Dorward looked once more at the clock and rose slowly to his feet.

"Well," he said, "I mustn't keep His Excellency waiting. Good-bye,
and cheer up, Bellamy! Your old country isn't going to turn up
her heels yet."

Out he went - long, lank, uncouth, with yellow-stained fingers and
hatchet-shaped, gray face - a strange figure but yet a power.
Bellamy remained. For a while he seemed doubtful how to pass the
time. He stood in front of the window, watching the dispersal of
the crowds and the marching by of a regiment of soldiers, whose
movements he followed with critical interest, for he, too, had been
in the service. He had still a military bearing, - tall, and with
complexion inclined to be dusky, a small black moustache, dark eyes,
a silent mouth, - a man of many reserves. Even his intimates knew
little of him. Nevertheless, his was the reticence which befitted
well his profession.

After a time he sat down and wrote some letters. He had just
finished when there came a sharp tap at the door. Before he could
open his lips some one had entered. He heard the soft swirl of
draperies and turned sharply round, then sprang to his feet and
held out both his hands. There was expression in his face now - as
much as he ever suffered to appear there.

"Louise!" he exclaimed. "What good fortune!"

She held his fingers for a moment in a manner which betokened a
more than common intimacy. Then she threw herself into an
easy-chair and raised her thick veil. Bellamy looked at her for a