be satisfied with her obscurity."

"Is that really your opinion, Sir Hugh?" asked Fetherston, somewhat
surprised.

"Certainly," was the general's reply. "There will be another war in the
near future. My opinions have changed of late, my dear Fetherston," Sir
Hugh assured him, as he sipped his tea, "and more especially since I went
to visit my daughter. I have recently had opportunities of seeing and
learning a good deal."

Fetherston reflected. Those words, coming from Sir Hugh, were certainly
strange ones.

Walter was handing Enid the cake when the butler entered, bearing a
telegram upon a silver salver, which he handed to Sir Hugh.

Tearing it open, he glanced at the message eagerly, and a second later,
with blanched face, stood rigid, statuesque, as though turned into stone.

"Why, what's the matter?" asked his wife. "Whom is it from?"

"Only from Blanche," he answered in a low, strained voice. "She is in
Paris--and is leaving to-night for London."

"Is Paul coming?" inquired Enid eagerly.

"No," he answered, with a strenuous effort to remain calm. "He--he cannot
leave Paris."

The butler, being told there was no answer, bowed and withdrew, but a few
seconds later the door reopened, and he announced:

"Dr. Weirmarsh, Sir Hugh!"

CHAPTER XXI

THE WIDENED BREACH

WHEN Sir Hugh entered his cosy study he found the doctor seated at his
ease in the big chair by the fire.

"I thought that, being in the vicinity, I would call and see if you've
recovered from your--well, your silly fit of irritability," he said, with
a grim smile on his grey face as he looked towards the general.

"I have just received bad news--news which I have all along dreaded,"
replied the unhappy man, the telegram still in his hand. "Paul Le Pontois
has been arrested on some mysterious charge--false, without a doubt!"

"Yes," replied Weirmarsh; "it is most unfortunate. I heard it an hour
ago, and the real reason of my visit was to tell you of the
_contretemps_."

"Someone must have made a false charge against him," cried the general
excitedly. "The poor fellow is innocent--entirely innocent! I only have a
brief telegram from his wife. She is in despair, and leaves for London
to-night."

"My dear Sir Hugh, France is in a very hysterical mood just now. Of
course, there must be some mistake. Some private enemy of his has made
the charge without a doubt--someone jealous of his position, perhaps.
Allegations are easily made,