s on his feet, but I expected
every moment to see him reel and fall.

"But, Paul, what have you been doing--writing?" Lady de Vaux asked
anxiously. Then, as though warned by his strange appearance, she
checked his mechanical answer. "Never mind, never mind! You are tired,
I can see. Won't you go and lie down for awhile? Come, I will go with
you."

She had forgotten me, until she found that he paid no heed to her
words; that his eyes travelled past her, and remained fixed upon me.
Then she turned swiftly upon me.

"You had better go," she said in a low, imperative whisper. "Ask them
to show you into my room, and wait there for me."

I took no notice of her. My eyes were fixed upon Paul. I felt that he
was going to speak to me; and he did.

"Adrea! Adrea!" he said slowly. "How is it that you are here? You did
not come with him, did you? No! no! of course not. And yet, how is it
that you are here?"

"I feared Father Adrian and his threats, and I was alone, quite alone,
and--and I could bear it no longer. I was obliged to come."

His face grew a trifle more animated; I could see that he was
recovering. The dumb stupor which had held his features rigid was
passing away.

"Yes, I am glad you are here. I want to talk to you. I had some
important business which kept me writing here all night, and must have
fallen asleep. I will go and change my things and come back to you."

He looked down at his crumpled shirt-front and disordered tie, and
then moved slowly towards the door. Lady de Vaux hesitated for a
moment, with a dark frown upon her face, and then laid her hand upon
his arm.

"Your explanation should surely have been addressed to me, Paul," she
said coldly. "Who is this young lady?"

"She is a friend of mine," Paul answered, "and----"

"I heard you call her 'Adrea,'" Lady de Vaux continued. "May I ask
whether it is indeed Miss Adrea Kiros?"

"I have told you that is my name, Lady de Vaux," I answered promptly.
"You have possibly heard of me."

Lady de Vaux turned her back upon both of us, and left the room
without a word.

CHAPTER XXIX

"ADREA'S DIARY"

"Love, blossoming in the roses, holds a dagger in her hands."

We were alone, Paul and I, in that great, solemn room, full of pale,
phantom-like lights and quivering shadows. He was standing a few
yards away from me, with his head half averted, and his eyes full of
a great, hopeless despair. In silence I approached him, and took his
de