e, which had remained alight.
He did not notice the strange smile on the face of his fair VIS-A-VIS,
so intent was he on the work of destruction; perhaps, had he done
so, the look of relief would have faded from his face. He watched the
fateful note, as it curled under the flame. Soon the last fragment fell
on the floor, and he placed his heel upon the ashes.

"And now, Sir Andrew," said Marguerite Blakeney, with the pretty
nonchalance peculiar to herself, and with the most winning of smiles,
"will you venture to excite the jealousy of your fair lady by asking me
to dance the minuet?"

CHAPTER XIII EITHER--OR?

The few words which Marguerite Blakeney had managed to read on the
half-scorched piece of paper, seemed literally to be the words of Fate.
"Start myself tomorrow. . . ." This she had read quite distinctly; then
came a blur caused by the smoke of the candle, which obliterated the
next few words; but, right at the bottom, there was another sentence,
like letters of fire, before her mental vision, "If you wish to speak
to me again I shall be in the supper-room at one o'clock precisely."
The whole was signed with the hastily-scrawled little device--a tiny
star-shaped flower, which had become so familiar to her.

One o'clock precisely! It was now close upon eleven, the last minuet
was being danced, with Sir Andrew Ffoulkes and beautiful Lady Blakeney
leading the couples, through its delicate and intricate figures.

Close upon eleven! the hands of the handsome Louis XV. clock upon its
ormolu bracket seemed to move along with maddening rapidity. Two hours
more, and her fate and that of Armand would be sealed. In two hours she
must make up her mind whether she will keep the knowledge so cunningly
gained to herself, and leave her brother to his fate, or whether
she will wilfully betray a brave man, whose life was devoted to his
fellow-men, who was noble, generous, and above all, unsuspecting. It
seemed a horrible thing to do. But then, there was Armand! Armand, too,
was noble and brave, Armand, too, was unsuspecting. And Armand loved
her, would have willingly trusted his life in her hands, and now, when
she could save him from death, she hesitated. Oh! it was monstrous;
her brother's kind, gentle face, so full of love for her, seemed to
be looking reproachfully at her. "You might have saved me, Margot!" he
seemed to say to her, "and you chose the life of a stranger, a man you
do not know, whom you have neve