streets."

She wrung her hands.

"Have I not walked the streets," she moaned, "till my feet have been
sore with blisters and my head dizzy! Yet I have never met him."

He stood with his hand upon his chin, thinking as well as he might.
What did he owe to Douglas Guest, the friend of Emily de Reuss,
successful where he had failed? Had he not seen their hands joined? He
drew a breath which sounded like a hiss.

"I thought," he muttered, "that it had been a woman, yet--who knows? It
may have been Douglas Guest--and Joan, there was truth in your thought.
He lives. I cannot tell you where. I cannot help you find him, for I
have another task. Yet he lives. I tell you that. Now let me go."

Her eyes flashed with something which was like joy. She had forgotten
David's wandering words. All the time her instincts had been true.

"Let me go, Joan."

She laid her hands upon his shoulders.

"We are brother and sister," she said, "and what is mine is yours. Stay
and share with me. Share the little we have, and let Cissy nurse
you--ay, and share our vengeance."

She was flung on one side. Off her guard for a moment, he had pushed
past her with unexpected strength.