rest of Lucille, my dear Prince, would
mean the ruin of your amiable society."

"This letter," the Prince said slowly, "why was it not produced at the
inquest? Where is it now?"

"It is deposited in a sealed packet with the Earl of Deringham," Mr.
Sabin answered. "As to producing it at the inquest--I thought it more
discreet not to. I leave you to judge of my reasons. But I can assure
you that your fears for my wife's safety have been wholly misplaced.
There is not the slightest reason for her to hurry off to America. We
may take a little trip there presently, but not just yet."

The Prince made a mistake. He lost his temper.

"You!" he cried, "you can go to America when you like, and stay there.
Europe has had enough of you with your hare-brained schemes and foolish
failures. But Lucille does not leave this country. We have need of her.
I forbid her to leave. Do you hear? In the name of the Order I command
her to remain here."

Mr. Sabin was quite calm, but his face was full of terrible things.

"Prince," he said, "if I by any chance numbered myself amongst your
friends I would warn you that you yourself are a traitor to your Order.
You prostitute a great cause when you stoop to use its machinery to
assist your own private vengeance. I ask you for your own sake to
consider your words. Lucille is mine--mine she will remain, even though
you should descend to something more despicable, more cowardly than
ordinary treason, to wrest her from me. You reproach me with the
failures of my life. Great they may have been, but if you attempt this
you will find that I am not yet an impotent person."

The Prince was white with rage. The sight of Lucille standing by Mr.
Sabin's side, her hand lightly resting upon his, her dark eyes full of
inscrutable tenderness, maddened him. He was flouted and ignored. He was
carried away by a storm of passion. He tore a sheet of paper from his
pocket book, and unlocking a small gold case at the end of his watch
chain, shook from it a pencil with yellow crayon. Mr. Sabin leaned over
towards him.

"You sign it at your peril, Prince," he said. "It will mean worse things
than that for you."

For a second he hesitated. Lucille also leaned towards him.

"Prince," she said, "have I not kept my vows faithfully? Think! I came
from America at a moment's notice; I left my husband without even a word
of farewell; I entered upon a hateful task, and though to think of it
now makes me loathe myself--