d on the sofa; a faded flower which
she had worn yesterday in the bosom of her gown lay upon the
toilet-table. The poor blossom was dry and withered; he took it up in
his hand, crushed it, and flung its powdery fragments from him. Then he
came out, shut the door, and went straight down-stairs and out to his
waiting carriage.

George Brudenell, afterward looking back upon that day, wondered how he
got through it; but he did, and reached home at last, to be met by Mrs.
Jessop, who, in the last stage of amazement, indignation, and
perplexity, informed him that Mademoiselle and her brother had not yet
made their appearance. He had expected that, and, cutting short the
good woman's garrulous comments and questions, sent her away. He left
his dinner untouched, and went into his consulting-room; and, as he
waited for the usual influx of patients, strove to understand, to
think. People came in, and he attended to them and watched them go;
they told him, some of them, that he looked out of sorts and pale, and
he laughed, saying that he was all right. The evening wore away, it
grew late, every one in the house had retired but himself. It was
nearly twelve o'clock; and he was still sitting, with his head in his
hands, trying to solve the problem that perplexed him. Suddenly he
started up, and listened. There were footsteps outside--rapid,
cautious--a key was placed in the lock, and the door yielded. He darted
out into the hall, and grasped the arm of the stealthily-entering
figure.

"Alexia!"

With a swift gesture she signed to him to go back into the room,
entered after him, and cautiously shut and locked the door. Then with
another rapid movement she pulled aside her veil and stood looking at
him. He was too astonished to speak, but he saw that she was
breathless, intensely pale, that her dress was slightly disordered, and
that in the eyes which he knew that he had never understood there was
an expression which he could read at last--a look of mingled defiance
and fear.

"Sir, will you save me?"

"Save you!" In his bewilderment he could only confusedly echo her
words. She moved a pace nearer to him.

"Yes, save me. Last night you said you loved me; but I do not plead to
you for that. I plead because I am a woman, alone, friendless, lost
without your aid. Sir, will you give it--will you save me?"

"From whom? From what?"

"From the hands of the police, who are now, as I speak, on my track;
from the Russian Government,