In less than half a minute all the household was around her, headed by
the startled Mrs. Tracy, who had all the while been listening in the
other drawing-room: butler, footmen, house-maids, ladies'-maids, cook,
scullions, and all rushed in, thinking the house was on fire.
No need to explain by a word. Emily, radiant in imperial charms, stood,
like inspired Cassandra, flashing indignation from her eyes at the
cowering caitiff on the floor. The mother, turning all manner of
colours, dropped on her knees to "poor Julian's" assistance, affecting
to believe him taken ill. But Emily Warren, whose insulted pride
vouchsafed not a word to that guilty couple, soon undeceived all
parties, by addressing the butler in a voice tremulous and broken--
"Mr. Saunders--be so good--as to go--to Sir Abraham Tamworth's--in the
square--and request of him--a night's--protection--for a
poor--defenceless, insulted woman!"
She could hardly utter the last words for choking tears: but immediately
battling down her feelings, added, with the calmness of a heroine--
"You are a father, Mr. Saunders--set all this before Sir Abraham
strongly, but delicately.
"Footmen! so long as that wretch is in the room, protect me, as you are
men.
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