nd stick. For
the present at least there seemed nothing else to do. He descended the
stairs, a deeply puzzled frown upon his brows, and went out into the
darkness of the street.

Courts and camps, they say, are the best schools, and Renwick had not
lived his thirty years in vain. He had known since last night what he
must do in England's service, and he had also known what havoc that
service must work in Marishka's mind. He had foreseen the inquietude of
the Austrian government at his possession of this state secret, and had
known that his relations with Marishka must be put in jeopardy. He knew
that she must request his silence, that he must refuse her, and that no
woman's pride, put to the test, could brook such a refusal. Like
Marishka, he had had a brief hope that this love might survive the
ordeal put upon it, but he had not been long in discovering that the
Emperor's request to Marishka had made his action seem unpardonable. And
yet he had known as he knew now, that no other course had been open to
him. Since Marishka's early visit to the Palace, an undercurrent of
events had moved swiftly. The fact that he had received a note from
Baron Lichteveld asking him to call at the Ministry, the interview
between them full of allusions on the Baron's part which showed a
complete knowledge of the situation; a veiled request, a veiled threat,
to both of which Renwick had appeared oblivious. These, and an
uncomfortable sense that he was being detained, had at last made Renwick
open his lips. The information of which he was possessed, he had told
the Baron, was in the hands of those who would at the proper time place
it before the British Ambassador. The firmness of his attitude had
brought the interview, apparently pleasant and quite unofficial, to a
sudden ending, and Renwick had left the Ministry, aware that his own
official position in Vienna had suddenly become precarious.

His statement was now at the Embassy, and its astounding contents had
been read by his Chief. He made his way thither, somewhat dubious as to
the thrill of his achievement, aware of a shadow about him, the ghost of
yesterday's joy, which made all success save the intimate personal one
that he most craved, flat, stale, and unprofitable. In the darkness of
the street he was aware, too, that he was being observed and followed,
but he went boldly toward his destination, sure that as a member of the
staff of the British Embassy, his person at least partoo