“Oh, go!” she said. “For Heaven’s sake go, and take the boy with you. I suppose you don’t know what people will say! I suppose it doesn’t matter to you that we all know why Leslie Damores didn’t marry you. I suppose——” “Oh, Lady Beautiful!”—the knight stood looking from one to the other at the door—“Lady Beautiful, do you know where it is?” “Where what is, my darling?” “The Holy Grail,” said the knight wrinkling his brows. “I don’t know where to find it.” Cynthia took his hand. “Let’s go and look for it,” she said; “it isn’t here.” She hesitated, but Millicent stood at the window with her back to them. She put her hands to her hair and replaced a pin. Cynthia turned with the boy, and together they left the little tawdry flat for the last time; left the strange, sad life with its shattered opportunities and sordid concealments; left his mother standing by the window waiting for the Count. CHAPTER XXXI “Where He stands,—the Arch Fear In a visible form.” “IT is absolutely necessary you should come to me at once. I am extremely ill. “YOUR UNCLE.” This brief but characteristic epistle rung in Muriel’s head as she left the club for the night. It was a trying time to leave the work. She had almost a settlement now of new helpers, men and women, all under her headship, devoted and earnest workers, but needing direction, and a firm, experienced hand. Cyril Johnstone had volunteered to come to her. Association with her having convinced him that she was neither light-minded nor superficial, and that in spite of his exalted office he still had something to learn from a woman. Captain Hurstly having withdrawn his liberal subscription, the club-work in his parish had fallen through, and the old, broad-minded, empty-headed vicar could jog on in peace to his grave with a sly chuckle or two at the fizzling out of modern efforts. Meanwhile honest hard work and the buffeting experience of the working-man had opened the young curate’s mind and sobered his heart, and there is no such worker in any cause as the disciplined enthusiast. Muriel was happier about her work than she had ever been. It was only right, according to her ethics, that as satisfaction dawned the new call should come. She did not know what her uncle’s illness meant, but she settled work for the next few weeks, had a final talk with her new associate, and putting on what she called her society dress drove off in a hansom to her uncle’s. She found him in the comfortable stage of a dressing-gown and hot chocolate. He closed his eyes as she entered the room. “Muriel, is that you?” “Yes, dear; I came at once.”