About the dais there was suddenly an appalling confusion. Push of
feet, murmurs, a cry and, visible over the heads between, a
glistening of gold uniforms closing about the throne seats, flashing
back to the long, open windows, disappearing against the night...
"What is it?" cried Amory as he ran. "What is it?"
"Quick," said St. George only, "I don't know. They've gone with
her."
Amory did not understand, but he saw that Olivia's seat was empty;
and when he swept the heads for her white veil, it was not there.
"Who has?" he said.
St. George swerved to the side of the room toward the windows, and
old Malakh stood there, crying out and pointing.
"The guard, I think," St. George answered, and was over the low sill
of a window, running headlong across the courtyard, Amory behind
him. "There they go," St. George cried. "Good God, what are we to
do? There they go."
Amory looked. Down a side avenue--one of those tunnels of shadow
that taught the necessity of mystery--a great motor car was
speeding, and in the dimness the two men could see the white of
Olivia's floating veil.
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