e that followed, a tense silence reigned. Monck was swaying
as he stood. His eyes had the strained and awful look of a man with his
soul in torment. After that one hard breath, he had not breathed at all.

The Colonel looked up. "Go, certainly!" he said, and there was a touch
of the old kindliness in his voice that he tried to restrain. "And as
soon as possible! I hope you will find a more reassuring state of
affairs when you get there."

He held out the telegram. Monck made a movement to take it, but as he
did so the tension in which he gripped himself suddenly gave way. He
blundered forward, his hands upon the table.

"She will die," he said, and there was utter despair in his tone. "She
is probably dead already."

Sir Reginald took him by the arm. His face held nought but kindliness,
which he made no attempt to hide. "Sit down a minute!" he said. "Here's
a chair! Just a minute. Sit down and get your wind! What is this
message? May I read it?"

He murmured something to Major Burton who turned sharply and went out.
Monck sank heavily into the chair and leaned upon the table, his head in
his hands. He was shaking all over, as if seized with an ague.

Sir Reginald read the message, standing beside him, a hand upon his
shoulder. "Stella desperately ill. Come. Ralston," were the words it
contained.

He laid the paper upon the table, and looked across at the Colonel. The
latter nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly.

Monck spoke without moving. "She is dead," he said. "My God! She is
dead!" And then, under his breath, "After all,--counting me out--it's
best--it's best. I couldn't ask for anything better at this devils'
game. Someone's got to die."

He checked himself abruptly, and again a terrible shivering seized him.

Sir Reginald bent over him. "Pull yourself together, man! You'll need
all your strength. Please God, she'll be better when you get there!"

Monck raised himself with a slow, blind movement. "Did you ever dice
with the devil?" he said. "Stake your honour--stake all you'd got--to
save a woman from hell? And then lose--my God--lose all--even--even--the
woman?" Again he checked himself. "I'm talking like a damned fool. Stop
me, someone! I've come through hell-fire and it's scorched away my
senses. I never thought I should blab like this."

"It's all right," Sir Reginald said, and in his voice was steady
reassurance. "You're with friends. Get a hold on yourself! Don't say any
more!"

"Ah!" Monck d