Raife continued: "I must give it up. I can't have that clever little fellow hounding me down. It will never do. You can bet he's been hunting for me all over Europe. He'll find me, too." The doctor soothed the young man, as he would soothe a child. "Now, Sir Raife, don't you fear. They call him a Scarlet Pimpernel, don't they? He's been trying to catch me for a dozen years. He hasn't succeeded, and he won't. Ha! ha!" Raife left late and returned in a taxi to his flat. Once he was in his room his spirit returned to him, and he determined, at all costs, to abandon his hateful life and return to his own form of civilisation. In the morning he was busy packing a bag, and the floor was strewn with articles of clothing, when Gilda entered, exclaiming: "Hullo, Raife! Packing up? Where are you going?" His mood remained determined, and he almost snarled: "Going? I've gone, it seems to me. Gone clean to the devil! I'm going away." Then came the appeal from Gilda. The appeal that he never could resist, and to which he had fallen so many times. She did not use many words. Her utter helplessness was the strong point of it all, and her complete love and trust in him. He sat in a huge chair with his head between his hands gazing vacantly in front of him. She knelt and looked up into those eyes that could glare with the fierce hate of passion, or shed the soft lovelight. She looked for the lovelight she had met there before, and she did not look in vain. What Doctor Malsano had, for once, failed to accomplish, Gilda had again achieved. Raife was again conquered by the mysterious influence of this beautiful girl. He sprang to his feet and caught her in his arms, showering kisses on her forehead. "Gilda! Gilda! It's got to be. Whilst you live I am yours. Yours to live and die for--to sink or swim for you." Then, hysterically, he almost shouted: "To hell with Herrion! I have started, and I will finish." He slung each article of clothing back in its receptacle, and, turning to Gilda, said more restrainedly, "We will go into the country to-day, and revel in our flowers and trees, our sky and clouds. I am giving you my life. It is yours. My reason tells me that it can only end in trouble. I don't care. Life is only possible to me when you are around. Now let us hie into the country and `make the most of what we yet may have to spend, before we, too'--" Gilda threw herself into his arms and closed his lips with her hands-- those clever, skilful hands, clever in crime, yet dainty as the hands of a queen of beauty. "Don't quote those lines. They make me sad, and I want to be so happy with you to-day, Raife. Where shall we go?" Raife considered for a moment and then said: "It will be running a risk, but I feel like running risks to-day. Let us go to Versailles. Let us watch all the splendour of those glorious days when men and women were brave in love and war, and dared to fight for honour."