re it doesn't run away with you this time. Don't let
Herbert Thorne escape, however much pity you may feel for him."

"I doubt if he'll want to sir, as long as another is in prison for his
crime.

"But he may make his confession and then try to escape the disgrace."

"Yes, sir, I've thought of that. That's why I want to go to Venice
myself. And then, there's the poor young wife, he must think of her when
the desire comes to end his own life..."

"Yes! Yes! This terrible thing has shaken us both up more than a little.
I feel exhausted. You look tired yourself, Muller. Go home now, and get
some rest for your early start. Good-night."

"Good-night, sir."

CHAPTER XII. ON THE LIDO

A Wonderfully beautiful night lay over the fair old city of Venice
when the Northern Express thundered over the long bridge to the railway
station. A passenger who was alone in a second-class compartment stood
up to collect his few belongings. Suddenly he looked up as he heard a
voice, a voice which he had learned to know only very recently, calling
to him from the door of the compartment.

"Why! you were in the train too? You have come to Venice?" exclaimed
Joseph Muller in astonishment as he saw Mrs. Bernauer standing there
before him.

"Yes, I have come to Venice too. I must be with my dear lady--when--when
Herbert--" She had begun quite calmly, but she did not finish her
sentence, for loud sobs drowned the words.

"You were in the next compartment? Why didn't you come in here with me?
It would have made this journey shorter for both of us."

"I had to be alone," said the pale woman and then she added: "I only
came to you now to ask you where I must go."

"I think we two had better go to the Hotel Bauer. Let me arrange things
for you. Mrs. Thorne must not see you until she has been prepared for
your coming. I will arrange that with her husband."

The two took each other's hands. They had won respect and sympathy for
each other, this quiet man who went so relentlessly and yet so pityingly
about his duty in the interest of justice--and the devoted woman whose
faithfulness had brought about such a tragedy.

The train had now entered the railway station. Muller and Mrs. Bernauer
stood a few minutes later on the banks of the Grand Canal and entered,
one of the many gondolas waiting there. The moon glanced back from
the surface of the water broken into ripples under the oars of the
gondoliers; it shone with a magic charm on