He saw himself retreating from barricade to barricade, Ruth always advancing, perfectly oblivious of the terror she inspired. Keeping to the shadow of the house, he crept forward until he could see better without, he hoped, being seen. They'll be back soon enough—or not at all. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. Most unsatisfactory. This way, Sir Rowland. From this spot a road, more resembling the drive through a park than a public thoroughfare, led him gradually to the brow of Dollis Hill.
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