ence he was part-editor of one of the Anarchist
journals, which he enlivened by daring and sarcastic contributions.
The fragment of the letter that Arithelli had dropped, lay open in
front of him. He read it through again and smiled to himself.

"I'll give up even the Cause for your sake," Vardri had written.
"Seeing how these men have made you suffer has changed my views. There
must be something wrong about our ideas if they produce this cruelty to
women. Sobrenski and the others are killing you slowly. I wanted
struggle and excitement at one time, and whether it meant Life or Death
it was all the same. There was no one to care. Now I want Life and
Love and You!"

Another madman like Gaston de Barres! How alike all these effusions
were, all in the same strain. They had found a pile of ravings when
they had searched among the property of the heroine of that affair.
These were the people who did an incredible amount of harm, who were
even more dangerous than the ordinary traitor.

He pushed the letter underneath some others, and Arithelli had knocked
more than once, before he called "_Entrez_!"

He saluted her with a cold scrutiny, telling her to wait till he had
finished. He invariably made a point of using no title in addressing
her, and never even gave her the customary Anarchist greeting of
_camarade_. He did not invite her to sit down, and she would have been
surprised if he had done so. There was another chair at the far end of
the room, and she did not trouble to fetch it. Her heart was still
further weakened by her illness, and she was breathless after climbing
two long flights of stairs. She leant up against the wall, breathing
quickly, and thankful for a few moments' respite.

She supposed she was required to play "errand-boy" as usual, and to go
through the well-known routine: A crumpled-up slip of paper, which she
must hide in her hair or dress, a long walk, or a ride in the electric
tram if she happened to have any money, and then perhaps at the end of
it she would find the man for whom she was seeking absent, and then she
would have to wait till he returned. It was never safe to leave a
message. Everything had to be given directly into the hands of those
for whom it was intended, and she had spent many weary hours in the
rooms of Sobrenski's followers.

She studied his face as he rapidly stamped his letters, flinging them
on to a pile of others that lay ready. It crossed her mind how E