ere an hour ago. I waited. Do you know what
time it is?"

"Come to the bay-window," he said, "if you fear me here."

"Do you know it is nearly three o'clock?" she repeated. "And you leave
at six.

"Shall we say good-bye here?" he asked coolly.

"Certainly. I dare not go out. And you--do you know the chances we are
running? You must be perfectly mad to come to my room. Do you think
anybody could have seen--heard you--"

"No. Good night." He offered his hand; she laid both of hers in it. He
could scarcely distinguish her features where she stood dark against the
brilliant light behind her.

"Good-bye," he whispered, kissing her hands where they lay in his.

"Good-bye." Her fingers closed convulsively, retaining his hands. "I
hope--I think that--you--" Her head was drooping; she could not control
her voice.

"Good-bye, Sylvia," he said again.

It was quite useless, she could not speak; and when he took her in his
arms she clung to him, quivering; and he kissed the wet lashes, and the
hot, trembling lips, and the smooth little hands crushed to his breast.

"We have a year yet," she gasped. "Dear, take me by force before it
ends. I--I simply cannot endure this. I told you to take me--to tear
me from myself. Will you do it? I will love you--truly, truly! Oh, my
darling, my darling! Don't--don't give me up! Can't you do something for
us? Can't you--"

"Will you come with me now?"

"How can--"

"Will you?"

A sudden sound broke out in the night--the distant pealing of the
lodge-gate bell. Startled, she shrank back; somebody in the adjoining
room had sprung to the floor and was opening the window.

"What is it?" she motioned with whitening lips. "Quick! oh, quick,
before you are seen! Grace may come! I--I beg of you to go!"

As he stepped into the corridor he heard, below, a sound at the great
door, and the stirring of the night watchman on post. At his own door
he turned, listening to the movement and whispering. Ferrall, in
dressing-gown and slippers, stepped into the corridor; below, the chains
were rattling as the wicket swung open. There was a brief parley at
the door, sounds of retreating steps on the gravel outside, sounds of
approaching steps on the stairway.

"What's that? A telegram?" said Ferrall sharply. "Here, give it to me. ...
Wait! It isn't for me. It's for Mr Siward!"

Siward, standing at his open door, swayed slightly. A thrill of pure
fear struck him through and through. He laid one han