ess to be his
guardian.

Something wild and potent sprang to life in her. She got to her feet.
She looked like another woman. Now she was asking when the next through
train left for Paris. At ten o'clock, they told her. It was now
twenty-five minutes past nine. She might make it if she went straight to
the station in the gown she wore, without stopping to get even a small
travelling-bag. But no--she was not sure enough that that was the best
thing to do. The through tickets that Lady Wychcote had bought to Paris
might be only a blind. She must be very certain when she acted to act in
the surest way. A favourite saying of Judge Macon's came into her mind.
"Be sure you're right--then go ahead." Besides, Amaldi might be at the
Rio San Vio by now. He would be sure to advise her in the sanest, most
clear-sighted way. He was the very man to stand firm in a crisis, not to
lose his head. Then, with a hot recoil of shame, she thought of what she
must tell him. She had not yet taken in what all this might also mean to
her and Amaldi. She could think only of Bobby, bewildered, unhappy,
rushing away from her on the night express to Paris in company with the
bitter old woman who had always hated her. She recalled the feeling of
his strong little body as he had snuggled close to her last night. A
fury of impotent love and rage shook her. The gondola seemed to crawl
over the light-jewelled water of the canal, though Lorenzo and Mario
were sending it along at racing speed. A gaily lighted barge filled with
singers and musicians passed them.

As they turned into the little Rio, by the Palace of Don Carlos,
another barge began burning Bengal lights. The dark, narrow water-way,
with its crowding houses and little bridges, flared red before her as in
some operatic scene. Why were things always so brutally ironical? Why
should there be a festival in Venice on the night that her boy had been
stolen from her?

When she reached her flat she found a wire from Amaldi, saying that he
would take the train from Cortola to Venice, and be with her by ten
o'clock. It was the quickest way that he could reach her. As she put
down the telegram she heard his voice on the stair, speaking to Lorenzo.
Then he came in alone. He took her in his arms, held her close a moment,
then led her to a sofa, and sat down beside her, keeping her hands in
his.

"Now tell me," he said.

She told him everything. As she spoke he kept muttering, "What
infamy!... What i