'No,' replied George, 'myself I cannot save; but it may not be too late to save my honour, which is now wrapped up in that of your ladyship's. My case is desperate; what can be done for yours? Be plain with me. How much does your ladyship know?' Lady Oxford turned away from the table. In the face of Kelly's generosity no doubt she hesitated to disclose the whole truth of her treachery. 'I know no more than that you are in peril of arrest,' she said. 'Madam, surely you know more than that. You spoke earlier this evening of my arrest, and you spoke with the assurance of a more particular knowledge.' Lady Oxford took a turn across the room. 'Oh, my God, what can I do?' she cried, lifting her hands to her head. 'I hear Lady Mary's laughter and the horrid things they will say!' The whimsical inconsequence of Smilinda's appeal to her Maker did not fail to strike Kelly as ludicrous, but, as his own case was hopeless and abandoned, any thought of revenge or mockery had ceased to agitate him. His honour now stood in saving all that was left of hers from open and intolerable shame, and Rose beckoned him to the task. 'Surely you know more,' he persisted quietly. Lady Oxford gave in and came back to the table. 'The Messengers should be waiting for you in Ryder Street.' At last Kelly knew the worst. He would be taken before he reached his doorstep. There would be no chance of saving the cyphers in his strong box. Could he save Smilinda's letters? He bent his forehead upon his hands, thinking. Smilinda watched him; her lips moved as though she was praying. 'I might be carried to your lodgings and claim what is mine,' she suggested. 'You would be carried to a trap--a _souriciere_. Ten to one you would be arrested by the Messengers. At all events your visit would be remarked upon, and you would not obtain the letters.' Lady Oxford had no other proposal at hand, and there was silence in the room. Mr. Kelly remained with his face buried in his hands; he took the air in long deep breaths. No other sound was audible except the faint ticking of the clock in the outer withdrawing-room. For Smilinda was holding her breath lest she should disturb the man whom she had betrayed, and who was now wholly occupied with the attempt to save her. Then she remarked that the sound of his breathing ceased. She bent forwards; he raised his face to hers. He did not seem to see her; his eyes kindled with hope. 'You have found a way?' she whispered; and he whispered back: 'A desperate chance, but it may serve.' He started to his feet. 'It must serve.' A smile brightened over his face. 'It will serve.' Sure he showed as much pleasure as if he had discovered an issue for himself. 'Quick!' said Smilinda, with a smile to answer his. 'Tell me!' 'Colonel Montague--' 'What of him? Why speak to me now of him?' Lady Oxford's face had clouded at the name. 'He is your only salvation.' 'What can he do?'