“Do you know,” she exclaimed suddenly, bursting into a nervous laugh, “I didn’t really want you to write a letter at all! I only wanted an excuse to come into this den of yours—to speak to you.”

Her laugh somehow sounded unnatural. With her woman’s subtle tact she was, I knew, trying to conceal her agitation.

“To speak to me? What about?”

She grew grave again in an instant, and rising, crossed towards me. I saw that all the colour had died from her face and that she grasped the edge of the table to steady herself.

“I wanted to ask you—I wanted to see if you would do something for me,” she said in a low tremulous voice, very harsh and intense.

Was it possible that Warr had already seen her and delivered the note and message from that mysterious stranger?

“What do you wish me to do?” I inquired eagerly.

“I want you to help me, Willoughby,” she said. “I am in peril—deadly peril. You can save me if you will.”

“Peril? Peril of what?”

“Ah! That I cannot tell you,” she answered; then suddenly losing all control of herself she exclaimed wildly, “The past has risen against me, to torment me, to hound me down to the very depths of hell. Ah! Willoughby, save me—you will, won’t you? You are my friend. Say you are—say you will help me,” she implored with clasped hands.

“But what do you fear, Lady Lolita?” I asked in the hope of learning her secret.

“I fear death,” she cried hoarsely. “The blow has fallen, and I am lost—lost.”

“No, no,” I said, taking her soft hand gently in mine and finding it cold, trembling in fear. “Do not anticipate the worst, whatever may be your danger.”

“Ah! if I could tell you all—if I only dared to tell you,” she sighed. “But even then you wouldn’t believe it—you couldn’t.”

“But may I not know something of this peril of yours?” I urged. “If you tell me, I shall then know how to deal with it.”

“You can only serve me at great risk to yourself,” was her quick reply.

“In any way I can serve you, Lolita, do not hesitate to command me,” I said, deeply in earnest 

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