"That is good, the works protected," he said abruptly, his luminous eyes shining. "You are clever. You take no chance. And the work? It goes on? Good! Ah! I must see it all." He rubbed his hands. "There is no hitch? Nothing? The vessels grow--grow while you look. Ah, yes, I know you British. There will be no more submarine danger; no more massacre of women and children at sea. It gives me the greatest joy." The old man's enthusiasm was beyond all thought of self. It was so simple, so intense. It was the enthusiasm of a child for his new toy, and Ruxton marvelled at the odd mixture which went to make up his strange character. "The completion of the work is as inevitable as that your Government means to--hunt you down." Ruxton thought to impress the Pole with the precariousness of his position. But the man brushed it aside. "Ach!" he cried, with a gesture of recklessness. "Yes, they hunt me down. That is it. That is why I do not burden your father with my safeguard. It is good to think of. This generous man--your father. It is good that his son comes to--help me. I feel it all here." He pressed one hand over his heart. "But no. I know these people. I do not fear them. They hunt me down. They kill me. It is not so much. It is so small a thing I do not think of it. No. But they do not hunt me down," he went on, with a smile of quiet confidence. "I will go with you to Dorby. I will talk with your great father--and then--I go. It will be good to befool them--and I will befool them." He laughed a fearless, heart-whole laugh which left the younger man marvelling. CHAPTER XIX THE TIGER SPRINGS The drawing-room at Redwithy Farm was bathed in the shadows of early autumn evening. A fire of blazing logs spluttered and crackled in the great open fireplace. Its ruddy light shed an atmosphere of mellow comfort and coziness over the entire aspect of the room. Under ordinary circumstances Vita would have revelled in the delight of these moments of a great new happiness in her beautiful home. She was ensconced in an armchair beside the fire which had doubtless, in years gone by, supported the slumbering form of some bewigged country squire. Its design was perfect for such a purpose. A small tea-table stood at her elbow. The muffins were cold upon it, but she had been glad of the mildly stimulating effects of the tea. Now she was sitting forward in her chair gazing deep down into the heart of the fire. A teeming thought was speeding through a brain which, of late, seemed always to be working at high pressure. The odd pucker of thought between her brows added charm and character to her beautiful face. Her eyes, too, had lost something of their profound serenity. They were alight and shining with a certain nervous concentration, while her delicate lips were unusually firmly compressed.