"Oh, indeed, sir!" Madame Dupuys dimpled all over her face. She had not expected to get her troublesome debt cleared so nicely. "I hope, sir," she said, "that you will not be hard upon the dear young lady. I regret very much that I should have subjected her to such a temptation."

"Here are your cheques," said Keith, by way of response. "You will kindly give me a receipt in full."

CHAPTER X.
YOU TALK IN RIDDLES

Madame did give a receipt in full, and soon afterwards left the house. Before doing so, she had promised Keith that the hundred pounds in gold and notes should be forwarded to him by special messenger within an hour.

Keith had not intended to remain in to lunch, but he did not go out. Neither, however, did he appear in the dining-room.

Kitty, restless, with fear now dogging her footsteps, came in. Mrs. Keith was out, and was not expected to return for the day. She inquired of the servant if Captain Keith were within.

"Yes, miss," replied the girl; "the captain is in his study."

"Will you tell him that lunch is ready?" said Kitty.

The maid withdrew to give the necessary information. She came back in a moment or two to say that Captain Keith did not require lunch.

Kitty pouted. She sat down with but a sorry appetite. She ate very little. When her slight meal was concluded, she ran across the passage and tapped with her knuckles at the door of the study.

"It's me, Gavon," she called out. "May I come in?"

"Not now, Katherine," he replied, without opening the door. "I am particularly engaged."

She pouted once more and walked across the hall. She went slowly, very slowly, upstairs to her own room.

"Such an opportunity, and to miss it!" she thought. "I should have had him all to myself; no troublesome Mollie to distract his thoughts, and no Aunt Louisa to watch us both, as I have always seen her do lately. Why did he not lunch with me, and why did he refuse me admittance to his study? I suppose it is all too patent a fact that he does not care for me. I am one of those miserable girls who give their heart unsought, who give their love unasked for. I have read about such girls, and oh, how I have scorned them, little thinking that I should be one of them! The question now is this – Is the case hopeless? Will the fancy ball at Goring open Gavon's eyes? Will he see then that I, his cousin Kitty, possess a heart all on fire with love to him? If he sees me as I shall look that night, will he still prefer the cold, statuesque beauty of Mollie to my living, loving human heart? O Gavon, you cannot do so! When a girl gives up everything for you, you cannot reject her! O Gavon, if you do, my heart will break. I cannot live without you, my darling."

Struggling with her emotion, thinking hardly at all of the grave sin which she had committed, Kitty sat down by her open window.

"He is going away so soon," she thought. "He may never return. I cannot live without him. If he goes I will go too. Yes, I must. I will follow him somehow, in some fashion. How sorry I am now that I did not take up the profession which makes it possible for Mollie to be near him in his hour of danger!"

The large room which Kitty and Mollie occupied was situated in the front of the house, and just then Kitty heard a slight noise below. She ran to the window, opened it, and put out her head. She saw Captain Keith run down the steps of the house and walk rapidly up the street. There was purpose in his walk, and there was also a slight droop of his head, as though something perplexed and troubled him.

Kitty, whose love made her able to read his every emotion, noticed this look, and felt a fresh tightening of her heart.

"Something worries him," thought the girl; "something worries him. Oh, can anything in all the world put wrong right now? If you only knew, Gavon – if you only knew what I did for you to-day! I stole a purse of gold and notes, and all for you. I stole it because I wanted a pretty dress – something to make me look attractive in your eyes. You cannot guess that your Kitty is a thief – you cannot guess that I have risked the most hideous danger for you; for God only knows whether the purse will be missed, and whether the owner will make a fuss, and whether the officers of the law will not discover what I have done. Nevertheless I do not fear. I fear nothing now but the possibility that I shall not win that which I madly crave – your love and devotion."

Meanwhile Gavon Keith quickly reached the end of the long street, turned to his left, and held up his umbrella to a hansom-driver. The man pulled up at the pavement, and Gavon got in. He held a small parcel in his hand. The parcel was tied and sealed. He gave a direction in Bayswater. The man whipped up his horse, and in about twenty minutes drew up at the door of the house where the Hunts lived.

