ee," Tavernake asked, "is he here?"

"Not yet," she answered.

There were, indeed, only a few scattered groups in the place, and most
of these were obviously theatrical. But even at that moment a man came
in alone through the circular doors, and stood just inside, looking
around him. He was a man of medium height, thin, and of undistinguished
appearance. His hair was light-colored and plastered a little in front
over his forehead. His face was thin and he walked with a slight stoop.
Something about his clothes and his manner of wearing them stamped him
as an American. Tavernake glanced at his companion, wondering whether
this, perhaps, might not be the person for whom she was watching. His
first glance was careless enough, then he felt his heart thump against
his ribs. A tragedy had come into the room! The woman at his side sat as
though turned to stone. There was a look in her face as of one who sees
Death. The small patch of rouge, invisible before, was now a staring
daub of color in an oasis of ashen white. Her eyes were as hard as
stones; her lips were twitching as though, indeed, she had been stricken
with some disease. No longer was he sitting with this most beautiful
lady at whose coming all heads were turned in admiration. It was as
though an image of Death sat there, a frozen presentment of horror
itself!

CHAPTER XXIII. ON AN ERRAND OF CHIVALRY

The seconds passed; the woman beside him showed no sign of life.
Tavernake felt a fear run cold in his blood, such as in all his days
he had never known. This, indeed, was something belonging to a world of
which he knew nothing. What was it? Illness? Pain? Surprise? There was
only his instinct to tell him. It was terror, the terror of one who
looks beyond the grave.

"Mrs. Gardner!" he exclaimed. "Elizabeth!"

The sound of his voice seemed to break the spell. A half-choked sob came
through her teeth; the struggle for composure commenced.

"I am ill," she murmured. "Give me my glass. Give it to me."

Her fingers were feeling for it but it seemed as though she dared not
move her head. He filled it with wine and placed the stem in her hand.
Even then she spilled some of it upon the tablecloth. As she raised
it to her lips, the man who stood still upon the threshold of the
restaurant looked into her face. Slowly, as though his quest were over,
he came down the room.

"Go away," she said to Tavernake. "Go away, please. He is coming to
speak to me. I want