loves,
afraid lest she should leave them behind; and then Wethermill came down
again. Adele looked at him inquiringly.

"It is all done," he said, with a nod of the head. "I will bring the
car down to the door. Then I'll drive you to Geneva and come back with
the car here."

He cautiously opened the latticed door of the window, listened for a
moment, and ran silently down the drive. Adele closed the door again,
but she did not bolt it. She came back into the room; she looked at
Celia, as she lay back upon the settee, with a long glance of
indecision. And then, to Celia's surprise--for she had given up all
hope--the indecision in her eyes became pity. She suddenly ran across
the room and knelt down before Celia. With quick and feverish hands she
untied the cord which fastened the train of her skirt about her knees.

At first Celia shrank away, fearing some new cruelty. But Adele's voice
came to her ears, speaking--and speaking with remorse.

"I can't endure it!" she whispered. "You are so young--too young to be
killed."

The tears were rolling down Celia's cheeks. Her face was pitiful and
beseeching.

"Don't look at me like that, for God's sake, child!" Adele went on, and
she chafed the girl's ankles for a moment.

"Can you stand?" she asked.

Celia nodded her head gratefully. After all, then, she was not to die.
It seemed to her hardly possible. But before she could rise a subdued
whirr of machinery penetrated into the room, and the motor-car came
slowly to the front of the villa.

"Keep still!" said Adele hurriedly, and she placed herself in front of
Celia.

Wethermill opened the wooden door, while Celia's heart raced in her
bosom.

"I will go down and open the gate," he whispered. "Are you ready?"

"Yes."

Wethermill disappeared; and this time he left the door open. Adele
helped Celia to her feet. For a moment she tottered; then she stood
firm.

"Now run!" whispered Adele. "Run, child, for your life!"

Celia did not stop to think whither she should run, or how she should
escape from Wethermill's search. She could not ask that her lips and
her hands might be freed. She had but a few seconds. She had one
thought--to hide herself in the darkness of the garden. Celia fled
across the room, sprang wildly over the sill, ran, tripped over her
skirt, steadied herself, and was swung off the ground by the arms of
Harry Wethermill.

"There we are," he said, with his shrill, wavering laugh. "I opened the
ga