The face of the sardonyx-like clock seemed to grin back at her in anticipation of the seventh--said to be the perfect day. “The faith of fools--the faith of fools!” it ticked away. Until she knew that John was not to join her, she had failed to appreciate how greatly she was relying upon his assistance and advice. To choose between His Majesty’s diabolic assignment and the ingenious torments to which she and her babe would be subjected became the more impossible the longer she considered. Were she what she once had been, expectant of the best because all-ignorant of the worst, she would have decided, without a moment’s hesitation, upon what she knew to be right. But knowledge was weakening. Constant association with sin and suffering wore away the best intentions. To struggle against fore-assured failure until the negligent hopes of Gehenna changed to fear and fear changed, to despair---- She covered her eyes from the suggestive leer of the clock-face and sank back into the veil of her crepe-black hair. “Amor ... Innocentia ... Where are you?” “Tap! _Tap!_” As though in answer to her stifled sob of loneliness, the metallic sound was repeated on the pane. Could they be without, the comrades of her youth, come to console her even before she called? Into _peignoir_ and mules she hurried; crossed the room; threw wide the casement. “Who is it? Who is there?” “Sh--hush!” In the answering rasp sounded neither the lilt of Innocentia nor the fearlessness of the love-lad Amor. From out the deep shadows that hugged the palace wall limped the lately-promoted General Cummings. More spectral than seemed consistent with his brief lapse from mortality he looked as he crossed the sill. From his once tranquil eyes shone the hell-haunted look of the archaics. His kindly old face was stretched and blanched. “What has happened to you, Corporal Sam?” Dolores’ tones sounded her distress at the change in him. Before replying he drew the window hangings and dimmed the night lamp. “No one must discover I’m here. They say His Highness knows everything that goes on in the palace, but I have risked it. You seem the only chance of saving us.” From the edge of the bed, Dolores focused her amazement upon the doughty soldier-soul. “Saving you--from what?” “From his Great Intention.” Old Sam’s voice shivered into a whisper. “You don’t understand? I’ve heard that even the prime minister is not in his confidence. But I hoped that you had wormed it out of him. Since I understood, I haven’t rested day nor night, although there’s little I can do. You have no idea what a hold he’s got on those fight-fiends. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, miss, that is to say ma’am, but from the reports of your séances you’ve turned some mighty powerful mortal minds topsy-turvy. For your own sake, for the sake of God Himself--wouldn’t you be willing to try?” “To try just what?”