Persia, Afghanistan, and India,
and he had the unusual but striking gift of painting little word
pictures of some of the scenes of his wanderings. It was half-past nine
before they rose from the table, and Lessingham accompanied them into
the library. With the advent of coffee, they were for the first time
really alone. Lessingham sat by Philippa's side, and Helen reclined in a
low chair close at hand.

"I think," he said, "that I can venture now to tell you some news."

Helen put down her work. Philippa looked at him in silence, and her eyes
seemed to dilate.

"I have hesitated to say anything about it," Lessingham went on,
"because there is so much uncertainty about these things, but I believe
that it is now finally arranged. I think that within the next week or
ten days--perhaps a little before, perhaps a little later--your brother
Richard will be set at liberty."

"Dick? Dick coming home?" Philippa cried, springing up from her
reclining position.

"Dick?" Helen faltered, her work lying unheeded in her lap. "Mr.
Lessingham, do you mean it? Is it possible?"

"It is not only possible," Lessingham assured them, "but I believe that
it will come to pass. I have had to exercise a little duplicity, but
I fancy that it has been successful. I have insisted that without help
from an influential person in Dreymarsh, I cannot bring my labours here
to a satisfactory conclusion, and I have named as the price of that
help, Richard's absolute and immediate freedom. I heard only this
morning that there would be no difficulty."

Helen snatched up her work and groped her way towards the door.

"I will come back in a few minutes," she promised, her voice a little
broken.

Lessingham, who had opened the door for her, returned to his place.
There were no tears in Philippa's brilliant eyes, but there was a faint
patch of colour in her cheeks, and her lips were not quite steady. She
caught at his hands.

"Oh, my dear, dear friend!" she said. "If only that little nightmare
part of you did not exist. If only you could be just what you seem, and
one could feel that you were there in our lives for always! I feel that
I want to talk to you so much, to you and not the sham you. What shall I
call you?"

"Bertram, please," he whispered.

"Then Bertram, dear," she went on, "for my sake, because you have really
become dear to me, because my heart aches at the thought of your danger,
and because--see how honest I am--I am a little afr