It was nearly five in the afternoon, and the rays of the setting sun were gilding some of the windows of the great house. Gavon rang the bell, and a liveried and powdered footman attended to his summons.

"Is Miss Katherine Hunt within?" was his first inquiry.

"My mistress is at home, sir," replied the man, after a pause, "but I am not sure whether she receives this afternoon."

Gavon was prepared for this reply. He scribbled a few words on his visiting card, and asked the servant to take it to the young lady.

"I will not come in," he said; "I will wait here."

The man went upstairs. Katherine Hunt was lounging in an arm-chair, idly turning the pages of a fashion magazine, thinking of the dress she was to wear on Monday night, and yawning now and then with downright ennui.

When the footman appeared, he presented the card on a salver. Miss Hunt took it up and glanced at it.

"Captain Keith, North Essex Light Infantry." Then in a corner were words scribbled in pencil: "I have called to see you on behalf of Madame Dupuys."

"What can this mean?" thought the girl. She sat up, and her ennui vanished. "Show Captain Keith up," she said to the servant; and a moment later he entered the room. He came quickly towards her, and she stood up as he advanced, and bowed in return to his greeting.

"Will you sit down?" she said. Then she added, speaking somewhat conventionally, "What can I do for you?"

"I must apologize for forcing myself into your presence in this way, Miss Hunt," replied Keith. "I have a very painful business to transact, and I want to do it as quickly as possible. I want, to a certain extent, also to throw myself on your mercy."

"I will do anything I can for you," said the girl.

She saw that Keith was agitated. His face was white, and although his words were bold enough, she observed that his hand slightly trembled. She pushed a chair towards him; but he did not take it, although he laid his hand on the rail.

Miss Hunt sat down on a sofa which stood near. She looked up with expectancy on her face. Keith thought for a brief moment, and then plunged into the ugly task which he had set himself.

"You took a drive this morning," he said, "in a hansom, number 22,461."

"I did," said the girl, in some astonishment.

"You left your purse in the hansom, and that purse contained one hundred pounds in gold and notes."

"It did. It also contained five shillings. Have you heard anything about it? I shall be so thankful to get it back. I went to Scotland Yard, but could get no information. I was just regarding the whole affair as hopeless, although, of course, the police will do what they can. I was wondering how I could break the news to my father. Although he is rich, he hates what he calls wilful waste. Won't you sit down, Captain Keith? I wish you would."

Keith did now drop into the nearest chair.

"My father will naturally accuse me of carelessness for leaving my purse in a hansom," continued the young lady.

"I wish to goodness you had not done so, Miss Hunt!"

"How strangely you speak! Is it possible you know something about it?"

"I do; and because I don't wish the hansom-driver to get into trouble, and because it is right that you should have your money back, I have brought you – this." As the captain spoke he took a small packet and laid it on the table near Miss Hunt.

"Does this contain my purse?"

"It contains the hundred pounds which were in your purse."

"But not my pretty purse itself?"

"No."

Miss Hunt eagerly broke the seals, untied the string, and opened the parcel. The gold was wrapped in tissue paper; the notes were in a neat roll.

"Count the money, please," said Keith.

She did so, and in a very business-like way.

"The sum is quite correct," she said. And now she raised her bright, dark eyes, and looked full at the young man. "What is the meaning of all this?" she inquired. "Why should you give me back my hundred pounds?"

"You are at liberty to draw any conclusions which occur to you," said Keith. He spoke deliberately, and with pauses between his words. "I trust to what I am sure is your kindly nature not to make things too – difficult."

It was with an effort that he could bring out the words; they stung him as they passed his lips.

"I cannot give you back your purse, I regret to say," he continued, "but the money at least is yours again. Will you kindly let the superintendent at Scotland Yard know, in order that the driver may not get into trouble?"

"I will do so; and thank you very much. Then you can really give me no particulars about my purse?"

"I regret I cannot."

"This is strange!"

"It must appear so to you." Keith looked full at her. "Do you intend to make this story public?" he asked.

