ples alone.

After a mid-day meal, Calabressa and Reitzei walked up to the lodgings
of the latter, where he got a few travelling things put together.
By-and-by they went to the railway station, Calabressa suggesting that
it was better for Reitzei to get away from London as soon as possible.
The old albino saw his companion take his seat in the train for Dover,
and then turned away and re-entered the busy world of the London
streets.

The day was fine after the rain; the pavements were white and dry; he
kept in the sunlight for the sake of the warmth; but he had not much
attention for the sights and sounds around him. Now that this sudden
scheme promised to be entirely successful, he could consider the
probable consequences of that success; and, as usual, his first thought
was about Natalie.

"Poor child--poor child!" he said to himself, rather sadly. "How could
she tell how this would end? If she saves the life of her lover, it is
at the cost of the life of her father. The poor child!--must misfortune
meet her whichever way she turns?"

And then, too, some touch of compunction or even remorse entered into
his own bosom. He had been so eager in the pursuit? he had been so
anxious to acquit himself to the satisfaction of the Council, that he
had scarcely remembered that his success would almost certainly involve
the sacrifice of one who was at least an old colleague. Ferdinand Lind
and Calabressa had never been the very best of friends; during one
period, indeed, they had been rivals; but that had been forgotten in the
course of years, and what Calabressa now remembered was that Lind and he
had at least been companions in the old days.

"Seventeen years ago," he was thinking, "he forfeited his life to the
Society, and they gave it back to him. They will not pardon him this
time. And who is to take the news to Natalie and the beautiful brave
child? Ah, what will she say? My God, is there no happiness for any one
in this world?"

He was greatly distressed; but in his distress he became desperate. He
would not look that way at all. He boldly justified himself for what he
had done, and strove to regard it with satisfaction. What if both Lind
and Beratinsky were to suffer; had they not merited any punishment that
might befall them? Had they not compassed the destruction of an innocent
man? Would it have been better, then, that George Brand should have
become the victim of an infamous conspiracy? _Fiat justitia!_--no mat