On the edge of this slope, at the top of the path, Nora is
straining her eyes in the moonlight, watching for Larry. At last
she gives it up with a sob of impatience, and retreats to the
hoary foot of the tower, where she sits down discouraged and
cries a little. Then she settles herself resignedly to wait, and
hums a song--not an Irish melody, but a hackneyed English
drawing-room ballad of the season before
last--until some slight noise suggests a footstep, when she
springs up eagerly and runs to the edge of the slope again. Some
moments of silence and suspense follow, broken by unmistakable
footsteps. She gives a little gasp as she sees a man approaching.

NORA. Is that you, Larry? [Frightened a little] Who's that?

[BROADBENT's voice from below on the path]. Don't be alarmed.

NORA. Oh, what an English accent you've got!

BROADBENT [rising into view] I must introduce myself--

NORA [violently startled, retreating]. It's not you! Who are you?
What do you want?

BROADBENT [advancing]. I'm really so sorry to have alarmed you,
Miss Reilly. My name is Broadbent. Larry's friend, you know.

NORA [chilled]. And has Mr Doyle not come with you?

BROADBENT. No. I've come instead. I hope I am not unwelcome.