wing-room and by Darrell in the servants' hall
quietly, socially, perhaps pathetically.

The pathos of the situation, it must be confessed, appealed more to
the master than to the servant. Darrell was very gay, and inclined to be
boastful, full of information as to how he would comport himself with
"them there Frenchies," and how he would make "them pore, godless Arabs
sit up." But Mr. Greyne's attitude of mind was very different. As
the night drew on, and Mrs. Greyne and he sat by the wood fire in the
magnificent drawing-room, to which they always adjourned after dinner, a
keen sense of the sorrow of departure swept over them both.

"How lonely you will feel without me, Eugenia," said Mr. Greyne. "I
have been thinking of that all day."

"And you, Eustace, how desolate will be your tale of days! My mind runs
much on that. You will miss me at every hour."

"You are so accustomed to have me within call, to depend upon me for
encouragement in your life-work. I scarcely know how you will get on
when I am far across the sea."

"And you, for whom I have labored, for whom I have planned and
calculated, what will be your sensations when you realize that a
gulf--the Gulf of Lyons--is fixed irrevocably between us?"

So their thoughts ran. Each one was full of tender pity for the other.
Towards bedtime, however, conscious that the time for colloquy was
running short, they fell into more practical discourse.

"I wonder," said Mr. Greyne, "whether I shall find any difficulty in
gaining the information you require, my darling. I suppose these
places"--he spoke vaguely, for his thoughts were vague--"are somewhat
awkward to come at. Naturally they would avoid the eye of day."

Mrs. Greyne looked profound.

"Yes. Evil ever seeks the darkness. You will have to do the same."

"You think my investigations must take place at night?"

"I should certainly suppose so."

"And where shall I find a cicerone?"

"Apply to Rook."

"In what terms? You see, dearest, this is rather a special matter, isn't
it?"

"Very special. But on no account hint that you are in Algiers for
'Catherine's' sake. It would get into the papers. It would be cabled to
America. The whole reading world would be agog, and the future interest
of the book discounted."

Mr. Greyne looked at his wife with reverence. In such moments he
realized, almost too poignantly, her great position.

"I will be careful," he said. "What would you recommend me to say?"

"W