"You love Hungary, monsieur, yet you are an Englishman, an enemy!" There was a gentle reproof in her tones as the Countess spoke. "We are not our masters in war-time, Countess. I fought for my country, not for myself." "Forgive me, monsieur." The Countess was contrite. "I should not have said that, but I must plead my awful worry in excuse. I was surprised. To fight against us--and now----!" "We are already forgetting. Deep in our hearts we English feel for your nation. We feel you have been the cat's-paw of German diplomacy. Now that humanity is being outraged by bestial tyranny, we wish only to aid and assist. Were circumstances different England might do more, but her people do not know of your plight, have no idea even of the revolution here. Russia, yes, but Hungary ... Our papers are full of peace and future prosperity." "The White Knight, is he English too?" Terhune nodded. "Yes, Countess, he is, but I beg you not to question me with regard to him. It is his wish, his policy too, that he remain merely a name, a myth. His mystery is his second lieutenant." The Countess buried her face in her hands and quietly sobbed, while Terhune shuffled his feet uncomfortably, wondering what he had said to have this effect. Presently she looked up and smiled faintly. "Forgive a woman's tears, monsieur, but it grieves me that our unhappy country must look to enemies for succour against our own people." "Not entirely, Countess, for there are those in Vienna and in Budapest who seek to form a counter-revolution, a White Army instead of a red. I may not mention names, but----" His eloquent gesture was expressive, and the three Hungarians who listened to him felt a glow of warmth stealing through their bodies. "But now, Countess, for the reason of my visit here. There is information I require, knowledge I must acquire. Listen...." It was half an hour later when Terhune slipped away, leaving behind three people who in less than an hour had been pulled from the depths of misery into the heights of hope and confidence. While the Countess dreamed of the future, of the time when she should see her husband again, Francis pictured the adventure and the thrill of the rescue, and wished he could help. Cecile was quiet and thoughtful. Too full for words at the thought of having her father with her once again, she could not, nevertheless, banish the constantly recurring picture of Arnold Terhune, standing in the light of the flickering candle, his glance meeting hers across her mother's shoulder. _CHAPTER III_ Consternation reigned at the meeting of the Workers' Council. Bela Kun had been sorting out his papers preparatory to suggesting fresh edicts for the suppression of the _bourgeoisie_. "Comrades," he had begun, when suddenly his eyes caught sight of a paper on his table, on which his startled eyes read his own name, in handwriting which he did not recognize, signed by the name "White Knight."