 Chapter 5 of The Yellow Dove by George Gibbs. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Tony Oliva. The Pursuit Continues At eight o'clock Doris was awakened by a loud knocking on the door leading to her dressing room. She had slept the sleep of utter exhaustion and roused herself with difficulty, a little bewildered at the unusual sounds. Then she dimly remembered locking the door and got quickly out of bed, put the yellow packet in the drawer of her desk and pushed back the bolt of the door. To her surprise her father confronted her and behind him were other members of the family in various stages of their morning toilets. Thank the Lord! said David Mather with a sigh of relief. What on earth is a matter? asked the girl, glancing from one to the other in alarm. Her father laughed. Oh, nothing! Now that you're all right. Burglars, that's all. Doris's heart stopped beating as in a flash of reviving memory the incidents of the night before came quickly back to her. Burglars! she stammered. Yes, they got in here, came up the water spout pointing to the dressing room window and a fine mess they made of things. You'll have to take account of Stockchild and see how you stand. She glanced around the disordered room, very much alarmed. The drawers of her cupboards were all pulled out and their contents scattered about on the floor. When did... did it happen? she asked timorously, more because she had to say something than because it was what she wanted to know. Some time before dawn, said her father, Wilson was here until three, thinking that you might want her and then went out to her own room on the wing. Yes, I remember, said the girl passing her hand across her eyes. I wasn't feeling very well, so I asked her to stay here for a while, but I can't understand why I didn't wake. That's what frightened us, cousin Tom broke in. We were afraid the snoozes might have got into you. It's lucky you had your door locked. They were at my library desk too, she heard her father saying, must have gone down the hall from here, but so far as I can see they didn't get anything. Her aunt Sophia gasped a sigh. Thank the Lord, she put in reverently, at least were all safe and sound. Stunned at the daring of Ritzio's men, and bewildered by the persistence with which they had followed their quest while she was sleeping, Doris managed to formulate a quick plan to hide the meaning of this intrusion from the members of her family. She had been examining the disordered contents of the upper drawers of a bureau. My jewel case, fortunately I keep in my bedroom, she said, but there was an emerald brooch to be repaired, which I put in this drawer yesterday. It's gone. She saw a puzzled look come into the eyes of Wilson, who stood near the window and a glance pass between them. Oh well, her father said as he turned toward the door. We're lucky it wasn't worse. I'm phoning to Watford for a constable. This was what Doris had feared, and yet she could not protest, so she shut her lips firmly and let them go out of the room, leaving her alone with Wilson. She knew that the woman was devoted to her, and that she was not an habit of talking below stairs, but her mistress had seen the look of incredulity in the woman's eyes last night, and the puzzled expression a moment ago, which indicated a suspicion connecting Doris' arrival in the hall with a mysterious entrance of the dressing room. Doris knew that she must tell her something that would satisfy her curiosity. My bath, please, Wilson," she said coolly in order to gain time, and, say nothing, you understand? Of course, Miss Maffa," said Wilson with her broad, kentish smile. I wouldn't have dreamed of it. The cool water refreshed and invigorated the girl, and she planned skillfully. By the time Wilson brought her breakfast tray, she had already wrapped the yellow packet of cigarette papers and her cousin Tom's tobacco pouch in a pair of silk stockings surrounded by many thicknesses of paper, and in a disguised handwriting had addressed it to Lady Heathcote at her place in Scotland. She had also written a note to Betty, advising her of a change in plans and of her intention to come to her upon the following day, asking in a postscript twice underlined to keep a certain package addressed to her and carefully described safely under lock and key for her without opening until her arrival. She would explain later. A gleam of hope had penetrated to her through the gloom that encompassed her thoughts. Only a gleam at the best, but it was enough to give her courage to go on with her efforts to save Cyril from immediate danger. And this was the belief born of the forcible and secret entry of the house, that the men who were in pursuit of the fateful packet were not in any way connected with Scotland Yard or the War Office. Otherwise, if they believed the papers to be in her possession, they would have come boldly in the light of day and demanded of her father the right to search the house. These were not times when the War Office hesitated in matters which concerned the public interest. John Ritcio, for some reason which she could not fathom, was acting upon his own initiative with a desire as urgent as Cyril's to keep his objects secret. She pondered those things for a long while and then, with a sigh of uncertainty, dismissed them from her thoughts, which were too full of the immediate necessity to carry out her carefully formulated plans. First she called Wilson, and after assuring herself that she was making no mistake, took her partially into confidence, telling her of the important paper entrusted by Mr. Hammersley to her care, which it was to the interest of other persons to possess, and the necessity for getting them safely out of the house. Her mistresses' confidences flattered the maid, and she entered very willingly into the affair, concealing the emerald brooch which Doris produced from her jewel box in a trunk containing old clothes, which had long stood neglected in a dusty corner of the attic. After the visit of the man from Watford, who went over the situation with a puzzled brow and departed still puzzled, she confided to her father the letter and package which were to be mailed from London, the letter in the morning, the package not until night. Don't fail me, Daddy. It's very important, she said as she kissed him. It's a surprise for Betty, but it mustn't get to Scotland until tomorrow night at the earliest, and good-bye, and she kissed him again. I'm going with it, tonight, tomorrow. Mr. Mathers smiled and pinched her cheeks. He was quite accustomed to sudden changes of plan on the part of his daughter, and would as soon have thought of questioning them as he would the changes in the weather. He hadn't liked the idea of her hunting or playing polo, but she had done them both and cajoled him into approving of her. He had objected fearfully when she went in for aviation, but had learned to watch the flights of her little newport with growing confidence, and had even erected a shed for her machines in the meadow behind the stables. Take care of yourself, he said lightly. You're looking a little peeky lately. If you don't get rosier, I'll withdraw my ambulance corps. She laughed. Don't forget, she flung after him as he got into the car. With the departure of the yellow packet, a weight had been lifted from Doris' mind. John Ritzio's men might come now if they like, and she would invite them to search the place. She was not in the least afraid of herself, and she knew that the danger to Cyril had passed, at least for the present. She hoped that Cyril would come today or telephone her. She wanted time to think of what she should say to him, at moments that even seemed as though she didn't care if she ever saw him again, but as the day passed, and she had no word from him, she grew anxious. What if Ritzio had told the War Office? That night men from Watford kept a watch upon the house, but there was no disturbance. Her watchers had evidently taken the alarm, but it was in no very certain or very happy state that Doris drove her machine out of the gate of the park in the later afternoon of the next day, with her cousin Tom beside her, and Wilson and the luggage in the rear seat. The main road to London was empty of vehicles except for a man on a motorcycle just ahead of her, bound in the same direction. At least she was no longer to be watched. There was plenty of time, so she drove leisurely, reaching Euston Station with twenty minutes to spare. She sent a wire to Lady Heathcote, and then Tom saw her safely into her carriage. The movement of the train soothed her, and she closed her eyes and slept, Wilson like a