Her griefs, once released, strained for expression, and she went on in a meek, muffled tone that brought the tears to the old Colonel’s pitying eyes--his heart had grown very soft with advancing years--but Adrian Ducie held himself well in hand and regarded her with critical dispassionateness. “My husband desires, for some reason which he does not explain, but which I suspect, to get me out of the country.” Once more Colonel Kenwynton and Ducie exchanged a covert glance of comment. “He has arranged an extensive European and Oriental tour for me--without my child--leaving my child for a year at least. Why, Colonel Kenwynton, tell me what would all the glories of foreign capitals and all the associations of Palestine count for with me when the one little face that I care to see is far away, and the one little voice I cannot hear!” “Oh, my dear madam”--the Colonel had a frog in his throat--“surely Mr. Floyd-Rosney would not insist. You must be mistaken!” “Oh, it is all arranged--my passage taken; my letter of credit ready; my party--such a gay party--made up and prepared to start to-morrow, the Hardingtons----” The Colonel’s face bore a sudden look of conviction. “I recollect now--it had slipped my memory--Mr. Charles Hardington was telling me this evening of the tour his family have in contemplation, and he mentioned that they were to have the great pleasure of your company, starting to-morrow.” “Oh, but I will not go! I will not!” cried Paula, springing from her chair and frantically clasping her hands. “I will not go without my child! If you will not help me I will hide in the streets--but he could find me and--as I have not one friend--he could lock me up as insane!” She turned her wild eyes from one to the other. Then she broke into a jeering laugh. “It would be very easy in this day to prove a woman insane who does not prefer the tawdry follies and frivolities of gadding and staring through Europe with a party of fashionable empty-pates to the care and companionship of her only child. But I will not! I will not be shipped out of the country!” Adrian Ducie’s face had changed. He believed that Floyd-Rosney was capable of any domestic tyranny, but however he moved the responsibility involved in her appeal was great. He could not consign her to whatever fate might menace her. Still, he dared not trust her with money. She might buy poison, she might buy a pistol. “Colonel, we must do something,” he declared. Then he turned to her. “Mrs. Floyd-Rosney,” he said, “will you permit us, instead of handing you the small amount you mentioned, to buy your ticket for your aunt’s home and see you aboard the train?” In one moment her face was radiant. “Oh, if you only would! If you only would! I should bless and thank you to the end of my days!” Adrian Ducie, with a clearing brow, crossed the room and touched the bell. The summons was answered so immediately as to suggest the prompting of a lurking curiosity.