She laughed, and her laugh was almost harsh.

"It would make a good story," she said then; "and we do pine for that sort of thing in society, girl – a rich girl – loses her purse. An officer in one of Her Majesty's regiments brings her back the money, not the purse."

"You can make your story exceedingly funny," said Keith, but as he spoke he did not smile.

"I will never make it funny," she replied, and she rose and drew herself up. "I am not ungenerous, and if I fail to read between the lines, or to see what you mean me to see, or to understand whether you are acting with chivalry and the desire to screen another, or because yours is merely a tardy repentance for something you yourself have done, you cannot blame me. I shall never know which motive actuates you. I shall be satisfied to go without knowing. The money is returned to me, and the affair goes no further."

"Thank you," replied Keith. Then he added, and the words came out with a visible effort, "Put the chivalrous theory quite out of your head. I thank you most sincerely. Good-afternoon."

He left her, and never was a girl more astonished than she as she stood, her hand resting on the table, with the gold and notes close to her. She was interrupted in her meditations by the entrance of a stout, very red-faced man.

"Hallo, Kate!" he said. "I am glad you are home. I have just requested Jameson to bring up tea. Why, what a lot of money you have lying loose about the place!"

"Only a hundred pounds, dad. I got it from the bank this morning."

"A very careless way to keep it," said Mr. Hunt – "very careless indeed! Money is hard to win and easy to lose. You are never aware of that fact. I wish you were not quite so careless."

"I have been made painfully aware of that fact to-day," thought Katherine, but she did not speak her thoughts aloud. She sat down and gazed straight before her. "The money is right enough; don't fret, dad." Then she added, after a pause: "What is the news from the Transvaal?"

"Have you not heard? We are sending out troops, doubtless as a precautionary measure, immediately."

"Do you happen to know who are going?"

Hunt mentioned two or three regiments.

"Is the North Essex Light Infantry going?" asked the girl suddenly.

"The North Essex Light Infantry!" repeated Hunt, in a tone of surprise. "Why, yes; a contingent of that regiment is ordered south. But why? Do you know any one belonging to it?"

"One man. I shall be sorry if he gets killed," she said, with apparent carelessness.

"You always were a very droll girl, Katherine. How long have you known this man?"

"I only met him to-day. I have taken a fancy to him."

"Why so, child?"

"Because he is one of those rare products of modern times, a man who puts a woman's honour before his own."

"Now you talk in riddles."

"Doubtless, father; and you are not to hear anything more. Only I respect him."

"Take up your money, and don't leave it lying about any longer, Katherine."

She took her money. She put the gold back into the tissue paper and rolled up the notes, and went slowly out of the room up to her own. She had a little cabinet built into the wall, where she kept her most valuable diamonds and trinkets. She unlocked the little cabinet, pressed a spring revealing a secret drawer, and put the notes and gold into it.

"As a souvenir of quite a wonderful adventure," she said to herself. And then she locked the cabinet and went back into the room where Hunt the millionaire was enjoying his tea.

"I have been making a new pile this morning," he said, turning to his daughter. "An investment turned up trumps. Do you want some more money put to your private account, little girl?"

"You might let me have a hundred pounds," she answered.

"What an extravagant piece it is! But I can let you have more than that."

"A hundred will do, father." And Hunt drew her a cheque on the spot.

CHAPTER XI.
THE FANCY BALL

It was the night of Lady Marsden's fancy ball, and the crowd outside the beautiful grounds of Kenmuir House at Goring grew greater each moment. Policemen were stationed near, in order to keep a free passage for the stream of carriages which came up continually.

Within the noble house all that art and beauty could do to make the scene as like fairyland as possible had been done. Exotics of the rarest beauty and sweetest perfume were placed wherever flowers could appear; the lights were softened by shades of golden silk; the great marble staircase – a feature of the house – was thronged with guests in every imaginable costume. Motley, truly, was the animated scene, for people of all nationalities appeared to be present – Turks, Mohammedans, Armenians, Greeks. Men who seemed to have stepped down from ancient history; men who might have been pictured in the canvases of Vandyck and Romney; men of low degree, and men of high degree; savages with tomahawks; graceful and scented cavaliers of the time of Charles the First; men who came to look foolish, men who came to look beautiful or wise, as the case might be – but all more or less disguised, more or less carried out of themselves by the auspicious occasion – thronged the passages and pressed up the stairs.

