e went upstairs, miserably anxious herself, to reassure the old
lady, and found her again very drowsy.

"He is not come," she said. "I dare say he may be kept in Paris."

The old face on the pillow nodded and murmured, and Mabel went down
again. It was now an hour after dinner-time.

Oh! there were a hundred things that might have kept him. He had often
been later than this: he might have missed the volor he meant to catch;
the Convention might have been prolonged; he might be exhausted, and
think it better to sleep in Paris after all, and have forgotten to wire.
He might even have wired to Mr. Phillips, and the secretary have
forgotten to pass on the message.

She went at last, hopelessly, to the telephone, and looked at it. There
it was, that round silent month, that little row of labelled buttons.
She half decided to touch them one by one, and inquire whether anything
had been heard of her husband: there was his club, his office in
Whitehall, Mr. Phillips's house, Parliament-house, and the rest. But she
hesitated, telling herself to be patient. Oliver hated interference, and
he would surely soon remember and relieve her anxiety.

Then, even as she turned away, the bell rang sharply, and a white label
flashed into sight.--WHITEHALL.

She pressed the corresponding button, and, her hand shaking so much that
she could scarcely hold the receiver to her ear, she listened.

"Who is there?"

Her heart leaped at the sound of her husband's voice, tiny and minute
across the miles of wire.

"I--Mabel," she said. "Alone here."

"Oh! Mabel. Very well. I am back: all is well. Now listen. Can you
hear?"

"Yes, yes."

"The best has happened. It is all over in the East. Felsenburgh has done
it. Now listen. I cannot come home to-night. It will be announced in
Paul's House in two hours from now. We are communicating with the Press.
Come up here to me at once. You must be present.... Can you hear?"

"Oh, yes."

"Come then at once. It will be the greatest thing in history. Tell no
one. Come before the rush begins. In half-an-hour the way will be
stopped."

"Oliver."

"Yes? Quick."

"Mother is ill. Shall I leave her?"

"How ill?"

"Oh, no immediate danger. The doctor has seen her."

There was silence for a moment.

"Yes; come then. We will go back to-night anyhow, then. Tell her we
shall be late."

"Very well."

" ... Yes, you must come. Felsenburgh will be there."

CHAPTER IV

I

On the same aft