rant it?'

'The knights in the old days had wonderful auxiliaries. They had magical
spells, and sorceresses, and wizards--and we have only our poor selves.
Suppose I were not able to grant the favour you ask of me?'

'Oh, but, if that were so, I never should ask it. It is entirely and
absolutely in your power to say yes or no.'

'To say--and then to do.'

'Yes, of course--to say and then to do.'

'Well, then, of course,' he said, with a smile, 'I shall say yes.'

'Thank you,' she replied fervently; 'it's only this--that you will take
some care of yourself--take,' and she hesitated, and almost shuddered,
'some care of your--life.'

For a moment he thought that she had heard of the adventure in St.
James's Park, and he was displeased.

'Is my life threatened?' he asked.

'My father thinks it is. He has had some information. There are people
in Gloria who hate you--bad and corrupt and wicked people. My father
thinks you ought to take some care of yourself, for the sake of the
cause that is so dear to you, and for the sake of some friends who care
for you, and who, I hope, are dear to you too.' Her voice trembled, but
she bore up splendidly.

'I love my friends,' the Dictator said quietly, 'and I would do much for
their sake--or merely to please them. But tell me, what can I do?'

'Be on the look-out for enemies, don't go about alone--at all events at
night--don't go about unarmed. My father is sure attempts will be made.'

These words were a relief to Ericson. They showed at least that she did
not suppose any attempt had yet been, made. This was satisfactory. The
secret to which he attached so much importance had been kept.

'It is of no use,' the Dictator said. 'In this sort of business a man
has got to take his life in his hand. Precautions are pretty well
useless. In nine cases out of ten the assassin--I mean the fellow who
wants to be an assassin and tries to be an assassin--is a mere
mountebank, who might be safely allowed to shoot at you or stab at you
as long as he likes and no harm done. Why? Because the creature is
nervous, and afraid to risk his own life. Get the man who wants to kill
you, and does not care about his own life--is willing and ready to die
the instant after he has killed you--and from a man like that you can't
preserve your life.'

Helena shuddered. 'It is terrible,' she said.

'Dear Miss Langley, it is not more terrible than a score of chances in
life which young ladies run witho