in Spring. There was a delicate pallor in the cheeks, and the face
bore signs of suffering and care, possibly even of hunger; but for
all that there was youth there, eternal and triumphant! Not youth such
as he had known it, but youth with all history behind it, youth with
centuries of command in its blood and the world's treasures of beauty
and pride in its ancestry. Strange, he thought, that a thing so fine
should be so masterful. He felt abashed in every inch of him.

As the eyes rested on him their sorrowfulness seemed to be shot
with humour. A ghost of a smile lurked there, to which Dickson
promptly responded. He grinned and bowed.

"Very pleased to meet you, Mem. I'm Mr. McCunn from Glasgow."

"You don't even know my name," she said.

"We don't," said Heritage.

"They call me Saskia. This," nodding to the chair, "is my cousin
Eugenie....We are in very great trouble. But why should I tell you?
I do not know you. You cannot help me."

"We can try," said Heritage. "Part of your trouble we know already
through that boy. You are imprisoned in this place by scoundrels.
We are here to help you to get out. We want to ask no questions-
-only to do what you bid us."

"You are not strong enough," she said sadly. "A young man--an old
man--and a little boy. There are many against us, and any moment
there may be more."