watchful, gorgon guarding against intrusion. There was but one incident which destroyed the peace of the journey. Toward morning, Wilson, who slept with one eye open, wakened her suddenly and asked her quietly to look out of the window. Her train had stopped at a large station, the platform of which was well-lighted. From the darkness of their compartment, she followed the direction of Wilson's figure. Outside, pacing the platform, and smoking cigarettes, were two men. What is it? asked Doris, half asleep. The big one! whispered Wilson excitedly. It was him that was riding the motorcycle. Doris remembered passing and repassing the vehicle on the road to London, and the face of its driver came back to her. She peered out at him eagerly, and as the man turned, she saw the face and figure of the larger man clearly. It was the motorcycle man, and in a rush the thought came to her that his figure and bearing were strangely familiar. It's true, she whispered, her fingers on Wilson's arm. We're followed. It's the same man. Last night, too. Last night? Yes, it's the man called Jim, who searched Mr. Hammersley in the road. Now! said Wilson, her eyes brightening. You don't sigh so, Miss Maffa, of all the brison! Sh! said Doris. But there was no more sleep for either of them that night. Bolt upright, side by side. They watched the dawn grow into sunrise and the sunrise into broad day. They saw no more of the motorcycle man, and Doris reassured herself that there was nothing to be feared. Now that the packet was, she started in a fright, the packet at Betty Heathcoats. Perhaps at this very moment, lying innocently in Betty's postbox, or in the careless hands of some stupid Scotch gardener. Or worse yet, inviting curiosity on Betty's desk or library table. Her heart sank within her as she realized that her brave plans might yet miscarry. It was with a sense of joyous relief that the train pulled at last into interwick station. When she got down, she saw Betty Heathcoats' yellow break. The four chestnuts, restive. In the keen moorland air. And looking very youthful and handsome in a brown coat, which made the symphony complete. The lady herself, the wind in her cheeks, and in her cheery greeting. Of course Doris, yet to be trusted to do something surprising. Oh, here's Jack Sandy's. He didn't know, of course. The sight of these familiar faces gave Doris renewed confidence. And when from the box seat she glanced around in search of her pursuer, he had disappeared. Sandy's clambered up behind them. Wilson got into the back seat with a groom's. The boxes went in between, and they were off. Constance was tired, Jack. At least she said she was. I really think that all she wanted was to disappoint you. Nothing like disappointment. It breeds aspiration. But, she added mischievously. I'm sure she's dying to see you. Offless said, especially since it's not quite 48 hours since you were waving a tearful goodbye in Houston Station. Did you get my package? Whispered Doris in her ear at the first opportunity. What package? Oh, yes. The stockings. It was torn and awfully muddy. Higgins dropped it from the dock cart on the way over and had to go back for it. Lucky he found it in the middle of the road. What a silly thing to make such a mystery of. In the cigarette papers, you might be sure I'd have something to smoke it. Kilmrakhaus? I can't understand. You really could smoke here if you want to, without so much secrecy about it. I didn't know, stammered the girl. I've just taken it up and I thought you might not prove. Betty glanced at her narrowly. Whatever ails you, child. I disapprove. You know I smoke when I feel like it. Which isn't often. The subject fortunately was turned when they passed the road to Benakilt. I always envied Cyril his cliffs. I love the sea and Cyril hates it. It's so jolly-raceless, she mimicked him, makes one quickly. And there I am, away inland, five miles to the fifth at the very nearest. But I suppose she sighed. One has to overlook the deficiencies of one's grandfather. If he had known I'd have liked to see Cyril, of course, would have come into my place. With this kind of light chatter, of which Lady Heathcote possessed a fund, their whip drove them upon their way, her own fine spirits oblivious of the silence of her companions. But at last she glanced at them suspiciously. If I didn't know that you were both hopelessly in love with other persons, I think you were a prey of each other. Doris laughed. We are. That's why we chose opposite ends of the train. But Sandy's only smiled. Nothing that's happened and makes a chop happy nowadays. I bring bad news. Lady Heathcote relaxed the rain so that one of her leaders plunged madly, while her face went white. Not Algie. No. No. Forgive me. Hey, Seif. I've kept watch of the bulletins. Thank God, said Lady Heathcote, and sent her whiplash swirling over the ears of the airing leader. Not Algie. Boyfield. Boyfield. Not dead. Now worse. What? In prison. I was taken into custody yesterday afternoon as he was leaving the war-office. Orders from Kay. You can't mean that Richard Byfield is... Sandy's nodded quickly. Yes. I was one of the leaks. A spy. A spy. Betty Heathcote whispered in awe-stricken tones. A spy. Dick. Horrible. A cat. A war. Unfortunately, there's not the least doubt about it. They found incriminating evidence at his rooms. My God, said Lady Heathcote. What are we coming to? Dick Boyfield. Why, two nights ago he was a guest at my table with you and you. Doris nodded faintly. The landscape swimming in a dark mist before her eyes. Byfield, Cyril, Ritzio. All three had been at Lady Heathcote's dinner. Something had happened that night, only a part of which she knew. Byfield was arrested and Cyril. She clutched desperately at the edge of the seat and set her jaw to keep herself from speaking Cyril's name. Were there any others? She asked with an effort. Not in so far. But there must have been others. God help them. They won't get any mercy. But what made him do such a thing? Asked Betty. I could have sworn money. Lots of it. It wasn't very well off, you know. They were swinging over the ridge towards Kilmora House. In a tragic silence. Mocked by the high jubilant notes of the coach horn which the groom was winding to announce their approach. Doris got down swiftly, summoning her courage to be silent and wait. In the drawing room, when the news was told, Constance Joyliff added another note of gloom. We're going to be a lively party, said Lady Heathcote bitterly. Thank the Lord, John Ritcio is coming. Ritcio, Doris flashed around. Her terror written so plainly that anyone might read. Yes, a head is wired at Innerwick when I was waiting for you and then catching the girl by the arm. Wait dear, what is the matter? I think I'll go up to my room if you don't mind, Betty. I won't have any luncheon. A cup of tea is all. I moved toward the door, her hand in Lady Heathcote's. And Betty, the package, please? I think it may soothe me to smoke. Betty examined her quizzically, but made no comment. Though she couldn't understand such a strange proceeding in a girl who was accustomed to do exactly as she pleased. She brought the package from her desk in the library and handed Doris the silk stockings, tobacco, and the yellow packet. The wrapping paper which had been soiled had been relegated to the scrap basket. And Betty pleaded Doris as she quickly took them. Promise me that you won't tell John Ritcio? Lady Heathcote glanced at her quickly and then laughed. I suppose I'm the least curious woman in Scotland. She laughed, but I really would like to know. Don't ask me, Betty. Doris pleaded. I have a reason. A silly one, perhaps. But I ask you not to speak of this to anyone. Oh, very well, said Lady Heathcote. I won't. But don't be mysterious. All mysteries nowadays are looked on with suspicion. Even such an innocent little mystery, and she laughed, is a package of cigarette papers. Doris made some light reply and went to her room, where with the doors locked she quickly examined the packet to be sure that it had not been tampered with. Nothing seemed to have been changed. And she gave a sigh of relief to think that thus far her secret had escaped detection. It was very clear to her now that John Ritcio had decided that the secret information was in her possession and that his visit was planned with the object of getting it away from her. This should never be. By the light of the window she read and reread the thin script until the lines were etched upon her memory. She would burn the papers if they were in danger. If Cyril was to meet Captain Byfield's fate, it would be upon other evidence than this. Her hands, at least