when I return."

She started up in wild alarm.

"You must not do it--I forbid it," she cried, closing her white arms
about his neck as though to protect him already from his enemies. "Oh,
my dear, you do not know the Russian people, you do not know what it
means to stand against the police here and have them for your enemies.
Mr. Gessner is their friend. The Government would do a great deal to
serve him--my father says so. If Count Sergius heard that you had met
me, we should both be in prison this night--ah, dear God, what a prison,
what suffering--and I have seen it myself, the women cowering from the
lash, the men beaten so that they cut the flesh from their faces. That's
what happens to those who go against the Government, dear Alb--but not
to you because you love me."

She clung to him hysterically, for this long vigil had tried her nerves
and the shadow of discovery lay upon her always. It had been no surprise
to her to find Alban in Warsaw, for the Revolutionary Committee in
London had informed her friends by cable on the very day that Count
Sergius had left. She knew exactly how he had come, where he had
stopped, and when to seek him out. But now that his arms were about her,
she dreaded a new separation and was almost afraid to release his hand
from hers.

"You will not leave me, Alban," she said--a new dignity coming to her
suddenly as though some lesson, not of the school, but of life, had
taught it to her--"you will take me to London with you--yes, yes, dear,
as your servant. That is what my friends wish, they have thought it all
out. I am to go as your servant and you must get a passport for me--for
Lois Werner, and then if you call me by my own name no one will know.
There we can see Mr. Gessner together and speak of my father. I will
promise him that his secret shall never be known. He will trust me,
Alban, because I promise him."

Alban stooped and kissed her upon the lips.

"No," he said, "the work must be done here in Russia, Lois. I am called
to do it and I go now. Let me find you at the same time to-morrow, and I
will tell you what I have done. God bless you, Lois. It is happiness to
be with you again."

Their lips met, their arms unclasped reluctantly. A single tap upon the
panel of the cabin brought that merry old fellow, Herr Petermann, to
open to them. Alban told him in a sentence what had happened and
hastened back to the hotel.

CHAPTER XXIII

AN INSTRUCTION TO THE POLICE