d but for a blue foam of dawn all was darkness,
and in another moment she knew that Ericson was alive, and she was able
to welcome her father. What on earth did she want more? It might be that
there was danger to Hamilton--to Sarrasin--to Mrs. Sarrasin--to the
Duchess--to Miss Paulo--to some of the servants--to her own maid, a
great friend and favourite of hers--to all sorts of persons. She had to
acknowledge to her own heart that in such a moment she did not much
care. She was conscious of a sense of joy in the knowledge of the fact
that To-to had not yet got down from London. There all calculation
ceased.

The hall-door was opened. The breath of the fresh morning came into
their lungs. Helena drank it in, as if it were a draught of wine--in
more correct words, as if it were _not_ a draught of wine, for she was
not much of a wine-drinker. The freshness of the air was a shuddering
and a delight to her.

'Let nobody leave the house until we come back,' Ericson said to the man
who opened the doors for Helena and him.

'Nobody, sir?' the man asked in astonishment.

'Nobody whatever.'

'Not Sir Rupert, sir?'

'Certainly not. Sir Rupert above all men! We can't have your father
getting into danger, Miss Langley--can we?'

'Oh no,' she answered quickly.

'Which way to the stables?' Ericson asked the man.

'Come with me,' Helena said; 'I can show you.'

They hurried round to the stables, and found a wide-awake groom or two
who had a lady's horse properly saddled, and a man's horse with no
saddle, but only a bridle on. They had evidently taken the Dictator's
command to the letter, and assumed that he had some particular motive
for riding without a saddle.

Ericson lifted Helena into her seat. It has to be confessed that she was
riding in her already-mentioned dressing-gown, and that she had nothing
on her head, and that her bare feet were thrust into slippers. Mrs.
Grundy was not on the premises, and, even if she were, Helena would not
have cared two straws about Mrs. Grundy's reflections and criticisms.

'Oh, look here, you haven't a saddle!' she cried to Ericson.

'Saddle!--no matter--never mind the saddle,' he called. The horse was a
little shy, and backed and edged, and went sideways, and plunged. One of
the grooms rushed at him to hold his head.

The Dictator laid one hand upon his mane. 'Let him go!' he said, and he
swung himself easily on to the unsaddled back and gripped the bridle.
'Now for it, Helena!