with regard to Cyril, must be clean. A knock upon the door, and she hurriedly thrust the packet under a table cover, and answered, It was the maid with her tea, and upon the tray lay a note in an unfamiliar handwriting. When the maid had gone, she tore the flap and read. Mr. Hammersley begs that Miss Mather will not be unduly alarmed upon his account. Business of an urgent nature has detained him, but he assures her that he will join her at the earliest possible moment. He begs that she will be careful. There was no signature, and the handwriting was curious, like none to which she was accustomed. But the message seemed somehow to sound like Cyril. She rang for the maid, questioned her, and found that the note had just come over by messenger from Benacute. When the maid went down, Doris re-read the message thankfully. Cyril was safe, at least for the present, and her relief in the knowledge was the true measure of her relation to him, whatever he was. He was the man she had promised to marry, the man who a little later would have been hers for better or for worse. And between Cyril and John Ritcio it had not been difficult to choose. It did not seem difficult now. She took up the packet of papers and paused before the open fire, a smile playing for the first time at the corners of her lips. John Ritcio. He was clever, as she knew, but there was more than one way of playing the game. Perhaps with her, John Ritcio might be at a disadvantage. She hesitated a moment, and then pulled up her skirts and slipped the yellow packet into her stocking. End of Chapter 5. Chapter 6 of The Yellow Dove by George Gibbs. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Tony Oliva. Ritcio takes charge. Ritcio was to arrive that night. Meanwhile, with the papers hidden about her and bright fires burning in all the living rooms of the house, in which they could in a moment be destroyed, Doris thought herself well placed upon the defensive. Cyril's note had cheered her, and after removing the dust of her journey, she went down into the library where she joined the other members of the house party assembled. Black seemed to be the prevailing color for, in addition to the weeds of Lady Constance, there was Wilfred Hammersley, Cyril's uncle, who had lost an only son at La Bassée, and the Heatherington girls, who had lost a brother. Lady Betty was saying, I came to Scotland to try and forget, but the war follows me. Dick Pyfield, a traitor. Who next? Let's not even speak of it. Come, I've ordered the break, Doris. We're going out for a spin. You and I and Angeline. Constance, of course, has a headache. In shack we'll be having another for sympathy. The air outside was life-giving, and when she returned later, Doris felt that her brain had been swept clear of its cobwebs of perplexity. She found Wilson standing in her room gazing with a puzzled expression at the tray of her unpacked box, the contents of which were in a state of confusion. It's strange, Miss Mathur. Someone has been at your things while I was down in the servants' hall at luncheon. You sure? Yes, Miss Mathur, sure. Quite positive, in fact. Those wights were lying flat when I left. The window wasn't open. Asked Doris with a glance around. Oh, no, Miss. She looked about and lowered her voice. It's somebody inside. Curious, said Doris thoughtfully. Nothing has been taken? Is the jewel box there? Together they examined the things and found that nothing was missing. Say nothing about this, Wilson, said Doris thoughtfully. Unless something is taken, I shouldn't care to disturb Lady Heathcote. It can't be, Wilson paused her voice hushed. The papers are safe, Wilson, as long as I am safe, replied the girl, and told the maid of her place of concealment. Wilson looked dubious. I wish she'd give them to me, Miss Mathur. But the girl shook her head. She was thoroughly alive now to the perils which hung about her, here within the very doors of Lady Heathcote's house, but she had determined that if she could not find it possible to keep the papers until Cyril appeared, she would destroy them. She was not frightened. For however clumsy John Ritcio's agents might be, she was in no danger from himself. Whatever the interests which made the possession of the yellow packet so vital, she knew the man well enough to be sure that if there came an issue between them, he would act with her, as he had always acted, the part of a gentleman. Instead of apprehension at his approaching visit, she now felt only interest and a kind of suppressed exhilaration as at the prospect of a flight in a new plane, or the trying out of a green hunter, excitement like that which preceded all her sporty ventures. So that when she met John Ritcio in the drawing room after dinner, he had not been able to manage a more opportune train. She gave him a warm hand-clasp of greeting and a smile which caused him some surprise and not little regret, surprise that she was carrying off a difficult situation with consummate ease, regret that such self-possession and artistry were not to be added to the ornaments of his house in Berkeley Square. Perhaps still, how agreeable, she was saying charmingly, the great man actually condescends to come to the land of Calvin, Oat Cake and Sulphur, when there are trevils and old Madeira still to be hand in London. He laughed, his dark eyes appraising her slender blonde beauty eagerly. I have no quarrel with Calvin. Oat Cake, by all means! Sulphur? I suppose the Sulphur will come in time. Not if you're polite, said the girl Cooley, and tell me what brought you so unexpectedly to Scotland. They were standing near the fire, apart from the others, Doris with one slipper on the fender, which she was regarding approvingly. Her head upon one side, he admired her careless tone. She was quite wonderful. Perhaps you will not believe me, he said swavly, if I were to tell you that I came to see you, me. I am flattered. I thought that great collectors were always deterred by fear of the spurious. She was carrying the war into his camp. He met the issue squarely. They are only deterred by the spurious. Therefore I am here. The inference is obvious. He had always showed the slightest trace of his foreign accent. It went admirably with his shrug and mobile fingers. I am genuine in this, she laughed, that however much you know about pictures, about objets de vertu, women must remain for you and all other men an unknown quantity. Not when they are both, he said gallantly. There are good and bad pictures, objects of virtue excessively ugly. Objects of virtue are usually excessively ugly, especially if there are women. Thanks, Doris. You're most flattering. There's something in the air of Scotland that makes one tell the truth. He laughed. Is Scotland as merciless as that? I shall be off in the morning. I could imagine no worse purgatory than a place in which one always tells the truth. Lying is one of the highest arts of a mature civilization. I haven't the slightest notion, nor have you, that either of us means a thing, he says. We were born to deceive. Some of us do it in one way, some in another, but we all do it to the very best of our bent. For instance, you said a while ago that it was agreeable for you to see me, but I'm quite sure you know that it wasn't. It isn't agreeable if you're going to be horrid and cynical. Why shouldn't I be glad to see you? You've always stimulated my intelligence, even if you don't flatter it. The others had moved on to the library and they had the room to themselves. I don't see how I could flatter it more than I have already done, he said in a low tone of voice. She raised her chin a trifle and peered at him slant-wise. Do you think that you flatter it now when you recall the mistakes in my past? He searched her face keenly, but her blue eyes met his gaze steadily. She was smiling up at him guilessly. A mistake, of course, he said slowly, you are young enough to afford to make mistakes, but I am old enough to wish that it hadn't been at my expense. You still care, she asked. I do. If I hadn't thought that you wanted me for your collection, you are cruel. No, I know. You wanted me for your portrait harem, and I should have been frightfully jealous of the Connings v. Venus. I couldn't compete with that sort of thing, you know? He smiled at her admiringly and went on in a low tone. You know why I wanted you then and why I want you now, because you're the cleverest woman in England and the most courageous. It took courage to refuse the hand of John Ritcio. It takes more courage in John Ritcio to hear those words from the lips that refused him. She laid her hand gently on his arm. I am sorry, she said. He