tro closed the door
and withdrew. Sabatini looked inquiringly at his visitor.

"You have seen Isaac?" he asked.

"I have seen him," Arnold assented.

"You bring me news?"

"It is true," Arnold replied. "I bring news."

Sabatini waited patiently. Arnold remained, for a moment, gloomily
silent. It was hard to know how to commence.

"You will forgive my reminding you," Sabatini said quietly, "that I
am on the point of starting out to keep an engagement. I would not
mention it but in one respect London hostesses are exacting. There
are many liberties which are permitted here, but one must not be
late for dinner."

Arnold's memory flashed back to the scene which he had just left--to
Isaac, the outcast, crouched beneath his barricade of furniture,
waiting in the darkness with his loaded pistol and murder in his
heart. Sabatini, calm and dignified in his rigidly correct evening
dress, his grace and good-looks, represented with curious
appositeness the other extreme of life.

"I will not keep you long," Arnold began, "but there is something
which you must hear from me, and hear at once."

"Assuredly," Sabatini murmured. "It is something connected with your
visit to this poor, misguided outcast. I am afraid there is nothing
we can do for him."

"There is nothing any one can do for him," Arnold declared. "I went
to see him because, when he fled from his rooms and they were seized
by the police, his niece was left penniless and homeless.
Fortunately, the change in my own circumstances permitted me to
offer her a shelter--for the moment, at any rate. I have told you
something of this before but I am obliged to repeat it. You will
understand presently. It is of some importance."

Sabatini bowed.

"The young lady is still under your care?" he asked.

"She is still with me," Arnold admitted. "I took two rooms not very
far away from here. I did it because it was the only thing to do,
but I can see now that as a permanent arrangement it will not
answer. Already, even, a shadow seems to have sprung up between us.
I am beginning to understand what it is. I have always looked upon
Ruth as being somewhat different from other women because of her
infirmity. It is dawning upon me now that, after all, the infirmity
counts for little. She is a woman, with a woman's sensibility and
all that goes with it. It troubles her to be living alone with me."

A shadow of perplexity passed across Sabatini's face. This young man
was very