n angel standing in his
path. It was Breckon who was there, staring at him aghast.

"Why, Boyne!" he cried.

"Oh, Mr. Breckon!" Boyne wailed back. "Is it you? Oh, do tell them I
didn't mean to do anything! I thought she beckoned to me."

"Who? Who beckoned to you?"

"The Queen!" Boyne sobbed, while the detectives pulled him relentlessly
on.

Breckon addressed them suavely in their owe tongue which had never come
in more deferential politeness from human lips. He ventured the belief
that there was a mistake; he assured them that he knew their prisoner,
and that he was the son of a most respectable American family, whom they
could find at the Kurhaus in Scheveningen. He added some irrelevancies,
and got for all answer that they had made Boyne's arrest for sufficient
reasons, and were taking him to prison. If his friends wished to
intervene in his behalf they could do so before the magistrate, but for
the present they must admonish Mr. Breckon not to put himself in the way
of the law.

"Don't go, Mr. Breckon!" Boyne implored him, as his captors made him
quicken his pace after slowing a little for their colloquy with Breckon.
"Oh, where is poppa? He could get me away. Oh, where is poppa?"

"Don't! Don't call out, Boyne," Breckon entreated. "Your father is right
here at the end of the street. He's in the carriage there with Miss
Kenton. I was coming to look for you. Don't cry out so!"

"No, no, I won't, Mr. Breckon. I'll be perfectly quiet now. Only do get
poppa quick! He can tell them in a minute that it's all right!"

He made a prodigious effort to control himself, while Breckon ran
a little ahead, with some wild notion of preparing Ellen. As he
disappeared at the corner, Boyne choked a sob into a muffed bellow, and
was able to meet the astonished eyes of his father and sister in this
degree of triumph.

They had not in the least understood Breckon's explanation, and, in
fact, it had not been very lucid. At sight of her brother strenuously
upheld between the detectives, and dragged along the sidewalk, Ellen
sprang from the carriage and ran towards him. "Why, what's the matter
with Boyne?" she demanded. "Are you hurt, Boyne, dear? Are they taking
him to the hospital?"

Before he could answer, and quite before the judge could reach the
tragical group, she had flung her arms round Boyne's neck, and was
kissing his tear-drabbled face, while he lamented back, "They're taking
me to prison."

"Taking you to prison