--to save--Burleigh Wentworth?"

"I will save him," said Field.

She paused a moment; then moved towards him, as if compelled against her
will.

He put the cloak around her shoulders, and then, as she fumbled with it
uncertainly, he fastened it himself.

"Your veil?" he said.

She made a blind movement. Her self-control was nearly gone. With
absolute steadiness he drew it down over her face.

"Have you a conveyance waiting?" he asked.

"Yes," she whispered.

He turned to the door. He was in the act of opening it when she stayed
him.

"One moment!" she said.

He stopped at once, standing before her with his level eyes looking
straight at her.

She spoke hurriedly behind her veil.

"Promise me, you will never--never let him know--of this!"

He made a grave bow, his eyes unchangeably upon her.

"Certainly," he said.

She made an involuntary movement; her hands clenched. She stood as if she
were about to make some further appeal. But he opened the door and held
it for her, and such was the finality of his action that she was obliged
to pass out.

He followed her into the lift and took her down in unbroken silence.

A taxi awaited her. He escorted her to it.

"Good night!" he said then.

She hesitated an instant. Then, without speaking, she gave him her hand.
For a moment his fingers grasped hers.

"You may depend upon me," he said.

She slipped free from his hold. "Thank you," she said, her voice very
low.

A few seconds later Field sat again at his table by the window. The wind
was blowing in from the river in rising gusts. The blind-tassel tapped
and tapped, now here, now there, like a trapped creature seeking
frantically for escape. For a space he sat quite motionless, gazing
before him as though unaware of his surroundings. Then very suddenly but
very quietly he reached out and caught the swaying thing. A moment he
held it, then pulled it to him and, taking a penknife from the table,
grimly, deliberately, he severed the cord.

The tassel lay in his hand, a silken thing, slightly frayed, as if
convulsive fingers had torn it. He sat for a while and looked at it.
Then, with that strange smile of his, he laid it away in a drawer.

CHAPTER II

The trial of Burleigh Wentworth for forgery was one of the sensations of
the season. A fashionable crowd went day after day to the stifling Court
to watch its progress. The man himself, nonchalant, debonair, bore
himself with the instinctive c