n there?" said Lord Evelyn, glancing to the door.

"They know nothing at all. That is what I am uncertain about: whether to
leave the disappearance of Lind unaccounted for--merely saying he had
been summoned away by the Council--or to let everybody who may hear of
it understand that, powerful as he was, he had to succumb to the laws of
the Society, and accept the penalty for his error. I am quite uncertain;
I have no instructions. You might find out for me in Naples, Evelyn, if
you went over there--you might find out what they consider advisable."

"You are in Lind's place, then?"

"Not at all," said he, quickly, and with a slight flush. "Edwards and I
are merely keeping the thing going until matters are settled. Did you
notice whether Molyneux was in the next room when you came through?"

"Yes he was."

"Then excuse me for a minute or two. I want to speak to you further
about Naples."

Brand was gone some time, and Lord Evelyn was left to ponder over these
strange tidings. To him they were very joyful tidings; for ever since
that communication was made to him of the danger that threatened his
friend's life, he had been haunted by the recollection that, but for
him, Brand would in all probability have never heard of this
association. It was with an infinite sense of personal relief that he
now knew this danger was past. Already he saw himself on his way to
Naples, to find out the noble girl who had taken so bold a step to save
her lover. Not yet had darkness fallen over these two lives.

Brand returned, carefully shut the door after him, and seated himself on
a corner of the table.

"You see, Evelyn," he said, quite in his old matter-of-fact way, "I
can't pretend to have very much regret over what has happened to Lind.
He tried to do me an ill turn, and he has got the worst of it; that is
all. On the other hand, I bear him no malice: you don't want to hurt a
man when he is down. I can guess that it isn't the death-penalty that he
is thinking most of now. I can even make some excuse for him, now that I
see the story plain. The temptation was great; always on the
understanding that he was against my marrying his daughter; and that I
had been sure of it for some time. To punish me for not giving up my
property, to keep Natalie to himself, and to get this difficult duty
securely undertaken all at once--it was worth while trying for. But his
way of going about it was shabby. It was a mean trick. Well, there is
nothi