She stood transfixed, realizing her situation and the peril of it in one swift instant. Count Odin, the man she had fled from; Count Odin, whose very name she had tried to forget, he was her host then. Not for a moment would she deceive herself with the consideration of other possibilities or likely accidents. She had been lured to the house by a trick, and the intentions of those who brought her there could not but be evil. So much she understood, and in understanding found her courage. "My father is not here," she repeated after him, guarding her self-control and standing before him defiantly. He answered her almost with humility. "No, he is not yet come, I am sorry to say. It is not my fault. His reasons are his own ... and, Lady Evelyn, there are many who will say that he is right." She looked at him amazed. "Did you ask me here to justify myself?" she exclaimed, the blood running to her cheeks and her flashing eyes. "Am I to answer, then, to you? I will believe such an impertinence when I hear it." And turning from him to the fire, she said, "How little you understand me--how little you could ever know of any Englishwoman. To dare to bring me here--to think that I should be afraid of you!" He smiled at her contempt and came a little nearer to her. "I never thought that," he said slowly. "I never accused you of want of courage, Lady Evelyn. Perhaps I am guilty of an impertinence. You shall tell me when you have heard my news--the news I bring you from Roumania." Evelyn turned about in spite of herself and looked him full in the face. "The news from Roumania!" "Certainly, news of your friend, Mr. Gavin Ord." The plot had been well contrived, and it did not fail. Curiosity, nay, fear almost, proved stronger than Evelyn's alarm or any thought of her own safety. Vainly she tried to suppress her emotion; while the man, for his part, followed every movement of her graceful figure with eyes that devoured its contour and a purpose which said, "she shall be my wife this night." "Well?" she cried, her heart beating wildly, her hands clinched. What hours of anxiety, of dread, of passionate regret that one word recalled to her. The Count drew a chair near the fire and motioned to her to sit. She obeyed him with a docility which did not surprise him. He held the master cards and would play them one by one. "Well," he said lightly enough, "to begin with, your friend is still in Roumania." "Am I unaware of that?" she exclaimed. "Of course, you would not be. He is still in Roumania and a prisoner." "A prisoner--why should he be a prisoner?" "Because, dear lady, he is my father's enemy." She realized what it meant and sat resting her bowed head upon her little hands. "I will go to Roumania; I will see him," she said presently. Odin smiled again at that. "It would be a hazardous journey, and I fear an unprofitable one," said he.