ockingham restrained himself from force.

"I will send for him," he said briefly; in that answer there was more of
menace and of meaning than in any physical action.

He moved and let Baroni rise; shaken and bruised, but otherwise little
seriously hurt, and still holding, in a tenacious grasp, the crumpled
paper. He rang; his own servant answered the summons.

"Go to the Stephanien and inquire for Mr. Cecil. Be quick; and request
him, wherever he be, to be so good as to come to me instantly--here."

The servant bowed and withdrew; a perfect silence followed between these
two so strangely assorted companions; the Seraph stood with his back
against the mantelpiece, with every sense on the watch to catch every
movement of the Jew's, and to hear the first sound of Cecil's approach.
The minutes dragged on; the Seraph was in an agony of probation and
impatience. Once the attendants entered to light the chandeliers and
candelabra; the full light fell on the dark, slight form of the Hebrew,
and on the superb attitude and the fair, frank, proud face of the
standing Guardsman; neither moved--once more they were left alone.

The moments ticked slowly away one by one, audible in the silence. Now
and then the quarter chimed from the clock; it was the only sound in the
chamber.

CHAPTER XI.

FOR A WOMAN'S SAKE.

The door opened--Cecil entered.

The Seraph crossed the room, with his hand held out; not for his life
in that moment would he have omitted that gesture of friendship.
Involuntarily he started and stood still one instant in amaze; the next,
he flung thought away and dashed into swift, inconsequent words.

"Cecil, my dear fellow! I'm ashamed to send for you on such a blackguard
errand. Never heard of such a swindler's trick in all my life; couldn't
pitch the fellow into the street because of the look of the thing, and
can't take any other measure without you, you know. I only sent for you
to expose the whole abominable business, never because I believe----Hang
it! Beauty, I can't bring myself to say it even! If a sound thrashing
would have settled the matter, I wouldn't have bothered you about it,
nor told you a syllable. Only you are sure, Bertie, aren't you, that
I never listened to this miserable outrage on us both with a second's
thought there could be truth in it? You know me? you trust me too well
not to be certain of that?"

The incoherent address poured out from his lips in a breathless torrent;
he had