"May I see her?"

"I regret to say she has retired."

"I think she would see me."

A door opened into the hall, throwing a shaft of light on the wall
across and letting out the sounds of voices.

"Shut that door," said Doyle, wheeling sharply. It was closed at once.
"Now," he said, turning to his visitor, "I'll tell you this. My niece
is here." He emphasized the "my." "She has come to me for refuge, and
I intend to give it to her. You won't see her to-night, and if you come
from her people you can tell them she came here of her own free will,
and that if she stays it will be because she wants to. Joe!" he called
into the darkness.

"Yes," came a sullen voice, after a moment's hesitation.

"Show this gentleman out."

All at once Willy Cameron was staring at a closed door, on the inner
side of which a bolt was being slipped. He felt absurd and futile, and
not at all like a lion. With the revolver in his hand, he went down the
steps.

"Don't bother about the gate, Joe," he said. "I like to open my own
gates. And--don't try any tricks, Joe. Get back to your kennel."

Fearful mutterings followed that, but the shadow retired, and he made
an undisturbed exit to the street. Once on the street-car, the entire
episode became unreal and theatrical, with only the drag of Joe's
revolver in his coat pocket to prove its reality.

It was after midnight when, shoes in hand, he crept up the stairs to
Dan's room, and careful not to disturb him, slipped into his side of the
double bed. He did not sleep at all. He lay there, facing the fact that
Lily had delivered herself voluntarily into the hands of the enemy of
her house, and not only of her house, an enemy of the country. That
conference that night was a sinister one. Brought to book about it,
Doyle might claim it as a labor meeting. Organizers planning a strike
might--did indeed--hold secret conferences, but they did not post armed
guards. They opened business offices, and brought in the press men, and
shouted their grievances for the world to hear.

This was different. This was anarchy. And in every city it was going
on, this rallying of the malcontents, the idlers, the envious and
the dangerous, to the red flag. Organized labor gathered together
the workmen, but men like Doyle were organizing the riff-raff of
the country. They secured a small percentage of idealists and
pseudo-intellectuals, and taught them a so-called internationalism
which under the name of brotherho