both of us not to talk about it.
Only if there seems to be some hitch I will get her to tell me, so that
I may be able to help her. I have a fairly clear judgment generally--and
may see some points she and Mr. Parsons have neglected."

Michael gazed into the fire--at this moment his worst enemy might have
pitied him.

"Supposing anything were to go really wrong, Henry, it would cut you up
awfully, eh?"

And if Lord Fordyce had not been so preoccupied with his own emotions,
he would have seen an over-anxiety on the face of his friend.

"I believe it would just end my life, Michael," he answered, very low.
"I am not a boy, you know, to get over it and begin again."

Mr. Arranstoun bounded from his chair.

"Nothing must be allowed to go wrong, then, old man," he exclaimed
almost fiercely. "Don't you fret. But, by Jove, we will be late for
dinner!" and afraid to trust himself to say another word, he turned to
one of the groups near and at last got from the room. He did not go up
to his own, but on into the front hall, and so out into the night. A
brisk wind was blowing, and the moon, a young, frosty moon was bright.
He knew the place well, and paced a stone terrace undisturbed. It was on
the other side all was noise and bustle, where the large, built out
ball-room stood.

An absolute decision must be come to. No more shilly-shallying--he had
thrown the dice and lost and must pay the stakes. He would ask her to
dance this night and then get speech with her alone--discuss what would
be best to do to save Henry, and then on the morrow go and begin
proceedings immediately.

Meanwhile, up in Moravia's room, Sabine was seated upon the white
sheep's-skin rug before the fire; she was wildly excited and extremely
unhappy.

The sight of Michael again had upset all her fancied indifference, and
shaken her poise; and apart from this, the situation was grotesque and
unseemly. She could no longer suffer it: she would tell Henry the whole
truth to-morrow and ask him what she must do. His love almost terrified
her. What awful responsibility lay in her hand? But civilization
commanded her to dress in her best, and go down and dance gaily and play
her part in the world.

"Oh! what slaves we are, Morri!" she exclaimed, as though speaking her
thoughts aloud, for the remark had nothing to do with what the Princess
had said.

Moravia, who was lying on the sofa not in the best of moods either,
answered gloomily:

"Yes, slaves--or