. "What is it?"

"Let me have a little pride, too," he said. "It isn't easy to ask
favors of your enemies. I am surrounded by those who hate me and
believe me guilty. Naturally, I stand as much chance of a fair trial
as a spy in wartime. I'm just beginning to understand that. At first
I thought as long as one's conscience was clear nothing could happen."

"What is it I can do?" she asked again.

"I am taking for granted you would like to see me get off," Ambrose
went on. "Admitting that--that the old feeling is dead and all
that--still it can't be exactly pleasant for you to feel that you once
felt that way toward a murderer and a traitor--"

"Please, please--" murmured Colina.

"You see you have a motive for helping me," Ambrose insisted. "I
thought first of Simon Grampierre. He's under arrest. Then I asked to
be allowed to see Germain, his son. The inspector wouldn't have it. I
gave up hope after that. But the sight of you makes me want to defend
myself still. I thought maybe you would have a note carried to Germain
for me."

"Certainly," she said.

"You shall read it," he said eagerly, "so you can satisfy yourself
there's nothing treasonable."

She made a deprecating gesture.

"I'll write it at once," he said. He carried the tray to the bed.
Colina gave him the chair.

"They let me have writing materials," Ambrose went on with a rueful
smile. "I think they hope I may write out a confession some night."

To Germain Grampierre he wrote a plain, brief account of Nesis, and
made clear what a desperate need he had of finding her.

"Will you read it?" he asked Colina.

She shook her head. He handed it to her unsealed, and she thrust it in
her dress.

"I'm ever so much obliged to you," he said, trying to keep up the
reasonable air. "How pretty your hair looks that way!" he added
inconsequentially. The words were surprised out of him.

She turned abruptly. It was beginning to be dark in the shack, and he
could no longer see into her face.

Her movement was too much for his self-control. "Ah, must you go?" he
cried sharply. "Another minute or two! It will be dreadful here after
you've gone!"

"What's the use?" she whispered.

"True," he said harshly. "What's the use?" He turned his back on her.
"Good night, and thank you."

She lingered, hand upon the doorlatch. "Isn't there--isn't there
something else I can do?" she asked.

"No, thank you."

Still she stayed. "You haven