Her eyes had been fixed in the fire, but now she turned them to his face. Alan sat with head hanging forward, his gaze and thoughts far beyond the confines of the room. Then he shook himself and got up to go. “I wish we could, Nance,” he said gravely, and then added half to himself, half to her, “I’ll try.” For some days Alan had been prepared to go away and take Alix with him, should she consent. Upon his arrival he had had an interview with McDale & McDale, in the course of which that firm opened its eyes and its pocket wider than it ever had before. “You are out for money, Mr. Wayne,” had been the feeble remonstrance of the senior member. “Just money,” replied Alan. “If you owed as much as I do, you would be out for it, too. Of course you’re not. What do you want? You’ve got my guaranty--ten per cent. under office estimates for work and time.” When Alan left McDale & McDale’s offices he had contracted more or less on his own terms, and McDale, Jr., said to the senior: “He’s only twenty-six--a boy. How did he beat us?” “By beating Walton’s record first,” replied McDale, Sr. “And how he did that, time will show.” As he walked slowly back from Nance’s, Alan was thinking that, after all, there was no reason why he should not cut and run--no reason except Alix. He reached his rooms. As he crossed the threshold a premonition seized him. He felt as though some one were there. He glanced hurriedly about. The rooms were still in the disorder in which he had left them, and they were empty. Then he saw that he had stepped on a note that had been dropped through the letter-slip. He picked it up. A thrill went through him as he recognized Alix’s handwriting. There was no stamp. It must have been delivered by hand. He tore it open and read: “You said that a moment’s notice was all you asked. I will take the Montreal express with you to-day.” Alan’s blood turned to liquid fire. The note conjured before him a vision of Alix. He crushed it, and held it to his lips and laughed, not jeeringly, but in pure, uncontrolled excitement. * * * * * It was not a coincidence that Gerry had sought out Alix at the very hour that Nance was summoning Alan. Gerry and Nance were driven by the same forewarning of catastrophe. Gerry had felt it first, but he had been slow to believe, slower to act. He had no precedent for this sort of thing. His whole being was in revolt against the situation in which he found himself. It was after a sleepless night, a most unheard of thing with him, that he decided he could let things go no longer. He went to Alix’s room, knocked, and entered. Alix was up, though the hour was early for her. Fresh from her bath, she sat in a sheen of blue dressing-gown before the mirror doing her own hair. Gerry glanced about him and into the bath-room, looking for the maid. “Good morning,” said Alix. “She’s not here. Did you want to see her?”