The garbs in which the women appeared were even more humorous and striking than those worn by the men, for at a fancy ball imagination can have its full sway. Any daring thought that comes to you you may execute, being assured of at least a measure of success. Provided you have funds, or provided you do not mind running into debt, you can at least look outré or blasé; you can get, for the time being, out of your true personality, which doubtless is the main fascination of all incognitos. The desire at any cost to get away from ego; the desire to be somebody else for at least a few hours – somebody else who carries your heart within him, who hopes with your hopes, who fears with your fears, who carries your anxieties or your joys, your curses or your blessings, as the case may be, and yet who is not wholly you – is worth struggling for. In its way there is no charm like this; you see yourself from a novel standpoint. Sometimes you learn fresh and great truths with regard to yourself.

The ball at Kenmuir House had been anticipated for a long time. Lady Marsden was one of the beauties of the past London season. She had been a débutante at the beginning of the season, and before the end had become engaged to Lord Marsden – one of the best matches of the year. During the period when London is supposed to be empty she had married him, and now stood a bride of dazzling youth and fairness in one of her husband's noble houses, receiving her guests as one so lovely, talented, and high-born knew how.

The nuns and the cavaliers, the savages with tomahawks and the fair ladies of the time of Marie Antoinette, went off in couples, and the spacious rooms beyond the great staircase filled fast; the sweet, spirited music of the Blue Hungarian Band sounded through all the rooms, and the dance went merrily forward. But no one guessed, as the fair girls and the gallant men danced together, or met together, or talked together, that in those rooms and through those most lovely grounds stalked also a gaunt figure. It is true a few saw him in imagination, but no one fully recognized him. He was the god of war. For war had been declared between England and the Transvaal, and already the best of her sons, the flower of her young manhood, were preparing to go south. So the aching hearts which some wore that night, and the dread which encompassed others, and the longing for glory and fame and greatness which swelled the breasts of others, were all due to the god of war. He had been quiet, sleeping for a long time; but he was awake at last, and he came to gloat over his victims at Kenmuir House that evening.

The dance was essentially a dance for the military; for Lord Marsden belonged to a family of soldiers, and three of his own young brothers were amongst those who were to go to Africa immediately.

In the midst of the throng there came slowly up the stairs a slender young figure – a girl with a pale face, large and sorrowful dark eyes, and lips slightly, very slightly rouged; those lips revealed white teeth, and constantly smiled, and gave the lie to the sorrowful and anxious eyes. The girl was spoken of in the list of guests as the Silver Queen, her real name being Katherine Hepworth. She came in the company of a titled lady, who had promised to chaperon her to the great fancy ball; and following her at a slight distance, accompanied by her father, Hunt the millionaire, came Anne Boleyn. For some extraordinary reason, the bold, bright, dark eyes of Anne Boleyn followed the slender figure of the Silver Queen. She did not even know who the young lady was, but her face attracted her. Presently, leaning on the arm of an Armenian slave, she pointed in the direction where the Silver Queen was standing in the midst of a glittering throng.

"Who is that young lady?" asked Anne Boleyn.

Her companion followed her eyes, looked at the Silver Queen, and said in a tone of admiration, —

"What a lovely girl she is! quite one of the belles on this most auspicious evening."

"She is a beautiful girl. But I am not interested in her looks," said Katherine Hunt; "I want to know her name."

"If you will let me take you to this chair, I will endeavour to find out," replied the Armenian slave.

She sank into a seat near an open window, and he went to do her bidding. He came back after a minute or two.

"The fair lady's name is Miss Katherine Hepworth. I cannot find out much about her. She has been in society a little, not a great deal. She is acknowledged to be quite a beauty wherever she goes."

