espionage grew hateful. Besides, each day added to his
sense of security. There came a time when he impatiently dismissed the
police, and took up life again as before.

Then one day he received a note, in a plain white envelope. It said:
"There are worse things than death." And it was signed: "J. Doyle."

Doyle was not recaptured. Anthony had iron gratings put on the lower
windows of his house after that, and he hired a special watchman. But
nothing happened, and at last he began to forget. He was building the
new furnaces up the river by that time. The era of structural steel for
tall buildings was beginning, and he bought the rights of a process for
making cement out of his furnace slag. He was achieving great wealth,
although he did not change his scale of living.

Now and then Fraulein braved the terrors of the library, small
neatly-written lists in her hands. Miss Elinor needed this or that. He
would check up the lists, sign his name to them, and Elinor and Fraulein
would have a shopping excursion. He never gave Elinor money.

On one of the lists one day he found the word, added in Elinor's hand:
"Horse."

"Horse?" he said, scowling up at Fraulein. "There are six horses in the
stable now."

"Miss Elinor thought--a riding horse--"

"Nonsense!" Then he thought a moment. There came back to him a picture
of those English gentlewomen from among whom he had selected his wife,
quiet-voiced, hard-riding, high-colored girls, who could hunt all day
and dance all night. Elinor was a pale little thing. Besides, every
gentlewoman should ride.

"She can't ride around here."

"Miss Elinor thought--there are bridle paths near the riding academy."

It was odd, but at that moment Anthony Cardew had an odd sort of vision.
He saw the little grocer lying stark and huddled among the phlox by the
stable, and the group of men that stooped over him.

"I'll think about it," was his answer.

But within a few days Elinor was the owner of a quiet mare, stabled at
the academy, and was riding each day in the tan bark ring between its
white-washed fences, while a mechanical piano gave an air of festivity
to what was otherwise rather a solemn business.

Within a week of that time the riding academy had a new instructor, a
tall, thin young man, looking older than he was, with heavy dark hair
and a manner of repressed insolence. A man, the grooms said among
themselves, of furious temper and cold eyes.

And in less than four months E