bent his head and kissed her fingers. It's not the Connings v. Venus who is essential to my happiness. He whispered, it's the Doris Diana. She laughed. That's the disillusionment of possession. No, the only disillusionments of life are its failures. I got the Venus by infinite patience. The Diana? He paused and drew in his breath. You think that you may get the Diana by patience also? She asked quietly. He looked at her with a gaze that seemed to pierce all her subterfuges. I waited for the Connings v. Venus, he said in measured tones, until the man who possessed her was dead. She started and the color left her cheeks. You mean Cyril? She stammered. I mean, he replied her vainly. Precisely nothing except that I will never give you up. She recovered her poise with an effort and when she replied she was smiling gaily. I'm not all sure that I want to be given up, she said with a laugh that was meant to relax the tension. You are, after all, one of the best friends I have. I hope that nothing may ever happen to make you think otherwise. Was this a threat? She glanced at him keenly as she quoted. Friendship is constant and all other things save in the office and affairs of love. May I trust you? Try me. No, I might put you to a test that would be difficult. Try me. Very well I will. Go back to London in the morning. He looked at her and laughed. Why? It would be easier for you to be patient there than here when Hammersley comes. Oh, she said quickly. Then he is coming. I don't know why he shouldn't, he said slowly. There was a pause. Shall you go? To London? I'll think about it. There, you see? You refuse my first request. I would like to know your purpose. I think you know it already. She put in quickly. You want something that I cannot give you. Something that is not mine to give. She had come out into the open defiantly and he met her challenge with a laugh. Because it is Hammersley's? He said, you think so, and Hammersley thinks so? And possession is nine points of the law. But I will contest. You visit his vein. Go back to London, my friend. I find it pleasant to hear. Then you refuse? I must. Then it is war between us. If you will have it so, he said with an inclination of the head, Doris put her foot on the fender and leaned with her hands upon her knee for a moment as though in deep thought. Then she turned toward the door. Come, she said coolly, let us join the others. There was a relief in the thought that at least they had come to an understanding and that the matter of the possession of the papers had at last become a private contest between them. She had brought the interview to an end not because she was afraid to continue it but because she wanted to think of a plan to disarm him. She felt that she was moving in the dark but she trusted to her delicate woman's sense of touch to stumble upon some chance, some slip of his tongue which might lead her into the light. In the drawing-room, by common consent, all talk of war had been abolished. She set in at a hand of auction but plain badly she was gladly relinquished by her partner at the end of the rubber. John Rizio, who disliked the game, had gone off for a quiet smoke but when she got up from the card-table he was there waiting for her. Cyril shall know of this, laughed Betty as they went toward the door. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder of the other fellow. Doris led the way to the gun-room, a place used by Algie Heathcote for his sporting implements and trophies of the chase. It was comfortably furnished in leather and oak and a cheerful fire was burning in the grate. Doris sank into the Davenport and motioned to her companion to the place at her side. She was thoroughly alive to her danger but the sportswoman in her made her keen to put it to the test. We are quite alone here, she said coolly. The others are not even within call. Now what do you want of me? Her audacity rather startled him but he folded his arms and leaned back smiling. The papers of Villacroix, of course, he said amably. And how do you know they're in my possession? He shrugged, because they couldn't possibly be anywhere else. How do you know? Because I have exhausted every other resource. You're frank at least, including the burglary at Ashwater Park and the messing in my box upstairs. And since you must know the full truth, he continued politely, the careful search of your room in your absence this evening, including the removal of the rugs and bedding. Oh, don't be disturbed. I beg of you, as she made a movement of alarm. They've all been replaced with a nice calf or detail. And if I told Lady Heathcote of this, I am quite sure that the best interests of all, he said politely, are conserved by silence. She meditated a moment, her gaze on the coals. Yes, she said slowly, you're clever, more than ordinarily clever. I can't understand how I could ever have refused you. But don't you think your methods have been a little, er, unshivalrous? The importance of my objects admitted of no delay. I hope you have not been inconvenienced. Not in the least, calmly. My recollection of your many civilities merely made me think that your agents were overzealous. I am sorry, he said genuinely, it could not be helped. You and I are merely pawns in a game greater than anything the world has ever known. I didn't want you to apologize. I merely thought in order to avoid comment that you might have come to me yourself. I thought I might save you the unpleasantness of a controversy which can only have one end. You mean that you will win? I do. How? It will give me the papers, here, tonight. And if I told you that I had destroyed them, that would be manifestly untrue, since at the present moment in the position of your body, their outline is quite clearly defined on the inside of your right knee. Doris put both slippers upon the ground, her feet together, her face flushing warmly. I hope you will forgive my frankness, she heard him say gently. But the method of your challenges unusual. She clasped her hands around her knees and frowned into the fire. You mistake, I think, my friend, it is not a challenge, it is merely a method of defense. The safest, I am sure, against John Ritcio, he bowed low with deep ceremony. Of course, I am helpless. And then, I can only rely on your good sense and hear his voice sunk a note lower and on your loyalty to the cause of England. This was the opening that she had been waiting for. She thrust quickly. And if the cause is England's, why didn't Scotland Yard come to Ashwater Park? Dunson and to Barnum Wood, he shrugged. They would have made asinine mistakes as they always do, the chief of which would have been that of denouncing Miss Doris Mather as an agent of England's enemies. The girl tapped her toe reflectively upon the rug. I won't attempt subterfuge. Of course, I know the contents of that packet. You wouldn't be a woman if you didn't. And how was it passed from Captain Byfield to Cyril Hammersley? This was a random shot, but it hit the mark. Ritcio's eyes dilated slightly, but she saw them. Byfield. Impossible. Not at all. Cyril told me, she lied. He told you. He paused aghast for now she was laughing at him. No, but you have. His brow tangled and he folded his arms again. Of course, you know the importance to Cyril and Captain Byfield of keeping such a matter secret. He had not heard. He did not know. She remembered that the subject of the dreadful news from London had not been reopened and Jack Sandy's sources of information were probably semi-official. She controlled her voice with an effort. I would hardly be the one to mention names under the circumstances, since my own fortunes seem to be involved in the matter. But as for Captain Byfield, I am afraid that further secrecy will hardly help him. What do you mean? Merely that he was arrested late yesterday afternoon as he was leaving the war-office. She had not counted on the effect she created. She knew that her last thrust had put him more carefully on guard, but he could not hide the sudden intake of breath in the quick-searching glance his dark eyes shot at her. What is your source of information, Jack Sandy's? He came here directly from Downing Street. She saw Ritcio's lips meet under his mustache in a thin line. So it has come sooner than I expected. He got up and paced the floor, his fingers twitching behind his back. She said nothing, waiting for him to rejoin her. When he did, it was with a serious expression. I suppose you know what this means to... to hamsly, he said in a low voice. Doris set without moving, but her brain was busy weighing Ritcio. No, she replied calmly. I don't. Won't you tell me? He leaned forward