f the girl beneath the
same roof as himself--although dictated by imperative need--might be
open to misconstruction by the prudish. Dr. Cairn had decided that for
the present Myra Duquesne must dwell beneath his own roof, as, in
feudal days, the Baron at first hint of an approaching enemy formerly
was, accustomed to call within the walls of the castle, those whom it
was his duty to protect. Unknown to the world, a tremendous battle
raged in London, the outer works were in the possession of the
enemy--and he was now before their very gates.

Myra, though still pale from her recent illness, already was
recovering some of the freshness of her beauty, and in her simple
morning dress, as she busied herself about the breakfast table, she
was a sweet picture enough, and good to look upon. Robert Cairn stood
beside her, looking into her eyes, and she smiled up at him with a
happy contentment, which filled him with a new longing. But:

"Did you dream again, last night?" he asked, in a voice which he
strove to make matter-of-fact.

Myra nodded--and her face momentarily clouded over.

"The same dream?"

"Yes," she said in a troubled way; "at least--in some respects--"

Dr. Cairn came in, glancing at his watch.

"Good morning!" he cried, cheerily. "I have actually overslept
myself."

They took their seats at the table.

"Myra has been dreaming again, sir," said Robert Cairn slowly.

The doctor, serviette in hand, glanced up with an inquiry in his grey
eyes.

"We must not overlook any possible weapon," he replied. "Give us
particulars of your dream, Myra."

As Marston entered silently with the morning fare, and, having placed
the dishes upon the table, as silently withdrew, Myra began:

"I seemed to stand again in the barn-like building which I have
described to you before. Through the rafters of the roof I could see
the cracks in the tiling, and the moonlight shone through, forming
light and irregular patches upon the floor. A sort of door, like that
of a stable, with a heavy bar across, was dimly perceptible at the
further end of the place. The only furniture was a large deal table
and a wooden chair of a very common kind. Upon the table, stood a
lamp--"

"What kind of lamp?" jerked Dr. Cairn.

"A silver lamp"--she hesitated, looking from Robert to his
father--"one that I have seen in--Antony's rooms. Its shaded light
shone upon a closed iron box. I immediately recognised this box. You
know that I described to