“Oh, it’s hardly worth while,” said the Honorable Cyril, sipping his whiskey and water, comfortably. “Poor devils--out of work, I fancy. Wanted my money. If they’d come to Ben-a-Chielt tomorrow I’d give it to ’em. But I wouldn’t mind, Betty, if you could put me up for the night. I’m not keen to be dodgin’ bullets in the dark.” “Of course,” said Lady Heathcote. “How extraordinary! I can’t understand--Saltham Rocks--that’s on my place. Something must be done, Cyril.” Hammersley yawned. “Oh, tomorrow will do. Couldn’t catch the beggars in the dark. Besides, it’s late. Do me a favor, Betty. Don’t let those people come in here again. I want a word with Doris.” He had stretched himself out comfortably on the Davenport, his eyes on the girl, who still stood uncertainly beside him. Lady Betty shrugged, and taking up her basin and lotion moved toward the door. “It’s most mysterious. Are you sure we’re quite safe?” “Quite. But I think it might be better if I had the room between yours and Doris’s.” “I was putting John Rizzio there.” “Well, change--there’s a dear. And say nothing about it. I--I might need a new dressing on this thing in the night.” She examined him curiously, but he was looking lazily into the fire, having already taken her acquiescence for granted. When she went out, Hammersley sat up and threw his cigarette into the fire. “You have it still?” he whispered anxiously, taking Doris by both hands. She nodded. “Thank God for that. I seemed to have arrived at the proper moment.” “I was about to burn them.” He drew a long breath of relief. “You know what they are?” “Yes. I read them.” “I was afraid you would. You have spoken to no one.” “No,” proudly. “Hardly. After what I went through.” And, with an air of restraint, she told him everything. He listened, a serious look in his eyes. “It was my fault. I should have left them in the machine. I got away scot free.” “Yes, I know. I saw you.” “You poor child,” he said softly. “I was desperate. I thought it necessary. How can I ever thank you?” “You can’t.” The tones of her voice were strange. “I’d jolly well give my life for you, Doris. You know that,” he said earnestly. “It’s something less than that that I want, and something more--your word of honor.” “My word----?” “Yes,” she went on quietly. “To forswear your German kinship and give me an oath of loyalty to England. Difficult as it is, I’ll believe you.” “Sh--!” He glanced toward the door. All the windows of the room were closed. “He told you that I was a German spy?” he whispered anxiously. “You forget that I had proof of that already.” He sat up and looked into the fire. “I hoped you wouldn’t read ’em. It has done no good.” “I have no regrets. I will not betray England, Cyril, even for you.” He rose and paced the rug in front of her for a moment. Then he spoke incredulously in a whisper. “You mean that you won’t give ’em to me?” “I mean that--precisely.”