. I didn't intend----"

"I'll take you out somewhere. It's going to be a dark night. We'll
manage so that no one sees us. We'll dine together and, after
dinner----"

"I must come home early. I'm very tired."

"After dinner we'll go to those rooms you found so cleverly near the
Persian Khan."

She shuddered.

"Now go and bathe your hand, and I'll wait here. Only don't be too long
or I shall come and fetch you. And don't send Sonia to make excuses, for
it will be no use."

He sat down on the sofa.

She stood for a moment without moving. She put her bandaged hand up to
her discolored face. Then she went slowly out of the room.

He sat waiting for her to come back, with his elbows on his knees and
his face hidden in his hands.

He felt like a man sunk in mire. He felt the mire creeping up to his
throat.

* * * * *

Almost at that same hour beside a platform at Victoria Station in London
a long train with "Dover" placarded on it was drawn up. Before the door
of a first-class carriage two women in plain traveling dresses were
standing with a white-haired clergyman. Presently the shorter of the two
women said to the other:

"I think I'll get in now, and leave you to last words."

She held out her hand to the clergyman.

"Good-by, Father Robertson."

He grasped her hand warmly, and looked at her with a great tenderness
shining in his eyes.

"Take good care of her. But you will, I know," he said.

Beatrice Daventry got into the carriage, and stood for a moment at the
door. There were tears in her eyes as she looked at the two figures now
pacing slowly up and down on the platform; she wiped them away quickly,
and sat down. She was bound on a long journey. And what would be the
end? In her frail body Beatrice had a strong soul, but to-night she
was stricken with a painful anxiety. She said to herself that she
cared about something too much. If the object of this journey were not
attained she felt it would break her heart. She shut her eyes, and she
conjured up a child whom she had loved very much and who was dead.

"Come with us, Robin!" she whispered. "Come with us to your father."

And the whisper was like a prayer.

"Beattie!"

Rosamund's voice was speaking.

"We are just off."

"Are we?"

"Take your seats, please!" shouted a loud bass voice.

There was a sound of the banging of doors.

Rosamund leaned out of the window.

"Good-by, Father!"

The train began to move.

"Good-by. _Cor meum