e. Please let me know when his
excellency is better."

She promised him that she would do so, and he returned to his own rooms.
He was not, however, to see the Count again until he met him many years
afterwards in Paris. The distressed Zaniloff himself carried the amazing
news, some two hours later.

"You are to leave for London by the evening mail," the Chief said
shortly, "a berth has been reserved for you, and I myself will see you
into the train. Do not complain of us, Mr. Kennedy. I can assure you
that there are many cities more agreeable than Warsaw at the present
moment."

Alban was not surprised, nor would he argue upon it. He realized that
his labors in Poland had been in vain. If he could save Lois from the
prison, he must do so in London, in the alleys and dens he had so long
deserted. Not toward Wonderland, not at the shrines of riches, but as an
exile returned to labor with the humblest, must this journey carry him.

And he bowed his head to destiny and believed that he stood alone
against the world.

CHAPTER XXX

WE MEET OLD FRIENDS

Alban had returned some two months from Poland, when, upon a drear
October evening, the Archbishop of Bloomsbury, my Lady Sarah, the flower
girl, and "Betty," the half-witted boy, made their way about half-past
nine o'clock to the deserted stage of the Regent Theatre, and there by
the courtesy of the watchman, distantly related to Sarah, began their
preparations for a homely evening meal.

To be quite candid, this was altogether a more respectable company than
that which had assembled in the Caves at the springtime of the year. The
Lady Sarah wore a spruce black silk dress which had adorned the back of
a Duchess more than three years ago; the Archbishop boasted a coat that
would have done no discredit to a Canon of St. Paul's; the boy they
would call "Betty" had a flower at the button-hole of a neat gray suit,
and carried himself as though all the world belonged to him. This purple
and fine linen, to be sure, were rather lost upon the empty stage of
that dismal theatre, nor did the watchman's lantern and two proud
wax-candles which the Lady Sarah carried do much for their reputation;
but, as the Archbishop wisely said, "We know that they are there, and
Sarah has the satisfaction of rustling for us."

Now to be plainer, this was the occasion of a letter just received from
"the Panorama," who had gone to America since June, and of joyful news
from that incura