“If they were English secret service men,” Cyril put in quietly, “wouldn’t they come here to this house and arrest me in the name of the law?” “Yes. There must be other reasons why they can’t. What is the contest between you and Rizzio? Tell me. Tell me everything! I will believe you. Haven’t I kept your trust? If I could do that--for your sake--do you not think that I could keep silent for England’s sake?” Her arms were about his neck, and her lips very close to his, but he turned his head away so that the temptation might not be too strong for him. “I can’t,” he muttered, “I cannot speak--even to you. I am sworn to secrecy.” She drooped upon his arms and then moved away despairingly. It was the failure of the appeal of her femininity that condemned him. “Oh, you won’t let me believe in you. You won’t let me. It’s too great a test you’re asking of me. Everything is against you--but the worst witness is your silence!” He stood by the mantel, his head lowered. “It is hard for you--hard for us both,” he said softly, “but I can’t tell you anythin’--anythin’.” He raised his head and looked at her with pity. She had sunk upon the divan, her head upon her arms in a despair too deep for tears. He crossed and laid his hand gently upon her shoulder. “You must trust in me if you can. I will try to be worthy of it. That’s all I can say.” He paused. “And now you must go to bed. You’re a bit fagged. Perhaps in the mornin’ you’ll pull up a bit and see things differently.” She straightened slowly and their eyes met for a moment. His never wavered, and she saw that they were very kind, but she rose silently and without offering him her lips or even her hand, moved slowly toward the door. He reached it in a stride before her and put his hand upon the knob. “There’s one thing more I’ve got to ask.” Her look questioned. “You must sleep in my room tonight, next to Betty’s. I shall sleep in yours.” Her weary eyes sought his with an effort. “You mean you think Rizzio--would still----?” She paused. “Yes, he thinks you would not give them to me.” And then, with a laugh, “You wouldn’t, you know.” “And if I tell him I have burned them----” “He will not believe you.” “He would not believe me,” she repeated in a daze. “You must do what I ask,” Cyril went on quietly. “I know what is best. I’ll arrange it with Betty.” He glanced at his watch. “One o’clock. By Jove! It’s time even for auction players.” She promised him at last after a protest on his own account. “Nothin’ to worry about,” he laughed. “They may not try anythin’, and when they find I’m there they’ll bundle out in a hurry.” Thus reassured she went out to the drawing-room where the card players were just rising. Rizzio was nowhere to be seen. Cyril at once took their hostess aside and told her that Doris was a little upset by the shooting, asking if Betty would mind letting her take the room next to her own, so that she could open the door between.