"Very soon; in less than an hour," he said. "I leave you in Steve’s care; he will conduct you home and protect you with his life." "First you must take him with you and send him back when you are on the road to safety. I have pledged your precious packet," she said, smiling bravely up at him, "and when Steve returns to say you are safe, I shall give it to Lord Beachcombe. It is the price of your ransom." "But you—" "Don’t you yet understand," she cried impatiently, "that I am like a cat? No matter where I am thrown, I always fall on my feet. Do not fear for me, but begone, and if you love me, do not attempt to see me again. Farewell." It was no place for the tender adieux of parting lovers. He pressed her hand passionately to his lips, threw his cloak round him, and with a brief salute to Beachcombe—who took no notice of it—strode away, followed by Steve. When their footsteps ceased to reverberate under the colonnade, Beachcombe approached Prue with a friendly smile. "Permit me, dear Viscountess, to offer my congratulations," he said. "You have indeed prepared a charming surprise for your friends—and enemies, if one so adorable could by any possibility have any such." Her answering laugh had the old ring of sweet, contagious mirth. "Circumstances have forced me to reveal my secret rather prematurely," she said, "but I can trust your lordship’s discretion not to share it—with my dear friends—and enemies." "Oh! we will give your husband time to escape before we impart the joyful news to—Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert, for example!" Prue experienced an unpleasant shock as he pronounced this name, in a tone of malevolent triumph. This man, who had no cause to love either herself or Robin, evidently purposed using the secret he had torn from her in some hateful scheme of retaliation, of which Sir Geoffrey was to be the victim and executioner. "Why Sir Geoffrey?" she murmured, half to herself. "Because I hate Sir Geoffrey," said Beachcombe, with cold bitterness. "He has insulted me and triumphed over me—who can know how so well as you? He has worsted me in a duel and boasts that he will tame the lovely sorceress who has bewitched so many—myself among them—to their undoing. I hate him, and I shall never be satisfied until I see him reft of what I also have lost—impoverished—in a debtors’ prison—" he checked himself at the sight of the indignant horror his words had roused. "I can wait, however," he went on, less vehemently. "It will satisfy me, for the present, to feel my power over him, without using it. How can I accommodate your ladyship while you wait for the captain’s messenger? You can not wait here; will you honor me by accepting the poor hospitality of my house?" "I can perfectly well wait here," she replied, reseating herself on the bench. "Your countess would be somewhat amazed to receive a visit from me at five o’clock in the morning—in my ball-dress! Even the Widow Brooke must draw the line somewhere!"