iciously. Some of our friends will hardly find their homes
tonight. I hope, by the way, you have brought a great-coat?"

Raoul ignored the question.

"I fear, sir, your learning will discover half-a-dozen mistakes," said
he, addressing Narcissus and leading the way towards the panel.

"But whilst I think of it," Endymion persisted, "I saw half-a-dozen old
baize chair-covers behind the cloak-room door. Don't hesitate to take
one; you can return it to-morrow or next day." Dorothea being his only
audience, he beamed a look on her which said: "They come to us in a
hurry, these prisoners--no time to collect a wardrobe; but I think of
these little things."

"Rest assured, sir, I will turn up my coat-collar," said Raoul; and
Dorothea could see him, a moment later, shaking his head good-
naturedly, though the Commissary still protested.

Dorothea, left to herself, watched them examining and discussing the
panel of Bacchus and Ariadne. The orchestra started another _contre-
danse_, but no partner approached to claim her. The dance began. It
was the "Dashing White Sergeant," and one exuberant couple threatened
to tread upon her toes. She stood up and, for lack of anything better
to do, began to study the panel behind her.

A moment later her hand went up to her throat.

It was the panel on which M. Raoul had sketched an imaginary board
with his thumb-nail--the Garden of the Hesperides. But the Perseus
was different; he wore the face of M. Raoul himself. And beneath the
throat of the nymph on the right, half concealed in the folds about
her bosom, hung a locket--a small enamelled heart, edged with
brilliants. Just such a trinket--a brooch--had pinned the collar of
her close habit three days before, when she and M. Raoul had stood
together discussing the panel. It was a legacy from her mother.

Hastily she put out a hand and drew the edge of the orange curtain
over nymph and locket.

Soon after supper Endymion Westcote informed his sister that it was
hopeless to think of returning to Bayfield. The barouche would convey
her back to the Town House; but already the snow lay a foot and a half
deep, and was still falling. He himself, after packing her off with
Narcissus, would remain and attend to the comfort of the guests, many
of whom must bivouac at "The Dogs" for the night as best they could.

At midnight, or a little later, the barouche was announced. It drew up
close to the porch, axle-deep in snow. Upstairs the orchest