spered,
'Have mercy on me Simon!' (it was a prayer born rather of some vague
instinct of danger than any defined fear); 'don't kill me!'

He put his thick arm round her and shook her impatiently.

'Kill you, Isolde? Are you mad? You are far more useful to me living
than dead. Get rid of your silly fears, and remember--silence!'

Then putting her back on the couch with more gentleness than might have
been expected of him, he walked out of the room. For a little while she
sat listening, then opened her eyes and glanced about her. Yes, he was
gone. But it was characteristic of her that at such a time her chief and
overpowering thought was Valerie as a rival! 'Valerie's lovers, Unziar
and the Englishman!' A score of trifles rushed back upon her memory; but
no it could not be. It was one of the Count's amiable ways to suggest
causes of jealousy to his wife. He meant nothing, for what could he
know? The soothing conviction grew upon her that the taunt was thrown at
her for what it was worth. Oh, how she hated Sagan--hated his
bloodshot, beast's eyes, his mocking laugh, his cruel hands, his
crueller gibes!

She pushed back the lace from her wrist and saw the thin parallels of
bruised flesh his fingers had left--entirely unaware, it must be
owned--upon her whiteness. Ah, she would show these to Rallywood--as a
proof that she was in danger, that she actually needed his protection,
and so win him from his post, which to-night would become the post of
death.

All her little vain soul thrilled within her at the possibility of
triumph--of defeating the honour of such a man--of winning him from his
watch for love's sake--of overcoming the scruples that had for so long a
time stood out against her wiles.

And yet in her poor way she loved him--loved him as she would probably
never love another. Some women are made in that way, they take pride in
the loftiness of the height from which they drag men down. Then he must
be saved, she told herself, at all costs saved! He would live to thank
her yet. A thought of him lying dead in his blood by the dark embrasure
that masked the entrance to the royal apartments flashed across her
mind. She stretched out her arms with a soft call like a bird's.

'Oh, love, love, I will save you!'

CHAPTER XIV.

HALF A PROMISE.

Ten minutes later a big emblazoned footman brought Rallywood a summons
from the Countess, as he stood talking to Counsellor and the Russian
_attache_.

As he mov