One fact he did not doubt. Enemies, terrible and implacable, would be ranged against him. And if they should once suspect that their secrets had been divulged to Helen, her life, too, would not be worth a moment’s purchase. In spite of that, however, embarked on his strange story, he found it beyond his power to withhold any material detail. It became a sheer impossibility to choose or select. All had to be known, once the die was cast. Listening in grief and horror to a narrative of events which began with John’s rooted conviction that the world was now at grips with a terrible evil, Helen was yet able in some measure to impose her will upon the man she loved. A deep instinct told her that the only hope of saving his life lay with her; and if so frail a chance was to be fruitful, she must acquaint herself with all the strands of the coil in which he was involved. XLIX At the end of a story which, halting and fragmentary as it was, took some time to tell, Helen felt shattered. Deprived of the power to act or to think consecutively, all the force of a strong will was needed to sustain her. The awful Nemesis which had overtaken a phase of passing weakness in a good and brave man struck at her heart; but in the end it was perhaps as much as anything the sense of Fate’s injustice that roused her fighting spirit. With all the facts of the case before her, and once the control of her nerves had been regained, Helen soon made up her mind. Be the cost what it might, her husband’s life should not be thrown away. By nature and temperament a woman of action, she was accustomed to reach quick and bold decisions. And in the moment her resolve was taken it was fortified by a sudden recollection of Wygram’s final words. “If, in the course of the next few days, you feel you must have a friend whom you can really trust, please remember your compatriot, George Hierons, who, I believe, is still in London.” Such words seemed truly prophetic. And as they came back to Helen’s mind, she was upheld by a deep faith that John and she were not to be abandoned in this hour of strife against the powers of darkness. Providence was surely at their side. It was working for them. Counsel and sympathy had come to her mysteriously, but she recognized the source whence it sprang. Behind the phenomena of appearances there was somewhere a Friend. And that Friend, whoever, whatever it might be, she felt was going to help them now. Luncheon was a miserable and belated meal. For both it was but a hollow pretense. They were in such a febrile state of anxiety that the mere presence of food was almost unbearable. But seated at the table, crumbling bread and sipping water, Helen was able to do a certain amount of thinking. At the end of this Barmecide feast, when she rose and left the dining room, a kind of plan was already taking shape in her mind.