"Sheer blinders, I call ’em, these ere Fritzies! Walk into Buckingham Pallis next minute and ask to look into the Privy Puss. ’Ope the Governor comes back before ’e gits Nosey Parkerin’ into the ’orizontal ’overing gear! Perish me if I ever met a bloke with such a nerve! Watto, old sonny?" He addressed himself to the boy. "Ain’t you feelin’ up to the posh?" "I am quite all right, thank you!" Bawne responded, while his heart bumped against his ribs. In his brain words and sentences kept forming: "I’m only a little chap. And this is—a Big thing! Bigger than the Chief expected, perhaps! And he said he’d be back in half an hour." Half an hour meant thirty minutes. He glanced at the big round white-faced clock above the entrance of the café restaurant. More than fifteen minutes of the half-hour had gone. To stick to the big, brutal German was his—Bawne’s—Secret Mission. And the inspiring, uplifting voice that thousands of boy-hearts thrill to all the big world over had said to him: "Quit yourself like a man!" *CHAPTER XXX* *THE REAPING* To Patrine, when the shadow of the familiar figure of the Doctor mingled with hers upon the dry green grass, and Saxham’s voice called her by her name, it was as though his presence had a weight that physically oppressed her, and his scrutiny seared her flesh like the approach of white-hot iron. Through her mind passed swift sentences: "_Yet another of us has disgraced him! My father and mother are not the only traitors of our name!_" In the rawness of her mental anguish every sense was unnaturally exaggerated. The ticking of Saxham’s watch, that the furious beating of her heart could not drown, tormented by its iteration. And worst of all, was the consciousness of defilement in the physical sense. "Did not your mother give you my message?" Always pale, her pallor did not demand particular attention, save that under their ruddy salve the edges of her lips showed white. She answered, forcing the lips to smile, compelling her eyes to meet Saxham’s. "About coming to see you?" She remembered and drew from her gilt-chain vanity bag the letter she had not posted: "This was written to you to-day. Then I thought I would have been able to look in at Harley Street, and in the end——" "In the end you neither paid the visit nor posted the excuse. Well, be more considerate in future to those who love you. Sincere, clean love does not grow on every gooseberry bush, my dear!"