ous which even the greatest artist frequently fails to create
out of any form of colour. Some fancy had induced her to strip off her
jewels at the last moment, and she wore no ornaments save a band of
black velvet around her neck. Helen looked at her curiously.

"Is this a fresh scheme for conquest, Philippa?" she asked, as they
stood together by the log fire.

Philippa unexpectedly flushed.

"I don't know what I was thinking about, really," she confessed. "Is
that the exact time, I wonder?"

"Two minutes to eight," Helen replied.

"Mr. Lessingham is always so punctual," Philippa murmured. "I wonder if
Captain Griffiths would dare!"

"We've done our best to warn him," Helen reminded her friend. "The man
is simply pig-headed."

"I can't help feeling that he's right," Philippa declared, "when he
argues that they couldn't really prove anything against him."

"Does that matter," Helen asked anxiously, "so long as he is an enemy,
living under a false name here?"

"You don't think they'd--they'd--"

"Shoot him?" Helen whispered, lowering her voice. "They couldn't do
that! They couldn't do that!"

The clock began to chime. Suddenly Philippa, who had been listening,
gave a little exclamation of relief.

"I hear his voice!" she exclaimed. "Thank goodness!"

Helen's relief was almost as great as her companion's. A moment later
Mills ushered in their guest. He was still wearing his bandage, but his
colour had returned. He seemed, in fact, almost gay.

"Nothing has happened, then?" Philippa demanded anxiously, as soon as
the door was closed.

"Nothing at all," he assured them. "Our friend Griffiths is terribly
afraid of making a mistake."

"So afraid that he wouldn't come and dine. Never mind, you'll have to
take care of us both," she added, as Mills announced dinner.

"I'll do my best," he promised, offering his arm.

If the sword of Damocles were indeed suspended over their heads, it
seemed only to heighten the merriment of their little repast. Philippa
had ordered champagne, and the warmth of the pleasant dining room, the
many appurtenances of luxury by which they were surrounded, the glow of
the wine, and the perfume of the hothouse flowers upon the table, seemed
in delicious contrast to the fury of the storm outside. They all three
appeared completely successful in a strenuous effort to dismiss all
disconcerting subjects from their minds. Lessingham talked chiefly of
the East. He had travelled in Russia,