who was to be the saviour and regenerator of
half-ruined, revolution-rent Russia, but this was the first time that
Nitocris had met him in her present life. When she had returned his
stately bow, she looked up and saw with a strange intuition, which
somehow seemed half-reminiscent an almost perfect type of the primitive
warrior through the disguise of his faultless twentieth-century attire.
He was nearly two inches over six feet, but he was so exquisitely
proportioned that he looked less than his height. His skin was fair and
smooth, but tanned to an olive-brown. His forehead was of medium height,
straight and square, with jet-black brows drawn almost straight across
it above a pair of rather soft, dreamy eyes that were blue or black
according to the mood of their possessor. His nose was strong and
slightly curved, with delicately sensitive nostrils. A dark glossy
moustache and beard trimmed _a la_ Tsar, partly hid full, almost sensual
lips and a powerful somewhat projecting chin.

As their eyes met the shiver of revulsion passed through her again. She
hardly heard his murmured compliments, but her attention awoke when he
turned to the man who was standing behind him, and said with a very
graceful gesture of his left hand:

"Miss Marmion, this is the gentleman whom you have so graciously
permitted me to bring to your house. This is Phadrig the Adept, as he is
known in his own ancient land of Egypt, a worker of wonders which really
are wonders, and not mere sleight-of-hand conjuring tricks. He has been
good enough to accompany me in order to convince the learned of the West
that the Immemorial East could still teach it something if it chose."

Nitocris bowed, and as she looked at the figure which now stood beside
the Prince, she shivered again. She had a swift sense of standing in the
presence of implacable enemies, and yet she had never seen these men
before, and, for all she knew, she had not an enemy in the world. She
was intensely relieved when Lord Lester Leighton came up and held out
his hand, and she was able to ask the Prince and his companion to go
through to the lawn.

No one would have recognised the shabby denizen of the grimy room in
Candler's Court, Borough High Street, in the tall, dignified Eastern
gentleman who walked with slow and stately step through the spacious old
hall of "The Wilderness." He was clad in a light frock-coat suit of
irreproachable cut and fit. The correctly-creased trousers met
b