is in hiding. The Government will of course take over
the direction of affairs, but there is certain--absolutely certain--to
be a disturbance when Ermsted's murderer is executed. I hope an adequate
force will soon be at our disposal to cope with it, but it has not yet
been provided. Therefore I cannot possibly permit you to stay here any
longer. As Monck's wife, it is more than likely that you might be made
an object of vengeance. I can't risk it. You and the child must go. I
will send an escort in the morning."

He stopped at last, partly for lack of breath, partly because from her
unmoved expression he fancied that she was not taking in his warning
words. She sat looking straight before her as one rapt in reverie. It
was almost as though she had forgotten him, suffered some more absorbing
matter to crowd him out of her thoughts.

"You do follow me?" he questioned at length as she did not speak.

She lifted her eyes to him again though he felt it was with a great
effort. "Oh, yes," she said. "I quite understand you, Colonel Mansfield.
And--I am quite grateful to you. But I am not staying here for my
husband's sake at all. I--do not suppose we shall ever see each other
any more. All that is over."

He started. "What! You have given him up?" he said, uttering the words
almost involuntarily, so quiet was she in her despair.

She bent her head. "Yes, I have given him up. I do not know where he
is--or anything about him. I am staying here now--I must stay here
now--for my baby's sake. He is too ill to bear a journey."

She lifted her face again with the words, and in its pale resolution he
saw that he would spend himself upon further argument in vain. Moreover,
he was for the moment too staggered by the low-spoken information to
concentrate his attention upon persuasion. Her utter quietness silenced
him.

He stood for a moment or two looking down at her, then abruptly bent and
took her hand. "You're a very brave woman," he said, a quick touch of
feeling in his voice. "You've had a fiendish time of it out here from
start to finish. It'll be a good thing for you when you can get out of
it and go Home. You're young; you'll start again."

It was clumsy consolation, but his hand-grip was fatherly. She smiled
again at him, and got up.

"Thank you very much, Colonel. You have always been kind. Please don't
bother about me any more. I am really not a bit afraid. I have too much
to think about. And really I don't think I a