"Yes, I heard of Dregely's danger, and sent Terhune to help him. But this Comrade Gonnard"--his voice boomed with fury--"for what he has done he will have to settle with the White Knight. Do not worry, mademoiselle; the White Knight will avenge your cousin, I swear by the blood that Gonnard shed that the Communist shall die if I have to follow him from one end of Hungary to another!" "Oh, monsieur!" She sighed. "I believe I am gentle-natured, it hurts me to see a fly struggling to escape the ruthless clutches of the spider, yet my heart leaps with joy to hear you say that. If only I could be of assistance to you!" "Perhaps you can," he breathed softly. "Tell me quickly," she said eagerly. He had not meant to let the words slip out, they were an echoing murmur from his heart, and now he felt embarrassed, unable to think what to say. Once again the battle between his desires and his sensitive conscience waged fiercely. There was much he wished to tell her, but all the time a mocking voice taunted him on his forgetfulness. What was his love worth, it asked, that he could forget Zita so soon? Less than two months ago he had stood over her dead body and vowed remorseless revenge, and yet already his heart was stirring at the proximity of another woman! With pitiless insistency the hammer-strokes of his self-inflicted arguments flayed his soul till he writhed in agony. He forced himself to thrust away the mental pictures of Elizabeth which constantly depicted themselves in his imagination, and hardened his voice in an endeavour to deceive himself as well as her. He had nearly led himself into a trap. There seemed to him only one way out of it. "You can help me by never mentioning a word to anyone that I am going after Gonnard." "Monsieur!" Reproach battled with anger in her voice. "I am sorry, but prattling tongues, even in this _château_, can do inestimable damage. Already some one, who, I do not know, has in his--or her--gratitude kindly betrayed the fact to my enemies that I am an Englishman. Whether by accident or design I do not know. In any event, a word in English now is sufficient to raise a horde of amateur and professional trackers on the trail of the unfortunate speaker." Elizabeth bit her lip, and wished it were within her power to understand her mysterious rescuer. In the first place, from what little she had seen of him, he was utterly unlike the evenly balanced, phlegmatic Englishmen whom she had previously met. His moods changed with the rapidity of a temperamental woman: he was tender, fierce, calm, and tempestuous by turns. At one moment his voice throbbed with sympathy, the next it grated with bitter cynicism. His lack of trust hurt her. The pitch-dark room! She tried to persuade herself that there was some other reason, but in vain. It could only be that he feared to reveal his face even to her, in case of treachery. She rose to her feet.