himself to play to the life the part of the
intrusive old fellow in the comedy. Dancing wildly about the room, his
eyes smarting and burning so that he could not open them, he bellowed
of hell-fire and other hot things of which he was being so intensely
reminded.

"'Twill pass," Mr. Caryll consoled him. "A little water, and all will be
well with you." He stepped to the door as he spoke, and flung it open.
"Ho, there! Who waits?" he called.

Two or three footmen sprang to answer him. He took Mr. Green, still
blind and vociferous, by the shoulders, and thrust him into their care.
"This gentleman has had a most unfortunate accident. Get him water to
wash his eyes--warm water. So! Take him. 'Twill pass, Mr. Green. 'Twill
soon pass, I assure you."

He shut the door upon them, locked it, and turned to Hortensia, smiling
grimly. Then he crossed quickly to the desk, and Hortensia followed him.
He sat down, and pulled out bodily the bottom drawer on the right inside
of the upper part of the desk, as he had seen Lord Ostermore do that
day, a little over a week ago. He thrust his hand into the opening, and
felt along the sides for some moments in vain. He went over the ground
again slowly, inch by inch, exerting constant pressure, until he was
suddenly rewarded by a click. The small trap disclosed itself. He pulled
it up, and took some papers from the recess. He spread them before him.
They were the documents he sought--the king's letter to Ostermore, and
Ostermore's reply, signed and ready for dispatch. "These must be burnt,"
he said, "and burnt at once, for that fellow Green may return, or he may
send others. Call Humphries. Get a taper from him."

She sped to the door, and did his bidding. Then she returned. She was
plainly agitated. "You must go at once," she said, imploringly. "You
must return to France without an instant's delay."

"Why, indeed, it would mean my ruin to remain now," he admitted. "And
yet--" He held out his hands to her.

"I will follow you," she promised him. "I will follow you as soon as his
lordship is recovered, or--or at peace."

"You have well considered, sweetheart?" he asked her, holding her to
him, and looking down into her gentle eyes.

"There is no happiness for me apart from you."

Again his scruples took him. "Tell Lord Ostermore--tell him all," he
begged her. "Be guided by him. His decision for you will represent the
decision of the world."

"What is the world to me? You are the worl