weary months? But there is a limit to
these things, Philippa, a sense of proportion which must be taken
into account. It's Dick's life which is in the balance against some
intangible thing, nothing that we could ever reproach ourselves with,
nothing that could bring real harm upon any one. Oh, I love my country,
too, but I want Dick! I should feel like his murderess all my life, if I
didn't consent!"

"It occurs to me," Lessingham remarked, turning towards Philippa, "that
Miss Fairclough's point of view is one to be considered."

"Doesn't all that Miss Fairclough has said apply to me?" Philippa
demanded, with a little break in her voice. "Richard is my twin brother,
he is the dearest thing in life to me. Can't you realise, though, that
what you ask of us is treason?"

"It really doesn't amount to that," Lessingham assured her. "In my own
heart I feel convinced that I have come here on a fool's errand. No
object that I could possibly attain in this neighbourhood is worth the
life of a man like Richard Felstead."

"Oh, he's right!" Helen exclaimed. "Think, Philippa! What is there here
which the whole world might not know? There are no secrets in Dreymarsh.
We are miles away from everywhere. For my sake, Philippa, I implore you
not to be unreasonable."

"In plain words," Lessingham intervened, "do not be quixotic, Lady
Cranston. There is just an idea on one side, your brother's life on the
other. You see, the scales do not balance."

"Can't you realise, though," Philippa answered, "what that idea
means? It is part of one's soul that one gives when one departs from a
principle."

"What are principles against love?" Helen demanded, almost fiercely. "A
sister may prate about them, Philippa. A wife couldn't. I'd sacrifice
every principle I ever had, every scrap of self-respect, myself and all
that belongs to me, to save Dick's life!"

There was a brief, throbbing silence. Helen was feverishly clutching
Philippa's hand. Lessingham's eyes were fixed upon the tortured face
into which he gazed. There were no women like this in his own country.

"Dear lady," he said, and for the first time his own voice shook, "I
abandon my arguments. I beg you to act as you think best for your own
future happiness. The chances of life or death are not great things for
either men like your brother or for me. I would not purchase my end, nor
he his life, at the expense of your suffering. You see, I stand on one
side. The telephone is the