d Germany I have friends. You don't mean that?"

The girl stirred uneasily against his arm.

"Was that another rat?" she said, "I felt something run over my dress."

"Draw the cloak to your chin," whispered Velasco, "Huddle yourself in
it. There, are you warm? Put your head down again. One moment you
are like a boy ready to fight the universe, the next you shake at the
sound of a rat.--Kaya!"

"Yes, Monsieur?"

She shivered, clinging to him.

"What did you say? Say it again; don't tremble like that."

"I would die," she whispered, "A thousand times I would die rather than
have brought this on you. If I had known--if I had guessed!"

"Your hair is like down," said Velasco, "a soft, golden fluff. I can't
see it, or you; are you there? I shouldn't know if I didn't feel you
breathing, and the touch of your head and your hand. Go to sleep; I
will watch."

She murmured and stirred in his arms.

"Yes, yes, I forgive you. I never was angry. If only they haven't
hurt my violin, my Stradivarius! If they do, I shall drown
myself!--But don't think of it; don't speak of it. Be still and sleep."

She murmured again. He laid his cheek to her hair and they sat silent,
the girl half unconscious, Velasco staring out into the darkness, his
face white and set.

There was a stirring of something within him impossible to fathom;
something apart from himself, strange and different, like the birth of
a soul; a second personality, unknown, unrevealed. His heavy eyes
gleamed through the slits. The round of his chin stiffened; his mouth
took new lines. The luxurious artist personality of the musician was
dormant for the first time in his life; his virile and masculine side
had begun to awaken. The muscles of his arm swelled suddenly and he
felt a strange beating in his heart.

This girl, this stranger! She was helpless, dependent on him and his
strength. He would guard her and protect her with his life. His arms
were around her and no one should take her from him--no one! Not the
Tsar himself! She was breathing, she was there; she was a woman and he
was a man, and his strength was as the strength of a lion. What harm
could befall her?

He bent his head on his breast and his lips touched her hair. Across
the sodden floor of the prison, suddenly, came the first rays of dawn
falling aslant, touching the shadows, the two figures crouching, the
rats as they fled.

Velasco drew the cloak closer about the slee