the past called to him
and would not be silenced. Maladroitly, he gave no direct reply, but
answered the question by another.

"Did Paul Boriskoff tell you that I was about to marry his daughter, Mr.
Gessner?"

"My dear lad, what Paul Boriskoff said or did can be of little interest
to you or me to-night. He is no longer in England, let me tell you. He
left for Poland three days ago."

"Then you saw him or heard from him before he left?"

"Not at all. The less one sees or hears from that kind of person the
better. You know the fellow and will understand me. He is a firebrand we
can well do without. I recommended him to go to Poland and he has gone.
His daughter, I understand, is being educated at Warsaw. Let me advise
you to forget such acquaintances--they are no longer of any concern to
either of us."

He waved his hand as though to dismiss the subject finally; but his
words left Alban strangely ill at ease.

"Old Paul is a fanatic," he said presently, "but a very kindly one. I
think he is very selfish where his daughter is concerned, but he loves
his country and is quite honest in his opinions. From what I have heard
in Union Street, he is very unwise to go back to Poland. The Russian
authorities must be perfectly well aware what he has done in London, and
are not likely to forget it. Yes, indeed, I am sorry that he has been so
foolish."

He spoke as one who regretted sincerely the indiscretions of a friend
and would have saved him from them. Gessner, upon his side, desired as
little talk of the Boriskoffs as might be. If he had told the truth, he
knew that Alban Kennedy would walk out of his house never to return. For
it had been his own accomplices who had persuaded old Paul to return to
Poland--and the Russian police were waiting for him across the frontier.
Any hour might bring the news of his arrest. The poor fanatic who
babbled threats would be under lock and key before many hours had
passed, on his way to Saghalin perhaps--and his daughter might starve if
she were obstinate enough. All this was in Gessner's mind, but he said
nothing of it. His quick perception set a finger upon Alban's difficulty
and instantly grappled with it.

"We must do what we can for the old fellow," he said lightly, "I am
already paying for the daughter's education and will see to her future.
You would be wise, Alban, to cut all those connections finally. I want
you to take a good place in the world. You have a fine talent, and