toward her along the back of their seat, his look and voice concentrated upon her. Is it possible? He continued, that you haven't realized by this time exactly what Cyril Hammersley is? No, she said staunchly. I will believe nothing of him unless he tells it to me himself. He waited a moment, watching her, and fancied that he saw her lips tremble slightly, her loyalty to Hammersley inflamed him. He followed up his advantage quickly. There are reasons why I should dislike to give you pain, greater reasons why I should be generous with a successful rival, and I have done what I can to take this matter out of your hands. There is still time. Will you give me that packet? She shook her head. Then I must speak, he went on. My duty demands it. Whatever happens to him, whatever happens to you, don't make me go to extremes with you. I cannot bear to do it. Hammersley is a German spy. Those papers would be forwarded to Germany. You are saving them for him, that he may betray England. That is not true. She said, jokingly, I do not believe it. You must. Isn't that proof enough in what you've read? There is some mistake. There can't be. Your sentiments are blinding you. One moment, please. Doris had risen and faced him across the hearth. A new fire of resolution in her eyes. Tirizio, the lover of beauty. She was a mockery of lost happiness. She was Diana, not the huntress, but the hunted. You have told me what Cyril Hammersley is. Now, if you please, I would like to know what you are. He paused a moment and then, with a stepped order, he said gently, I think my interest should be fairly obvious. I'm acting for the English government. I have only your word for it. Have you any papers that would prove it? In your card case, for instance? He started back. His fingers instinctively reaching upward. Then he shrugged and laughed. You are surely the most amazing person. Unfortunately, I have no documents. I am only doing my duty as a private citizen, a loyal resident of the empire. But not a Britain. Neither am I. We meet on equal terms. Then you refuse me. Definitely. Finally. Yes, I must. I beg that you will consider carefully the alternatives. If you give me the papers, silence on my part, safety for Hammersley. If you refuse to give them up, he paused. Then, what will you do? She defied him. It would be the most terrible moment of my life. But I will denounce him here, tonight, tomorrow in London. Those papers must not reach Germany. Even if I have to denounce you too. And if I promise that the papers will not reach Germany, he hesitated a moment. There is too much at stake. I can't take the risk. No woman can be trusted. Not even the woman John Rizio would have made his wife? He moved his shoulders expressively. Her youth and cleverness were bewildering him. No, that will not do. He said in desperation, you must give me the papers. I will not. You shall have to take them from me. He leaned toward her along the mantle, aware of her dominant loveliness. You would not drive me to that? Yes, it is a challenge. I offer it. I will fight you and I am strong. I have a voice and I will raise an outcry. They will come and I will tell them. Then you can denounce me. Will you dare? He came toward her while she fled around the Davenport, eluding him with ease. She was swifter a foot than he. He stopped a moment near the gun rack to plead. She kept the huge oak lounge between them and listened by the fire. Something she saw in his eyes decided her, for as he came forward to leap over the Davenport, she threw something yellow toward him. He gave a gasp of relief, picked the object up and made a cry of dismay. The cova. I must have the papers. He cried coming forward again. By this time the girl was standing upright, a poker in one hand, the thin cigarette papers cramped in the fingers of the other, over the open fire. Rizio paused in the very act of leaping. Not that! He whispered hoarsely. For God's sake! Not that! Stay where you are then! Said the girl in a low, resolute tone. Rizio straightened. Doris still bent over the fire. Give it to me, he said again. No. England's secret shall be safe. Don't you understand? He whispered wildly. I've got to prove that they are. Ah! I can prove that as well as you. But you won't. Hamas leaves. He paused and both of them straightened, listening. Outside in the hall there was a commotion and a familiar voice, as the honorable Cyril, his face and fur coat spattered with mud came into the room. End of Chapter 6 Chapter 7 of The Yellow Dove by George Gibbs Oliver Vox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tony Oliva. An intruder. He looked from one to the other with a quickly appraising eye. The girl was fingering the lace of her bodice. Rizio had turned toward the newcomer, recovering his poise. Hope but not intrudin, said Hammersley with a laugh. Well, hardly. You come in a hurry? Yes. Drawed Hammersley. I missed your train, I think. Too bad. Jolly slow work, travelling alone. Striker picked me up at Edinburgh and we came on by motor. He took off his fur coat in leisurely fashion and crossing to the fireplace took Doris' proffered hand. You had my note? He asked carelessly. The girl nodded. I was glad, she said. Well, I'm here. Jolly happy, too. Had a narrow squeak of it, though. Some belly it is, stretched rope across the road over by Sultum rocks. But we saw it in time and went around. Fired a few shot sadders, too. Must have taken me for Rizio. What? He laughed. Thus directly appealed to, smiled grudgingly. You don't ask me to believe that story, Hammersley. He said, dryly. You don't have to, Rizio. The girl's look was fixed on Hammersley's face. Suddenly she broke in with a voice of alarm. Cyril, you're hurt and there's blood on your coat. Is there? By Joe, so there is. It doesn't matter. I wouldn't mind a peg, though. And a cigarette. Boris had started for the door in alarm. Wait! Hammersley's voice came sharply and as she paused, ring Doris. She understood and touched the button beside the door. We might as well have an understanding before they come, Rizio. Put in Hammersley quickly. Do you prefer to believe my story or would you like to invent one of your own? Rizio shrugged. As you please, he said, it seems that I am detrall here at the door he paused and finished distinctly. I hope that your explanations will prove satisfactory. Doris had helped Cyril off with his coat and by the time the maid brought Betty Heathcoat had cut away the sleeve of his shirt with Cyril's pocketknife. It was merely a gash across the upper arm which a bandage and some old-fashioned remedies would set right. Lady Heathcoat heard the story from which Hammersley eliminated the rope with amazement and was for sending it once for the local constabulary. Oh, it's hardly worthwhile, said the honourable Cyril, sipping his whiskey and water comfortably. Poor devils, out of work, I fancy. Wanted my money if they'd come to bin a key tomorrow, I'd give it to them. But I wouldn't mind, Betty, if you could put me up for the night. I'm not keen to be dodging bullets in the dark. Of course, said Lady Heathcoat. How extraordinary. I can't understand. Sultan rocks? That's all my place. Something must be done, Cyril, Hammersley yand. Oh, tomorrow will do. Couldn't catch the beggars in the dark. Besides, it's late. Do me a favour, 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 Rizio there. We'll change. There's a deer. And say nothing about it. 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 wasted, got free. Yes, I know. I saw you. Yeah, 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 foreswear 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 them. 