e sake of this
girl, and for the manifestly impossible purpose of protecting her from
herself as well as others, I had surrendered myself to the probable
vengeance of a band of cut-throats if I betrayed them, and to the
certain vengeance of the law if I did not. Brande, notwithstanding his
constant scepticism, was scrupulously truthful. His statement of fact
must be relied upon. His opinions were another matter. As nothing
practical resulted from my reflections, I came to the conclusion that I
had got into a pretty mess for the sake of a handsome face. I regretted
this result, but was glad of the cause of it. On this I went to bed.

Next morning I was early astir, for I must see Natalie Brande without
delay, and I felt sure she would be no sluggard on that splendid summer
day. I tried the lawn between the house and the lake shore. I did not
find her there. I found her friend Miss Metford. The girl was sauntering
about, swinging a walking-cane carelessly. She was still rationally
dressed, but I observed with relief that the rational part of her
costume was more in the nature of the divided skirt than the plain
knickerbockers of the previous day. She accosted me cheerfully by my
surname, and not to be outdone by her, I said coolly:

"How d'ye do, Metford?"

"Very well, thanks. I suppose you expected Natalie? You see you have
only me."

"Delighted," I was commencing with a forced smile, when she stopped me.

"You look it. But that can't be helped. Natalie saw you going out, and
sent me to meet you. I am to look after you for an hour or so. You join
the Society this evening, I hear. You must be very pleased--and
flattered."

I could not assent to this, and so remained silent. The girl chattered
on in her own outspoken manner, which, now that I was growing accustomed
to it, I did not find as unpleasant as at first. One thing was evident
to me. She had no idea of the villainous nature of Brande's Society. She
could not have spoken so carelessly if she shared my knowledge of it.
While she talked to me, I wondered if it was fair to her--a likeable
girl, in spite of her undesirable affectations of advanced opinion,
emancipation or whatever she called it--was it fair to allow her to
associate with a band of murderers, and not so much as whisper a word of
warning? No doubt, I myself was associating with the band; but I was not
in ignorance of the responsibility thereby incurred.

"Miss Metford," I said, without heeding whe