must not--you cannot love me. I am only
the daughter of a man who, at any moment, might be arrested--a man for
whom the police are ever in search, but cannot find."

"I know all that; but you, dearest, are not a thief!" I urged, for I
loved her with all the strength of my being--with all my soul.

She trembled and sobbed, but did not reply. Her tearful face was
hidden upon my shoulder.

"Do you care for me in the least?" I whispered to her. "Tell me, dear,
do."

She was silent.

I repeated my question, until at last she raised her face to mine,
and, though she did not speak, I knew with joy that her answer was in
the affirmative. And then I poured out my secret to her, how ever
since I had first seen her I had loved her to distraction; and how the
knowledge that she reciprocated my affection had rendered me the
happiest man in the world.

For a long time we remained locked in each other's arms. How long I
cannot tell.

Suddenly, when she had dried her tears, she seemed full of
apprehension concerning my welfare.

"Oh! do be careful of yourself, George!" she cried. "I am always so
anxious about you when you are away. Father sends you on those strange
and highly dangerous missions because he trusts you, and you, alas!
are compelled to do his bidding. But do take care. You know well what
the slightest blunder would mean--and you would never clear yourself,
you know!"

I promised I would take great care always, and again we moved along.
It was not, however, until dusk that we returned to the Manor.

I could not help wondering how Lola had discovered her father's true
character and the nature of his secret "business," but on the whole I
felt it was just as well that she knew, for she herself would exercise
great care. And then I thought in ecstasy, "She is mine--_mine_!"

Just before midnight, soon after I had retired, the door of my room
opened, and I found Rayne in his pajamas.

He placed his finger upon his lips with a gesture of silence. Then,
closing the door noiselessly, he drew me to the opposite side of the
room, and, showing me a photograph, said:

"Look at this well, George. You'd recognize him, wouldn't you?"

It was a cabinet photograph of a good-looking gentlemanly,
clean-shaven man of about twenty-five.

"Note his tiepin--a single moonstone!" added Rayne.

"Yes," I said, as I gazed at the photograph.

"Well, to-day is Monday," he said. "Next Thursday night I want you to
take Madame from L