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 him to me? I mean that precisely. But that is impossible. He went on with greater signs of excitement than she had ever seen in him. Don't you realize now that every moment that things are in your possession, yet in danger, great danger, isn't what you've gone through, isn't this? And he indicated his arm. The proof of it. Yes, she said firmly. But I would rather suffer injury myself than see you share the fate of Captain Byfield. He started. Who? You heard that? Yes, Jack Sandys is here. She put her face in her hands in the throes of her doubts of him, and then suddenly thrust out her hands and laced her fingers around his arm. Oh, give it up, Cyril. For my sake, give it all up. Can't you see the terrible position you've placed me in? If I give these papers to Jack Sandys, they'll come and take you as they took Captain Byfield. I've kept them for you, because I promised. But I cannot let this information get to Germany. I would die first. What shall I do? She wailed. What on earth can I do? His reply made her gasp. There's a fire, he said quietly. Burn him. Her fingers went to her corsage, and her eyes gleamed with a new hope. She took the crumpled rice papers out and looked at them. Then in a flash the thought came to her. You know the information contained in these papers? She asked in an accent of deprecation. No, he replied shortly. I merely glanced at them. You hadn't the chance to study them? No, still she hesitated. But what? What is Ritcio? He walked to the door of the room, opening it suddenly. Then he shut it quietly and, coming back to the fire, took the poker and made a hole between the glowing coals. Burn him, he commanded. She obeyed him, wonderingly, and together they watched the package of rice papers flame into a live coal and then turn to ashes. When the last vestige of them had disappeared, they sat together on the Davenport. Cyril thoughtful, the girl bewildered. What is Ritcio? She repeated. He told me that he was an agent of the English government. I can't tell you. He whispered hoarsely. I can't tell you anything. Even you. Don't you understand? No, I don't. It's your word against his. I would rather believe you than him. I want to, Cyril. God knows I want to. Didn't I ask you to burden the papers? Didn't he try to prevent it? Yes. Can't you see? If he were acting for England, it wouldn't matter what became of him. If they didn't reach Germany. Oh, I thought of that. But what you have told me bewilders me. Why should you run away with the secrets of England, given you by a traitor who is about to pay the penalty with death? What does it mean? Why didn't you take those papers at once to the war office? Why did Captain Byfield give them to you? He, a traitor, to you. Cyril, it's also horrible. I am frightened. No danger. Ritcio's men here tonight. All about us. If there were English secret servicemen, 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 Ritcio? 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 mantle, his head lowered. It is hard for you. Hard for us both, he said softly. But I can't tell you anything, anything. 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 me if you can. I would try to be worthy of it. That's all I can see. He paused. And now you must go to bed. You're a bit figged. Perhaps in the morning 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 got to ask. Her look questioned. I shall 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 Ritzio would still? She paused. Yes. He thinks you would not give them to me. And then with a laugh. He 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 Joe. It's time even for auction players. She promised him at last after a protest on his own account. Nothing to worry about. He laughed. They may not try anything 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. Ritzio 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. Don't see anything about it, Betty. He urged. Just ask her in. Won't you when you get upstairs? And you? I could do a turn on Steve's spikes. He laughed. Your arm. Right as rain. It's nothing at all. Doris accepted the situation without a word. Indeed she was numbed with the fatigue of strained nerves. The swift rush of incident since Betty's London dinner with its rapid alternations of hope and fear left her bewildered and helpless. But it was the interview with Cyril tonight that had plunged her into the dark abyss of despair. She had tried so hard to believe in him but he would do nothing to take away the weight that had been dragging her down further and further from the light. A new kind of love had come to her born of the new Cyril who won her over by the sheer force of a personality the existence of which she had not dreamed. A short time ago she had wanted to see him awake, a firebrand and she had had her wish for she had kindled to his touch like tinder. But tonight in her utter weariness it seemed as though her spirit was charred burnt to a cinder like the package of papers and the great in the gun room destroyed as the secret message had been in the great game that Cyril was playing. She undressed slowly listening for any sounds that might come from the room next door but the only sign she had of him was the familiar smell of his pipe tobacco which came through the cracks and keyhole. A little later Betty Heathcote came in prepared for what she called a back hair talk but found her guest so unresponsive that at last she went into her own room and bed. Doris lay for a while watching the line of light under Cyril's door wondering what he was doing and what the night was to bring forth. One memory persisted in the chaos of the night's events. Cyril didn't know the contents of the papers and yet he had commanded her to burn them. The thought quieted her and at last she saw the light in his room go out then after a time in spite of her weariness she slept. She awakened trembling with terror listening for she knew not what and then as her wit slowly came to her she was aware of the sounds which had awakened her. They were suppressed, secret and strange but nonetheless terrible the shuffling of feet, horse whispers and the creaking of straining furniture. She sat upright, slipped to the floor quickly and getting into the dressing gown at the foot of the bed stood for a moment in the middle of the room her heart beating wildly. Then with quick resolution she moved swiftly to Betty Heathcote's room and after assuring herself that her hostess, Dill, slept closed the door softly and passed the bolt. Again she hesitated. The sounds from Cyril's room continued the hard breathing of men who seemed with one accord to be trying to keep their struggles silent aware of her danger but considering it less than the physical need for immediate action with trembling fingers she turned the key and quickly opened the door. At first silence, uttering profound but full of a terror which a breath might reveal. Cyril, what is it? She managed to whisper. She heard and dimly in the pale moonlight she made out the dark blur of figures on the floor in the corner of the room. Cyril, she repeated, it's all right, she heard in a breathless whisper go back to your room, it's nothing. But having ventured thus far she did not hesitate and closing the door behind her came forward upon the floor half against the wall was the figure of a man. Cyril was sitting on his legs and holding him with one hand by the neck cloth. She whispered, yes, go back to bed. Don't understand if anyone came. I don't care. Her curiosity had triumphed. She leaned forward and saw that it was John Ritzio. Ritzio, she whispered, my room. I ought to kill him Doris, said Cyril savagely but I've only choked him a little. He'll come around in a minute and then more quietly give me a glass of water but don't make a fuss and don't make a light. There are men outside. She obeyed and in a moment Ritzio revived and set up. Cyril standing over him, his fist clenched. Oh, let him go Cyril, please. Doris pleaded. At the sound of the girl's voice Ritzio started and with Cyril's help struggled to his feet. Yes, he's going. We came by the window. I'd thirst if I'm away. Ritzio succeeded in a smile though he was still struggling for breath. I suppose. I must thank you for your generosity, Hammersley. He said with as fine a return of his composure as his throat permitted. I have been guilty of an error in judgment. I'm sorry you think it's only that, said Cyril dryly. Now go, he whispered threateningly pointing to the window. In a moment, with your permission, he said recovering his suavity with his breath in extenuation of this visit terrible as it seems to Miss Mather I can only say that if I had succeeded I would have saved her from remembering some day that she had given England's secrets into the hands of the enemy. You're mistaken, said Doris quietly. I have burned them. You, you burned them? Yes, tonight. Ritzio peered at her in silence for a long moment and then shrugged. Oh, he said, in that case I have made two errors in judgment. I'll make a third. If you're not out of that window and have a second, said Cyril. But Ritzio laughed at him. I don't think it would be wise to make a disturbance, he said coolly. I think Miss Mather will admit my generosity to herself and to you when I say that I've only to raise my voice and have half a dozen men up here in a moment. I just clutched him fearfully by the arm, thinking of Cyril. You not do that. Hammersley laughed dryly. There's no danger, he said. No. Returned Ritzio with a touch of his own magnificence. There is no danger of that. The reasons are obvious. As he