"My mother's health is not good, and the doctor has ordered her to the South immediately. He says that she must never return to this climate, because it will hasten her malady to a fatal termination. Therefore, in future we must be exiles." She was looking straight into my face as she spoke, and those great wondrous eyes of hers that I had believed to be so pure and honest never wavered. "I leave to-morrow and join her," she added. "Then she has already gone!" I exclaimed, the truth at once flashing upon me that Lady Glaslyn had actually fled. "Yes. The doctor has so frightened her that I could not induce her to stay and pack. I shall join her in Paris," she explained quite calmly. "There is no help for it. We must part." "But surely," I said in desperation, "you will not leave me thus? You will return to England sometimes." "I really don't know," she answered in a strained, hoarse voice. "At least you will give me hope that some day you will be my wife, Eva," I said, tenderly grasping her hand, which seemed limp and trembling. "You know how fondly I love you, how--" I started quickly and turned, puzzled at the unusual sound of voices, without finishing the sentence. One voice I recognised speaking in deep tones to Mrs. Joad, and dropping the hand I held I rushed out, closing the door behind me. As I did so, I came face to face with Boyd, accompanied by two plain-clothes officers. "We've followed her here," he explained. "She means to get away abroad, therefore we must now execute the warrant. I regret it, for your sake." A loud piercing shriek from within told me that she had overheard those fateful words. "No," I cried. "By Heaven! you shan't arrest her!" and I resolutely barred his passage to the inner room. "As I love her you shall never enter there! She shall never be taken as a common criminal!" CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. HER LADYSHIP. Boyd, seeing my fierce determination, held back, a look of undisguised annoyance upon his face. "I have a duty to perform. I beg of you not to obstruct me, Mr. Urwin," he said coldly. "It is quite as unpleasant to me as to you." "Unpleasant!" I echoed. "I tell you that you shall not arrest her," and I stood firmly with my back to the door of my room. "Come," he said, in a tone of persuasion. "This action of yours cannot benefit her in the least. She has made every preparation for flight. Her trunk is in the cloakroom at Charing Cross Station, and she means within an hour to get away to the Continent. Let me pass." "I shall not," I roared. "In that case I shall be compelled to use force, however much I regret it." As he uttered these words the door was suddenly flung back, and I saw Eva's tragic, almost funereal, figure in the opening. She was white to the lips, her countenance terribly wan and haggard. "Enough!" she cried hoarsely. "Let the police enter. I am ready," and she tottered back, clutching at the corner of my writing-table for support.