wrapping, and Malcolm
slipped the book into his pocket. The very act recalled another scene
which had been acted a thousand miles away, and, it seemed, a million
years ago.

"Now let us go down," said Kensky.

"Lord," he asked, as Malcolm's foot was on the stair, "do you love this
young woman?"

It would have been the sheerest affectation on his part to have evaded
the question.

"Yes, Israel Kensky," he replied, "I love her," and the old man bowed
his head.

"You are two Gentiles, and there is less difference in rank than in
race," he said. "I think you will be happy. May the Gods of Jacob and of
Abraham and of David rest upon you and prosper you. Amen!"

Never had benediction been pronounced upon him that felt so real, or
that brought such surprising comfort to the soul of Malcolm Hay. He felt
as if, in that dingy stairway, he had received the very guerdon of
manhood, and he went downstairs spiritually strengthened, and every
doubt in his mind set at rest.

The girl half rose from the couch as he came to her, and in her queer,
impulsive way put out both her hands. Five minutes before he might have
hesitated; he might have been content to feel the warmth of her palms
upon his. But now he knelt down by her side, and, slipping one arm about
her, drew her head to his shoulder. He heard the long-drawn sigh of
happiness, he felt her arm creep about his neck, and he forgot the world
and all the evil and menace it held: he forgot the grave Malinkoff, the
interested Cherry Bim, still wearing his Derby hat on the back of his
head, and girt about with the weapons of his profession. He forgot
everything except that the world was worth living for. There lay in his
arms a fragrant and a beautiful thing.

It was Petroff who put an end to the little scene.

"I have sent food into the wood for you," he said, "and my man has come
back to tell me that your chauffeur is waiting by the car. He has all
the petrol that he requires, and I do not think you should delay too
long."

The girl struggled to a sitting position, and looked with dismay at her
scarlet bridal dress.

"I cannot go like this," she said.

"I have your trunk in the house, Highness," said Petroff, and the girl
jumped up with a little cry of joy.

"I had forgotten that," she said.

She had forgotten also that she was still weak, for she swayed and would
have stumbled, had not Malcolm caught her.

"Go quickly, Highness," said Petroff urgently. "I do not