He leaned towards her. 

 “Never believe that,” he begged. “These days are dark enough, Heaven knows, yet the work of every one has its goal. Even our turn may come.” 

 Something flickered for a moment in her face, something which seemed to make a different woman of her. Bellamy saw it, and hardened though he was he felt the slow stirring of his own pulses. He kissed her hand passionately and she shivered. 

 “We must not talk of these things,” she said. “We must not think of them. At least our friendship has been wonderful. Now I must go in. I must tell my maid and arrange to steal away to-night.” 

 They stood up, and he held her in his arms for a moment. Though her lips met his freely enough, he was very conscious of the reserve with which she yielded herself to him, conscious of it and thankful, too. They walked up the path together, and as they went she plucked a red rose and thrust it through his buttonhole. 

 “If we had no dreams,” she said softly, “life would not be possible. Perhaps some day even we may pluck roses together.” 

 He raised her fingers to his lips. It was not often that they lapsed into sentiment. When she spoke again it was finished. 

 “You had better leave,” she told him, “by the garden gate. There are the usual crowd in my anteroom, and it is well that you and I are not seen too much together.” 

 “Till this evening,” he whispered, as he turned away. “I shall be at the station early. If Dorward is taken, I shall still leave Vienna. If he goes, it may be an eventful journey.” 

 

CHAPTER IV THE NIGHT TRAIN FROM VIENNA

 Dorward, whistling softly to himself, sat in a corner of his coupe rolling innumerable cigarettes. He was a man of unbounded courage and wonderful resource, but with a slightly exaggerated idea as to the sanctity of an American citizen. He had served his apprenticeship in his own country, and his name had become a household word owing to his brilliant success as war correspondent in the Russo-Japanese War. His experience of European countries, however, was limited. After the more obvious dangers with which he had grappled and which he had overcome during his adventurous career, he was disposed to be a little contemptuous of the subtler perils at which his friend Bellamy had plainly hinted. 

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