Faith’s face blanched. Something of the stark truth swept into her brain. She herself had suffered--her own life had been maimed, it had had its secret bitterness. Her love for her sister’s son was that of a mother, sister, friend combined, and he was all she had in life. That he lived, that she might cherish the thought of him living, was the one thing she had; and David must be saved, if that might be; but this girl--was she not a girl, ten years younger than herself?--to go to Egypt to do--what? She herself lived out of the world, but she knew the world! To go to Egypt, and--“Thee will not go to Egypt. What can thee do?” she pleaded, something very like a sob in her voice. “Thee is but a woman, and David would not be saved at such a price, and I would not have him saved so. Thee will not go. Say thee will not. He is all God has left to me in life; but thee to go--ah, no! It is a bitter world--and what could thee do?” Hylda looked at her reflectively. Should she tell Faith all, and take her to Egypt? No, she could not take her without telling her all, and that was impossible now. There might come a time when this wise and tender soul might be taken into the innermost chambers, when all the truth might be known; but the secret of David’s parentage was Eglington’s concern most of all, and she would not speak now; and what was between Nahoum and David was David’s concern; and she had kept his secret all these years. No, Faith might not know now, and might not come with her. On this mission she must go alone. Hylda rose to her feet, still keeping hold of Faith’s hand. “Go back to Hamley and wait there,” she said, in a colourless voice. “You can do nothing; it may be I can do much. Whatever can be done I can do, since England will not act. Pray for his safety. It is all you can do. It is given to some to work, to others to pray. I must work now.” She led Faith towards the door; she could not endure more; she must hold herself firm for the journey and the struggle before her. If she broke down now she could not go forward; and Faith’s presence roused in her an emotion almost beyond control. At the door she took both of Faith’s hands in hers, and kissed her cheek. “It is your place to stay; you will see that it is best. Good-bye,” she added hurriedly, and her eyes were so blurred that she could scarcely see the graceful, demure figure pass into the sunlit street. That afternoon Lord Windlehurst entered the Duchess of Snowdon’s presence hurried and excited. She started on seeing his face. “What has happened?” she asked breathlessly. “She is gone,” he answered. “Our girl has gone to Egypt.” The Duchess almost staggered to her feet. “Windlehurst--gone!” she gasped. “I called to see her. Her ladyship had gone into the country, the footman said. I saw the butler, a faithful soul, who would die--or clean the area steps--for her. He was discreet; but he knew what you and I are to her. It was he got the tickets--for Marseilles and Egypt.”