The Premier sat with bowed head, holding his daughter's hand as he listened to her narrative. For the moment it seemed to crush him utterly, and when Kathleen had finished speaking he lifted up his head and said, in a stricken way: “So this is the end of it?” He added, after a few moments: “Are you sure that a week is the full limit of time we can obtain?” “I am only too certain,” answered Kathleen. “If we fail within the next week, then——” she broke off and looked apprehensively about her as though even the cushions of the carriage might have ears. Finally she bent her head and whispered into her father's ear. At this Lord Penshurst grew paler than before, while great drops of sweat broke out on his forehead. “That,” he cried, “must never be! Kathleen, great though the sacrifice is, you must make it—make it for our country's sake. Oh! to think that I should have wished to serve her so well and should have served her so evilly.” For a long time after this Lord Penshurst and his daughter sat in silence as the train ran on through the night. It was not, indeed, until they had reached Trant Hall and had a little supper, for it was now very late, that Kathleen ventured again to broach the subject of Westerham. She was almost ghastly in her paleness, but was entirely calm and self-possessed. “Father,” she said, patting the old man's hand as he sat staring before him as though fascinated by some mental vision of pain and horror, “let us try and see what we can do in this matter on a business-like basis.” The aged Premier nodded his head, but he still gazed steadily before him. “Don't you think,” urged Kathleen, “that you owe it to me to leave no stone unturned to defeat Melun before the week is out? Melun we cannot catch. You tried to do so, and Claude has tried to do so during the last few days, but the man is as elusive as an eel. Why not take this man Westerham to a certain extent on trust? Of course, you will laugh at me, and say that I am merely guided by a feminine habit of jumping to conclusions. Nevertheless, I am perfectly convinced that Mr. James Robinson is Sir Paul Westerham, and that if we were only to take him into our confidence he could do much to help us.” “My child,” said the old man, looking at his daughter in a piteous way, “it is, as you know, simply impossible. We have neither of us been released from our oath of silence, and it would be most disgraceful of us to break our word. Indeed, it would be absolutely indefensible, unless by breaking it we were absolutely certain we could save the situation.” “Why not ask Sir Paul Westerham to help us without telling him anything?” suggested Kathleen. “Do you think any man would be such a fool as to serve us on those terms?” asked the Premier. “But he has promised to do so,” cried Kathleen. Lord Penshurst, however, remained obstinate.