her bosom a packet of papers.

"Here are the sketches," she sobbed; "they have cost you dear! Now
leave me--hate me! Let them come and take me--I do not want to live
any more. Oh, what punishment on earth!"

Her suffering was unendurable to the man who had suffered through her;
he turned on me, quivering in every limb.

"We must start," he said, hoarsely. "Give me your revolver."

I drew it from my hip-pocket and passed it to him.

"Scarlett," he began, "if we don't reach--"

A quick rapping at the door silenced him; the young Countess stood in
the hallway, bright-eyed, but composed, asking for me.

"The red and the white lights are gone," she said. "There are four
green lights on the tower and four blue lights on the halyards."

I turned to Eyre. "This is interesting," I said, grimly. "I set
signals for the _Fer-de-Lance_ to land in force. Somebody has changed
them. You had better get ready to go."

Sylvia had shrunk away from Eyre. The Countess looked at her blankly,
then at me.

"Madame," I said, "there is little enough of happiness in the
world--so little that when it comes it should be welcomed, even by
those who may not share in it."

And I bent nearer and whispered the truth.

Then I went to Sylvia, who stood there tremulous, pallid.

"You serve your country at a greater risk than do the soldiers of
your King," I said. "There is no courage like that which discounts a
sordid, unhonored death. You have my respect, mademoiselle."

"Sylvia!" murmured the young Countess, incredulously; "you a
spy?--here--under my roof?"

Sylvia unconsciously stretched out one hand toward her.

Eyre stepped to her side, with an angry glance at Madame de Vassart.

"I--I love you, madame," whispered Sylvia. "I only place my own
country first. Can you forgive me?"

The Countess stood as though stunned; Eyre passed her slowly,
supporting Sylvia to the door.

"Madame," I said, "will you speak to her? Your countries, not your
hearts, are at war. She did her duty."

"A spy!" repeated the Countess, in a dull voice. "A spy! And she
brings this--this shame on me!"

Sylvia turned, standing unsteadily. For a long time they looked at
each other in silence, their eyes wet with tears. Then Eyre lifted
Sylvia's hand and kissed it, and led her away, closing the door
behind.

The Countess still stood in the centre of the room, transfixed, rigid,
staring through her tears at the closed door. With a deep-drawn breath
she stra