danger. A girl who only gave, or meant to give, you information about my
brother and me was murdered. You, too, would have been killed if you had
found anything out."

He would have answered her lightly, but the memory of Mademoiselle
Flossie lying dead upon the bed in that gloomy little room suddenly rose
up before him, and the words died away upon his lips. He was silent for
a moment, and glanced again at his watch. It wanted only five minutes
to twelve. He came and leaned over her chair.

"Phyllis," he said, "what am I to do about you? I cannot let you go out
of my life like this. No, you must listen to me for a moment. When
Pelham sent for me after you had disappeared he showed me your picture.
I am not exactly the sort of man of whom knight-errants are made. I have
never gone a mile out of my way to meet any woman in my life. My life
here has seemed of all things the best to me. I am a dull, unambitious
sort of fellow, you know, since I settled down here, and I expected to
go on for the rest of my days pretty much in the same way. And yet when
Pelham showed me your picture it was different. I made him give a copy
to me. I told him--liar that I was--that I could not carry the memory of
your face in my mind, when it was already engraven in my heart. And I
went off to Paris, Phyllis, like the veriest Don Quixote, and I came
back very sad indeed when I could not find you. Then you came to Runton
Place, and the trouble began. I did not care who you were, Phyllis
Poynton, Sybil Fielding, or any one else. I let the others dispute. You
were--yourself, and I love you, dear. Now do you understand why I cannot
let you go away like this?"

He had both her hands in his now, but her face was turned away. Then
without any warning, there came a soft rapping at the door which led
into the library.

Duncombe reached it in a couple of strides. He opened it cautiously, and
found Spencer standing there.

"I thought it best to let you know," he said, "that a carriage has
stopped in the lane. If I can be of any assistance I shall be here--and
ready."

Duncombe nodded and closed the door. The girl was sitting upright in her
chair, with the old look of fear in her eyes.

"Who was that?" she asked quickly.

"Spencer," he answered. "He discovered your presence here, but he is
perfectly discreet. He knocked to tell me that a carriage has stopped in
the lane outside."

She was white with fear, but he only laughed, and stooping dow