“You can’t know that,” he said quickly. “Don’t ask me anything more. I can’t answer. But trust in me if you can. Trust in me, Doris, and if you love me--_silence_!” He gave her a lift into the saddle and kissed her hand. Then he looked around him and gave a parting injunction. “Now cut sharp off to the right in the darkness until you strike the old sheep trail. You can see it quite plainly in the heather. Follow it to the head of the ridge, then take the road to Horsham Hill. Good-by and God bless you.” A sob rose in her throat and she could only wave a hand in reply. And so she left him standing there alone gazing after her with bared head in the darkness. The strain on her nerves had told on her and she sat her side-saddle listlessly holding on by the pommel, and peering into the darkness before her, with eyes that saw nothing but pictures of death. She could not forget the wounded man grasping at space as he tottered on the rim of the rocks. Cyril had killed a man. War! She had thought war a more glorious thing. This seemed very like murder. She blessed God for Stryker who had come so opportunely. Rizzio had tried to kill Cyril. In horror she had seen him raise his pistol and aim, but at her cry he had missed his shot and with the disabling of his confederates he had fled. Rizzio was a German spy. Then since they were enemies of course Cyril was loyal--playing a part to deceive the enemy--learning its secrets that England might profit by them. The message! What was the message that the German naval officer had brought which had so disturbed Cyril? What was this mysterious duty of Cyril’s which meant so much to his cause, the success or failure of which hung by a thread? She tried to think what Cyril could do in England and after a time the thing began to come to her. Cyril was acting for England. He had succeeded, in the guise of a German secret agent, in finding the traitor in the War Office, and it was Cyril who had caused the arrest of Captain Byfield. Rizzio, too, was a German spy who for some reason or other had been sent--O God--that was it. The Germans suspected Cyril and had used John Rizzio to put him to the test--had set a thief to catch a thief. Cyril had found that the message was a dangerous one--and had refused to give it up to Rizzio. That seemed to explain everything--Cyril’s willingness to have her burn the papers, Rizzio’s anxiety to save them, that he might send them to his employers. The second packet of papers? A false message, prepared for a purpose which Cyril was to fulfill. The German naval officer! His message--what was it? Imagination refused to aid her. She could not understand. He brought a command--a test of Cyril’s loyalty to Germany perhaps? Was that it? And if so, what? A test which meant victory or defeat--that was what Cyril’s last words had meant. Victory or defeat--life or death. It was a desperate game that he was playing. And what was he going to do tonight that made it necessary for