until she had got him to promise to come in with her and surrender. He must have been pretty sick of the Sarmatians altogether--they were rather a shady lot, always quarrelling and fighting among themselves--and there was nothing to be made out of their job, and he was in love as well, and he thought she loved him, so he consented. He got his pardon and his post in the Scythian army, and he meant to get Mdlle. Barbara. But when he went to claim her she met him as she had done the other men she had betrayed, turned her back on him and told him that no traitor should ever be her husband. But she had tried that trick once too often. He had her against the wall with a revolver to her head in an instant, and then and there he made her promise to marry him. And that wasn’t all, either. He took her to the table, still with the revolver pointed at her, and made her write out and sign an account of the scene. Then he let her go, but she married him the next week. You see he could have ruined her with that paper. If it had once come to her employers’ ears that she had lost her nerve, and yielded to threats, they would never have made use of her again. Perhaps, too, the O’Malachy’s style of wooing pleased her, or she may have had a soft place for him in her heart all along. At any rate, they married, and went into partnership, and you see what a happy couple they are.” “But how did the story get about?” asked Caerleon. “Surely it was to the interest of both of them to keep it quiet.” “Oh, the O’Malachy let it out one evening when he had been dining--told it as rather a fine thing, I believe.” “The old beast! to go and give his wife away like that,” remarked Caerleon, with righteous indignation. “Well, after all, she doesn’t show up so very much worse than he does in the matter,” said Cyril. “They are rather a well-matched pair. You know what their present manner of life is?” “Oh yes, I know. Card-sharping.” Cyril stared. “Not unless you are speaking in parables, and alluding to political cards. They are spies of the Scythian Government, _agents provocateurs_, and so on. The O’Malachy is supposed to be travelling for his health, a pursuit which enables him to be pretty constantly on the move, and turn up just where his presence is required. Oh, he’s a fine old fellow! Wasn’t that rich about Balster and the infernal machine? It was an awful sell for him, though. Sorry! of course he was sorry--that Balster didn’t open it himself, and get blown up. That’s one of his little ways of employing his leisure hours, and the whole family are really otherwise engaged than in health-seeking, very much so.” “Not all of them. Miss O’Malachy is not.” “Well, you certainly know more about her than I do, so I can’t say. You have a queer taste in fathers-in-law, though.”