his folly. What would Helena Langley say to him?

Was there anything he could do to retrieve his position? Only one thing
occurred to him. He could go and hide himself somewhere in shade or in
darkness near the Dictator's door. If any attempt at assassination
should be made, he might be in advance of Sarrasin and Hamilton. If
nothing should happen, he at least would be found at his self-ordained
post of watchfulness by Hamilton and Sarrasin, and they would report of
him to Sir Rupert--and to Helena.

This seemed the best stroke of policy for him. He threw off his
smoking-coat and put on a small, tight, closely-buttoned jacket, which
in any kind of struggle, if such there were to be, would leave no
flapping folds for an antagonist to cling to. Rivers was well-skilled in
boxing and in all manner of manly exercises; he took care to be a master
in his way of every art a smart young Englishman ought to possess, and
he began to think with a sickening revulsion of horror that in keeping
back the telegram he had been doing just the thing which would shut him
out from the society of English gentlemen for ever. A powerful impulse
was on him that he must redeem himself, not merely in the eyes of
others--others, perhaps, might never know of his momentary lapse--but in
his own eyes. At that moment he would have braved any danger, not merely
to save the Dictator, but simply to show that he had striven to save the
Dictator. It flashed across his mind that he might even still make
himself a sort of second-best hero--in the eyes of Helena Langley.

He thought he heard a stirring somewhere in one of the corridors. He put
on a pair of tight-fitting noiseless velvet slippers, and he glided out
of his room and turned into the corridor where the Dictator slept. Yes,
there surely was a sound in that direction. Rivers crept swiftly and
stealthily on.

Soame Rivers belonged to his age and his society. He was born of
Cynicism and of Introspection. It would have interested him quite as
much to find out himself as to find out any other person. While he was
moving along in the darkness it occurred to him to remember that he did
not know in the least whither, to what rescue, to what danger, he was
steering. He might, for aught he knew, have to grapple with assassins.
The whole thing might prove to be a false alarm, an absurd scare, and
then he, who based his whole life and his whole reputation on the theory
that nothing ever could induce him to