"Katherine Hepworth," whispered Katherine Hunt to herself. "K.H., Katherine Hepworth – K.H."

"What do you mean?" asked the Armenian slave.

"She has my initials," replied the girl. "I am interested in her. I should like to know her."

"Well, I have no doubt we can manage an introduction. I will try to find a mutual friend."

"Oh, there is no special hurry. I am not inclined to dance just at present; I want to watch the people. Sit down near me, will you, and tell me who's who."

The Armenian slave was well known in society as a certain Mr. Roy, an inveterate gossip, and a man who never failed to secure an entrée into the best houses. He was not in love with Katherine Hunt; but he was considerably in love with her money, and in consequence was only too anxious to do anything to please the young lady. He stood near her now, bent towards her, and answered her different questions. Yes, he knew everybody; through all their disguises he recognized the well-known features of the ladies of fashion. Even under their dominoes he knew who the men were who walked about to-night in their foreign characters. The only guest he neither knew nor recognized was the god of war, who made no sound as he peered into the faces of the guests. Beside the god of war might also have been seen by those who had very keen vision – by those who had that penetration which amounts to second sight – the grim, very grim form of the god of death. And the god of death marked his victims that night, scoring the name of one young gallant after another in his book of fate, for many met that evening who were never to meet again. The fancy ball at Kenmuir House was something like the celebrated dance in Brussels before the battle of Waterloo —

"Bright eyes looked love to eyes that spake again,

And all went merry as a marriage bell."

Miss Katherine Hunt enjoyed herself on the whole. She had by no means got over her curiosity with regard to the handsome young man who had brought her back her hundred pounds. Not that she had been specially struck with that young man's beauty; but she had penetration – a good deal, all things considered – and she read beneath his light words, and made a very shrewd guess with regard to the truth. Never, even for a single instant, did she accuse him in her own mind of having taken her money. When he denied all chivalry in the matter, she became certain that his action had been caused by chivalry of a rare quality; and now she, who had never before been seriously interested in any man except her father, was anxious to see Captain Keith again. He was one of the few men present who wore his uniform only on the auspicious occasion. He wore the full and very becoming uniform of the North Essex Light Infantry, and he came into the ballroom with a smiling face, and looked around him for the Silver Queen. He was a little late in arriving, and the rooms were very full. Katherine Hunt saw him long before Katherine Hepworth did, for Katherine Hunt still retained her cool point of vantage near a window; and as the Armenian slave had long ceased to interest her, and was only standing on sufferance by her side, she was able to give her full attention to all the new arrivals; and when she saw Captain Keith, who walked across the room with that upright and graceful step which always characterized him, the colour rose in her cheeks under all her rouge, and she half started forward, as though she would speak to him. As she did so she caught his eyes. Her own – dark, brilliant, daring – fell beneath his gaze. He looked at her as if he would recognize her, but under the guise of Anne Boleyn he did not see the slim girl to whom he had spoken a few days before, and was passing on, when she called his name.

"Captain Keith!" said Katherine Hunt.

He turned at once.

"Don't you know me?" she said. "I am Anne Boleyn in this room. When I return home to-night I shall be Katherine Hunt. Don't you remember me?"

"Of course I do now," replied Keith. He did not offer to shake hands with her, nor did she hold out her hand to him, but he stood near her without speaking for a minute.

The Armenian slave, seeing he was not wanted, went off in quest of another partner, and Katherine made way for Keith to sit by her side.

"I am interested in you," she said frankly. "What you did the other day struck me as particularly un-nineteenth century. Why are you not in costume to-night?"

"I wear my Queen's colours," he replied.

She laughed, but it was evident that his remark pleased her.

"You are one of those who go south?" she said, dropping her voice.

"I am glad to say yes."

She did not speak at all for a minute. Then she said slowly, —

"My card is not full." She handed it to him, smiling as she did so.

He took it, and scribbled his name for a waltz.

"The third from now," she said, looking at him. "Yes, I can give it you."

