e had been in prisons before, by his
own words.

"Your name, of course, is not John Steele?"

He confessed it a purloined asset.

"What was it?"

He looked at her--beyond! To a storm-tossed ship, a golden-haired child,
her curls in disorder, moving with difficulty, yet clinging so
steadfastly to a small cage. His name? It may be he heard again the loud
pounding and knocking; held her once more to his breast, felt the
confiding, soft arms.

"What does it matter?" he repeated.

What, indeed? That which she had not been able to penetrate, to
understand in him, this was it! This!

"But why"--fragments of what he had said recurred to her; she spoke
mechanically--"when you found yourself recognized, did you not leave
England; why did you come here--to Strathorn House; incur the danger,
the risk?"

"Why?" He still continued to look straight before him. "Because
you--were here!" He spoke quietly, simply.

"I?" she trembled.

"Oh, you need not fear!" quickly. "You!" a bitter smile crossed his
face. "One may see a star and long to draw nearer it, though one knows
it is always beyond reach, unattainable! May even stumble forward, led
by its light--bright, beautiful! Whither?" He laughed abruptly. "One has
not asked, nor cared."

"Cared?" Her figure swayed; he too stood uncertainly; the lights seemed
to tremble.

The man suddenly straightened; then turned. "And now," his voice sounded
harsh, tense; he stepped toward the balcony.

His words, the abrupt action--what it portended, aroused her.

"No; no!" The exclamation broke from her involuntarily; she seemed to
waken as from something unreal that had momentarily held her.
"There--there may be a safer way!" She hardly knew what she was saying;
one thought alone possessed her mind; she looked with strained, bright
glance before her. "The Queen Elizabeth staircase leading into the
garden from my--" The words were arrested; her blue eyes, dark, dilated,
lingered on him in an odd, impersonal way. "Wait!" Bright spots of color
now tinted her cheeks; she went quickly toward the door she had left,
her manner that of one who hastens to some course on impulse, without
pausing to reason. "A few minutes!" She listened, turned the key; then
opening the door, stepped hastily out into the hall.

The latch clicked; the man stood alone. Whatever her purpose, only the
desire to act quickly, to have done with an intolerable situation moved
him. Once more he looked toward the windo