gan to grow
uneasy. The days went on. I wrote twice, but no reply was forthcoming.
At last I could bear the suspense no longer, and began to contemplate
returning to Russia.

Jack, when at last discharged from the hospital, came across to the
Cecil and lived with me in preference to the "Junior." He was very weak
at first, and I looked after him, while every day Muriel came and ate
with us, brightening our lives by her smart and merry chatter. She knew
that I loved Elma and was also aware of the exciting events in Russia,
Jack having told her of them during their long drives in hansoms when he
went out with her to take the air.

One day I received a brief note from the Princess in Petersburg, urging
me to remain patient and saying Elma was quite safe and well. There
were reasons, however, why she was unable to write, she added. What were
they, I wondered? Yet I could only wait until I received word to travel
back to Russia and fetch her home. The Princess had promised to arrange
everything.

December came, and we still remained on at the hotel. Once Olinto had
written me repeating his warning, but I did not heed it. I somehow
distrusted the fellow.

Jack, now thoroughly recovered, called almost daily at Bassett Road, and
would often bring Muriel to the Cecil to tea or to luncheon. Often I
inquired the whereabouts of her father and of Hylton Chater, but she
declared herself in entire ignorance, and believed they were abroad.

One afternoon, shortly before Christmas, as we were idling in the
American bar of the hotel, my friend told me that Muriel had invited us
to tea at her cousin's that afternoon, and accordingly we went there in
company.

The drawing-room into which we were ushered was familiar to me as the
apartment wherein I had told Muriel of the attempt upon her lover's
life.

As we sat together Muriel, a smart figure in a pale blue gown, poured
tea for us and chatted more merrily, I thought, than ever before. She
seemed quick and nervous and yet full of happiness, as she should indeed
have been, for Jack Durnford was one of the best fellows in the world,
and his restoration to health little short of miraculous.

"Gordon," he said to me with a sudden seriousness when tea had ended and
we had placed down our cups. "I want to tell you something--something
I've been longing always to tell you, and now I have got dear Muriel's
consent. I want to tell you about her father and his friends."

"And about Elma,