moved toward the window, Hammersley touched him lightly on the arm. I warn you, Ritzio. He said in a low concentrated tone that your play in a dangerous hand should punish you. But other agencies, Ritzio halted. Yes, other agencies, he replied significantly. He bowed in the girl's direction and sitting on the window sill, he threw his feet outside. I bid you good night. And carefully feeling for his footing, he slowly descended. Cyril Hammersley followed him to the window and Doris took a step in his direction. When her thinly slippered foot touched something in the wooden floor, something which slid upon the polished surface from the shadow into the moonlight. Instinctively, she glanced down and then started, scarcely restraining a gasp. There, unmistakable in the shape and color for so many hours graven on her mind, was a yellow packet of Rilacois cigarette papers. She glanced at Cyril who was closing the casement window, then stopped and, picking up the packet, fled noiselessly into her room and quickly locked the door. End of chapter 7 Chapter 8 of The Yellow Dove by George Gibbs The Slipper Fox recording is in the public domain recording by Tony Oliva. Evidence Inside her own room she stood for a moment tremulously in the dark fingering the guilty thing in her hands as she had fingered the other one, the one she had destroyed or had she destroyed it. For a moment the thought came to her that Cyril had practiced some trick upon her when they had knelt before the fire substituting other papers for the ones that were to be burned, but that was impossible. The papers had not touched his fingers. He it was who had made a hole for them in the fire, but her fingers had thrust the original papers into the glowing coals. She turned the packet over and over in her fingers, glancing at the closed door that separated her from Cyril. Another message it must be. She pulled the curtains at the window, and then moving quietly to the bed lit the candle on the nightstand. Another packet of Rilacois knew like the other with its tiny thin rubber band. She opened it quickly and scanned its pages finding what she sought without difficulty. The writing was not in the same hand. It was rounder and less minute covering in all seven pages and it was written carelessly as if the writer had been in a hurry. Cyril's own handwriting it seemed. The purport of its message was the same. No. She remembered the dates. These were somewhat different. The names of the regiments were the same, but the dates, instead of the dates in April and May gave days in the months of June and July, and the numerals which at first puzzled her were smaller. For instance, among Highland regiments foot, the numerals of which she remembered particularly, instead of 120,000 she saw the numerals 42,000. It was the same under other headings in the remainder of her life, under shrapnel there were changes and under artillery. She closed the packet in icy fingers for the figures swam before her eyes. They were all true, all the horrible things that she had thought of Cyril. This was later and more accurate information, the exact reason for which she did not pretend to understand was intended to follow the previous message, perhaps to be used as a code in connection with it. Cyril was the dishonor of it and she had gone to sleep almost ready to believe in him again, because he had let her burn the other papers. What did it matter to him whether she burned the papers when he had other messages to send and had committed to memory the facts he had let her destroy? He had lied to her. He was false as Judas and more dangerous for now she knew that he was desperate as well as cunning stooping to any means no matter how ignoble to gain his ends. She had been a mere bobble in his hands, a child upon whose credulity he had played he had used her the woman he had said he loved for his own unworthy ends as he used Betty Heathcote and her house she was filled with shame for him and for herself who could love something shameful. And John Ritcio, Ritcio, Cyril's enemy stood for England and right and she had permitted herself to see Cyril's eyes just as Cyril had wanted her to see. It seemed as she compared them that Ritcio's nobility attained a firmer contour he had come to her room to save her from her own ignorance and willfulness from committing a crime the greatest of all crimes against England. Ritcio knew what Cyril was and on her account framed from giving Cyril up to the officers of the law although they were within call even when he felt himself yielding to the fury of Cyril's superior physical strength not even the spirit of revenge for the punishment Cyril had given him not even the humiliation he had suffered before her eyes had been enough to make him forget his intention to save if he could for the woman who loved him a successful rival and she Doris had stood by Cyril's side warm in Cyril's cause against the one man who held Cyril's fate as the bearer of treacherous messages in his hand. There was still danger in the air the last words of the two men to each other had been hidden threats of other agencies whatever they were and she found herself praying in a whisper that the agency of England even if it meant Cyril's danger might conquer Oh God! It would have been better it seemed if the bullet had salt him rocks that a grazed Cyril's arm had killed him. That death would at least have been free from the shame of that which awaited Captain Byfield She gazed with eyes at her guttering candle she was wishing for Cyril's death. She shivered with pity for herself and for him and huddled down in the bed a very small very miserable object seeking in vain some hope some rest for her mind amid the torture of her thoughts. Suddenly she started up and sat clutching the yellow packet to her breast her gaze mixed on the door into Cyril's room had she heard a knock or was it only imagination? Yes there it was again she leaned over hurriedly and blew out the candle and lay very still her teeth chattering with the cold her body trembling he was knocking again a little louder this time and she heard his voice through the keyhole whispering her name in response and feigned sleep he knocked again still louder and she heard her name spoken quite distinctly he would awaken the house if this went on when he knocked again she got up and went over to the door doors he was saying she answered him will you open the door just a crack no she whispered I want to speak to you you cannot please I have lost something something that must have fallen from my pocket she was silent and then in quick anxious tones you didn't see anything on the floor by the door no she lied trembling I didn't she heard him mutter you're sure came his voice again yes and then in dubious tones oh very well then sorry to have troubled you good night she didn't reply and stole back through the darkness to her bed into which she crept like some thin wraith of vengeance biting her time into bed but not to sleep she watched the moonlight grow pale into the west and saw the first gray streaks of dawn paint the wooded slopes of Bendara across the valley of the Dorth in pity for herself and zero she watched the new day born a new day bleak and cheerless which seemed by its very aspect to pronounce a sentence upon them the new day which was to mark the passing of all the things growing womanhood holds most dear her first faith her first tenderness her first passion Doris kept to her room until Betty then awakening her from a heavy sleep into which she had fallen just before sunrise Lady Heathcote rang for Wilson and then retired to the ministrations of her own maid leaving Doris to dress for the morning at her leisure and when the girl got downstairs to breakfast she found that the other guests had preceded her but Betty Heathcote was still in the breakfast room picking with dainty fingers at the various dishes upon the sideboard and making sparkling comment as was her custom on men and things she found the disappearance of John Ritcio bag baggage and man from Kilmora without even a line to his hostess both unusual and surprising since her guest was a man who had made much of the amenities of proper behavior Doris commented in a desultory way trying to put on an air of cheerfulness aware of Cyril Hammersley somewhere in the background awaiting the chance to speak to her alone she did not hurry and when Betty arose sauntered into the library where the other guests were waiting for the horses to come around twice Cyril tried to speak to her but she avoided him skillfully contriving to be a part of a group where personal topics were not to be discussed that kind of