"I want you to copy out something for me, will you?" And seating herself at my writing-table, she took up a pen and scribbled some lines. Her gown suited her to perfection, the low-cut bodice revealing her white throat, around which sparkled a splendid necklet of diamonds that flashed beneath my lamp with a thousand fires. Upon her white wrist was a quaint Chinese bracelet cut from a solid piece of bright green stone. Her face was perfect in its symmetry, and her finely-chiselled features were almost an exact reproduction of those of Lady Mary Sibberton in Sir Joshua's picture in the gallery above. The loveliness of the Sibberton women had been proverbial back in the Jacobean and Georgian days, and assuredly Lady Lolita inherited the distinctive beauty of the female members of the family. The delicately-moulded cheeks, the pointed chin, the sweet, well-formed mouth, the even set of pearly teeth, the wealth of auburn hair and the laughing blue eyes so full of mischief and merriment rendered her peerless among women, while her wit and easy-going good-humour endeared her to all, rich and poor alike. As I stood by, watching her bent head beneath the lamplight, I saw that although she tried to write, her small white hand trembled so that the attempt was by no means successful. She seemed nervous and upset, for I now noticed for the first time that her breast rose and fell quickly beneath her laces, and that she was trying in vain to repress a wild tumult of agitation that raged within her. "No," she cried, throwing down the pen and looking up at me, "I can't write. I--" And she stopped without concluding her sentence, fixing her beautiful eyes upon me. She was magnificent. That look of hers was surely sufficient to make any man's head reel. "Do you know," she exclaimed suddenly, bursting into a nervous laugh, "I didn't really want you to write a letter at all! I only wanted an excuse to come into this den of yours--to speak to you." Her laugh somehow sounded unnatural. With her woman's subtle tact she was, I knew, trying to conceal her agitation. "To speak to me? What about?" She grew grave again in an instant, and rising, crossed towards me. I saw that all the colour had died from her face and that she grasped the edge of the table to steady herself. "I wanted to ask you--I wanted to see if you would do something for me," she said in a low tremulous voice, very harsh and intense. Was it possible that Warr had already seen her and delivered the note and message from that mysterious stranger? "What do you wish me to do?" I inquired eagerly. "I want you to help me, Willoughby," she said. "I am in peril--deadly peril. You can save me if you will." "Peril? Peril of what?"