I
won't be a minute longer than I can help."

Feeling very much as if he were being guilty of a dishonourable action,
Browne allowed her to depart upon her errand. This time she was
somewhat longer away, but when she returned she carried, concealed in
her hand, a small slip of paper. He took it from her, and, once more
thanking her for her kindness, returned to his cab.

"Home, Williams," he cried to his coachman, "and as quickly as
possible. I have no time to spare."

As the vehicle sped along in the direction of the High Street, Browne
unfolded and glanced at the paper the girl had given him. Upon it,
written in a clumsy hand, was the address he wanted, and which he would
have fought the world to obtain.

"Madame Bernstein," so it ran, "35, Rue Jacquarie, Paris."

"Very good," said Browne to himself triumphantly. "Now I know where to
find them. Let me see! They were to leave London in an hour from nine
o'clock; that means that they started from Victoria and are travelling
_via_ Newhaven and Dieppe. Now, there's a train from Charing Cross,
_via_ Dover and Calais, at eleven. If I can catch that I shall be in
Paris an hour and a half after them."

He consulted his watch anxiously, to find that he had barely an hour in
which to pack his bag and to get to the station. However, if it could
be done, he was determined to do it; accordingly he bade his man drive
faster. Reaching Park Lane, he rang for his valet, and when that
somewhat stolid individual put in an appearance, bade him pack a few
necessaries and be ready to start for the Continent at once. Being a
well-drilled servant, and accustomed, by long usage, to his master's
rapid flittings from place to place, the man offered no comment, but
merely saying, "Very good, sir," departed to carry out his instructions.

Two minutes to eleven found Browne standing upon the platform at
Charing Cross Station. It was not until he was comfortably installed
in the carriage and the train was rolling out of the station, that the
full meaning of what he was doing struck him. Why was he leaving
England? To follow this girl. And why? For one very good
reason--_because he loved her_! But why _should_ he have loved her,
when, with his wealth, he could have married the daughter of almost any
peer in England; when, had he so desired, he could have chosen his wife
from among the most beautiful or most talented women in Europe?
Katherine Petrovitch, attractive and ch