maneuvering she knew was a game at which any woman is more than a match for any man but she saw by the cloud that was growing in Cyril's eyes that he was not in the mood to be put off with excuses and realized that the sooner the pain of their view was over the better it would be for both of them she was dressed in the long coat and britches which she wore in the hunting field and in her waistcoat pocket was the yellow packet I got to see you for half an hour alone he said at last taking the bull by the horns I shall miss my ride there had taken the long road to Benakilt and I'll take you there in the motor and send a mount on by a groom she acquiesced with a cool shrug which put him at once upon his guard but Doris had reached a pass when all she wanted was to bring their relations to an end as speedily and with as little pain as possible so that when the others had gone she sank into a chair before the fire coldly asking him what he wanted he stood with his back to the hearth his hands clasped behind him in a long moment of silence as though trying to find the words to begin well she asked insolently what has happened since last night to change you so Doris I've had a chance to think of what that it was time you and I had an understanding I don't see wait she commanded with a wave of the hand there isn't anything that you can say that will make me change my mind therefore the sooner this talk is over the better for both of us I've told you and you know already that my whole soul is wrapped in the cause of England in this war I can have nothing but pity and contempt for any Englishman she paused for at this moment appeared and gathering up some brasses on Lady Heathcote's desk went out of the room I beg that you be more careful Doris Cyril whispered she was silent a moment and then after a glance at the dining room door went on with more restraint pity and contempt are hardly the kind of ingredients that love can live on they poison mine I said I don't want to see you again she finished coldly ever I hope you understand he bowed his head and for a moment made no reply I asked he said slowly I hoped that you would be willing to trust me that you'd wait until I was able to speak to you to explain the things you do not understand and frankly there is nothing that I do not understand I know God help you what you are I have done what I can to save you from the fate you are courting and I shall still do so for the sake of what once was was between us but I do not want to see you again I have put you out of my life completely as though you never had been in it and now she rose will you let me go one moment please he said calmly you found those papers last night yes she said coolly and if I did he seemed to breathe more freely I have nothing to say he muttered oh she said quickly I'm glad of that you don't deny I deny nothing he said with a shrug see that it would be useless I'm glad you give me credit for that much intelligence she said scathingly you haven't done so before it was not your intelligence he said gently so much as your heart that I had relied upon oh you thought I was a fool that you could use indefinitely no I thought you were a woman that I could go on indefinitely something in the tone of his own voice made her turn and look at him a woman yes but not an enemy of England he was silent again and when he spoke it was not to argue his voice was subdued shamed even it seemed and now I suppose you will give the papers to Sandy's he said and pity for him seemed even stronger than shame it is a part of our misunderstanding she said coolly that you should think so little of me I have told you that I shall protect you my hands shall be clean if my heart isn't what will you do with the papers he asked this and she turned toward him burned them she put her hand into her pocket and poured the hearth her hand was even extended toward the fire-wind with a quick movement he snatched the yellow packet from her fingers she fell away from him in dismay as if she had been touched by something poisonous touching her wrist and the fingers into which her rings had been driven then she hit her face in her hands and closed her eyes oh she gasped her ferocity with this he had examined the papers coolly and had put them into his pocket I I don't count in a game like this nor do you I'm sorry they were mine you took them I had to have them then this she stammered this was what you kept me here for I had to have them he repeated dolly his wrist and fingers burned where he had hurt them a brute, a coward as well as a traitor she straightened proudly and with a look at his bowed head she went by him and out of the room Hammersley stood as she had left him for a moment and only raised his head when the parlor maid came in again and replaced the brasses on Lady Heathcote's desk she had a keen look and he took a step forward do you always clean Lady Heathcote's brasses on Friday? he asked the maid she turned around with a startled air oh yes sir she replied demurely Friday sir oh said Hammersley thanks she stood a moment as if awaiting further questions and then went out Hammersley followed her with his gaze went into the room went into the hall put on his fur coat and cap and quickly made his way toward the garage upstairs Doris paced her room and an agony of rage and humiliation she had meant to give him his dismissal kindly but it was his abjectness that had made her scornful abjectness worn as she now knew with an object that was to scorn it was only with the purpose of getting the papers from her that he had kept her there and the contempt that she had shown for him seemed but a piteous thing beside the enormity of his brutality he had not cared what she thought of him he had not cared he had said so himself their love was a trifle beside the greater matter that concerned him he had led her on under the guise of a shame he did not feel from one revelation to another playing upon her emotions upon things which should have been sacred even to him in such an hour until with infinite cunning he had made her bring out the papers and then rage possessed her she felt that she had been tricked with weapons that he should have scorned to use she hated him at that moment not as she hated the secrecy and dishonour of his cause but as a man who could take advantage of a woman as a hypocrite a coward a bully she knew the fury of Dido but she felt the pain of Ariadne too she heard the sound of his roadster and ran to the window peering dark-eyed through the muslin curtains and saw him go by under her windows low down in his seat his gaze fixed on the road ahead driving fast striker beside him he passed without even a glance upward or back out of her life it seemed to her that if he had turned his head just then and given one look at the house even she could have forgiven him much but she watched him until he turned the angle of the road and was gone their interview it seemed so brief in all it seemed scarcely more than a moment to have made such a horrible change in her way of looking at things if he had protested innocence fought even so weakly against her evidence fought with a man's strength against odds the danger of losing the woman he wanted she could have seen him go with a calmness born of woman's inherent right to dismiss but this death surely was no worse than for a woman to be spurned by such a man after a while tears came and they helped her tears of anger if you will but tears soft and humid in which to a woman there was always a kind of bitter sweetness too she threw herself on her bed in her riding-togs her mannish coat and mannish boots eloquent of their own pretensions in spite of them and the things they typified she was merely a very tired little girl weeping her heart out as other little girls had done before and will again gone away from her toward lunch in time when the others were expected to return she got up bathed her eyes and summoning Wilson changed into a dress for the afternoon pride came to her rescue now and with the help of her maid in the mysterious process with which maids are familiar she managed to make herself presentable enough to avoid notice from so keen to serve her as her hostess Doris found herself smiling and doing her share of conversation in a mechanical way which left a question in her mind as to the depth of her own emotions but the weight about her heart the dull echo of reiterated thoughts pervaded all and she knew that it was merely that her spirit was dulled like a nerve from the shock of a blow she stole away when she could with a book to the gun room where she could sit alone and try to put her thoughts in order End of Chapter 8