quick movement,
and picked her up, holding her across his shoulder, while she beat and
clawed unavailingly at his back. So holding her, he thrust back the bolt
of Cecilia's door and flung it open.
"Did you think they had got you, Tommy?"
She could only cling to his free arm for a moment speechless. Then she
lifted her face, her voice shaking, still in fear.
"We must hurry, Bob. They've sent for Papa."
"Have they?" said Bob, with interest. "Well, not a regiment of papas
should stop you now, old girl. Got everything?"
Cecilia gathered up her things, nodding.
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