She fell down on the floor of the little sitting-room, sobbing great tearless sobs and beating fruitlessly at the air. Useless to fight the most perfect, the most complete, the most unanimous system that has been since the world began. The Catholic Church is like a wonderful machine; unlike that made by man, it cannot break down. Evelyn was its child, bred in obedience. Once, many years ago in Liverpool, she had seen some wonderful invention which revolved at the rate of some hundreds of turns in thirty seconds. Unluckily for her, she entered the room just after a serious accident. A careless workman standing near had been caught by the wheels and cut to pieces before it could be stopped. The invention itself was beyond praise; it had done incalculable good to humanity. Only a few comparatively worthless lives had been sacrificed to it. That was all. It had helped millions. Was that not also true of the Church? She rose wearily. Time was passing. She took up her pen and wrote to Brand, sealing the letter. "I hope that this will reach you in time, that you may catch the morning train to Marseilles. I have found the absolute proof in your own handwriting that you stole the Treaty. I am withholding these proofs for twenty-four hours; that will give you time to leave the country. You will, of course, change your name. If you go at once, on receipt of this, to the Hôtel de Londres, I will meet you as soon as possible, within twenty-four hours or forty-eight, as the case may be, with about two hundred pounds in English gold. That should make your position clear until I have time to carry through my intention—which is to make over to you, under whatever name you permanently assume, the hundred pounds a year which I received from my father. "At the Hôtel de Londres I shall ask for Mr. Hendry. See that your name is booked as that in the hotel register." Evelyn fastened the letter deliberately. No very difficult task this. But—what of her letter to Farquharson? For here—how many sides took arms against her? Nature—cowardice—physical frailty, even. They were so mighty an array, these almost visible temptations which struck at the very root of her being, which surrounded her and weighed her down with a solid panoply of strength. And to meet them she had but her piteous array of threadbare honour and tottering faith. For Farquharson it was different. Those who have fame cannot reasonably expect love; life is as best a compromise. Farquharson’s career was wide and high. The fate of nations lay in his hand; nations, like individuals, move mechanically to a set tune. The average man deals in small issues; his view is bounded by his neighbour’s fences. But Farquharson’s boundaries were limitless; they stretched from empire to empire.