He sat with her for a few minutes longer, then bowed and left her. A partner came up to claim her hand. She glided away in the mazes of the waltz. As she flew round and round with her companion, a cavalier of the time of King Charles, she saw Captain Keith leaning idly against one of the massive doors. He was not dancing; his face looked moody. It seemed to her that his eyes were watching for some one. Presently she saw the girl in white and silver glide by in the arms of a handsome partner. At the same moment she noticed that Captain Keith drew himself up, and stood like one at attention. He seemed to stiffen all over, and his face wore an expression which was almost akin to pain. His eyes were fixed full on the girl in white and silver. Katherine Hunt began to feel that the plot was thickening.

"What intuition has seized me?" she said to herself. "He knows her – beyond doubt, he knows her. I wait with impatience for the third waltz."

It came, and with it Captain Keith.

"Don't dance," she said suddenly; "come and sit in the garden. I am too hot to dance."

"Shall I fetch you an ice?" he asked.

"No; I only want air. It is cool out of doors. Come."

She led the way, and he followed her. They sat down together. Katherine Hunt was not sorry to perceive that the white and silver dress was in view – that another girl, bearing the same initials as her own, was also resting under the shade of a sycamore. The light from a Chinese lantern fell softly on her face. This girl had her cavalier, of course, but her attitude was weary, and she was scarcely speaking. Katherine Hunt, impelled by an ardent curiosity, determined to see this game, as she termed it, through. She chose a seat which would keep the Silver Queen full in view, and she contrived that Captain Keith should sit near her, and in such a position that he could see each movement of the Silver Queen. They talked for a moment or two upon indifferent matters; then she turned her head, looked full up at him, and watched until his eyes rested on the hem of the dress of the other girl.

"How pretty she is!" said Katherine Hunt.

"Who?" he asked, with a start.

"The young lady whom they call Katherine Hepworth. I have been told that is her name. Do you know her, Captain Keith?"

"Yes, I know her," replied Keith.

"I have not seen you dancing with her."

"I shall dance with her next time. Her name is on my card."

Katherine Hunt tapped the ground with the heel of her white satin shoe. She was silent for a minute; then she said, —

"It is strange, her initials are the same as my own."

"Are they?" answered Keith.

"Yes. My name is Katherine Hunt; her name is Katherine Hepworth. I presume she spells her name with a 'K'?"

"She does; we call her Kitty at home."

"At home! Do you know her very well?"

"Miss Hepworth lives with my mother; she is my mother's adopted daughter."

"How interesting! What a charming face she has! Are you engaged to her, Captain Keith?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, in astonishment.

"You are not married, are you?"

"No," he replied; and his face seemed to stiffen, and he moved a little away from Katherine Hunt.

"I hope you will forgive me," she added, noticing this movement. "I am a daring girl, but it seems to me that to be in the same house with a girl like the Silver Queen, to see her daily, would make it almost impossible to any man not to have a good try for her. I wonder if you have tried, and if you are going to succeed! I know you like her – I see it in your face."

Captain Keith turned and looked at the audacious girl with an expression of utter astonishment. She gazed back at him with bright, laughing eyes, and his own fell under her glance.

"I read your secret in your face," she said then. As she spoke she rose and laid her hand on the back of her chair. "Take me back to the ballroom, please," she said.

As he was leading her back she continued in a light tone, —

"Thank you for returning the money; only I miss the purse. It was given to me by a very dear friend. The initials on the purse were 'K.H.,' and I miss it; I should like to have it back."

He looked then as if he wished to speak, but not a word passed his lips. The waltz had come to an end, and Katherine's partner came to claim her. Keith was released. He went back to the garden to find Katherine Hepworth. She was waiting for him. She was standing in an expectant attitude; her face was very white. There was a moon in the sky, and some of its light fell with silver radiance across the slender figure of the Silver Queen, and made her beautiful face look almost unearthly. As Keith approached her lips trembled.

"This is our dance," he said.

He took her hand, and was about to lead her into the ballroom, when she interrupted.

"I cannot dance," she said, in a husky voice.

Then he knew that his hour had come, and that he must go through with something which would crush the joy out of his life.