n manservant were
placed under escort, and also driven away.

The station-fly, in which Bailey had driven from Southminster, conveyed
away Fetherston, Trendall, Sir Hugh, and Enid, while Deacon, with two
men, was left in charge of the house of secrets.

It was past one o'clock in the morning when Walter Fetherston stood alone
with Enid in the pretty drawing-room in Hill Street.

They stood together upon the _vieux rose_ hearthrug, his hand was upon
her shoulder, his deep, earnest gaze fixed upon hers. In her splendid
eyes the love light showed. They had both admired each other intensely
from their first meeting, and had become very good and staunch friends.
Walter Fetherston had only once spoken of the passion that had constantly
consumed his heart--when they were by the blue sea at Biarritz. He loved
her--loved her with the whole strength of his being--and yet, ah! try how
he would, he could never put aside the dark cloud of suspicion which, as
the days went by, became more and more impenetrable.

Sweet-faced, frank, and open, she stood, the ideal of the English outdoor
girl, merry, quick-witted, and athletic. And yet, after the stress of
war, she had sacrificed all that she held most dear in order to become
the friend of Weirmarsh. Why?

"Enid," he said at last, his tender hand still upon her shoulder, "why
did you not tell me your true position? You were working in the same
direction, with the same strong motive of patriotism, as myself!"

She was silent, very pale, and very serious.

"I feared to tell you, Walter," she faltered. "How could I possibly
reveal to you the truth when I knew you were aware how my stepfather had
unconsciously betrayed his friends? You judged us both as undesirables,
therefore any attempt at explanation would, I know, only aggravate our
offence in your eyes. Ah! you do not know how intensely I have suffered!
How bitter it all was! I knew the reason you followed us to France--to
watch and confirm your suspicions."

"I admit, Enid, that I suspected you of being in the hands of a set of
scoundrels," her lover said in a low, hoarse voice. "At first I hesitated
whether to warn you of your peril after Weirmarsh had, with such
dastardly cunning, betrayed you to the French police, but--well," he
added as he looked again into her dear eyes long and earnestly, "I loved
you, Enid," he blurted forth. "I told you so! Remember, dear, what you
said at Biarritz? And I love you--and because of that