CHAPTER XXIII
Sir Ian Hereward had been out walking alone in the purple darkness, bareheaded, the breeze from the mountains spraying coolness against his hot forehead. He raised his face to it, as if to receive balm upon a burning wound.
A church clock struck somewhere in the distance. It was eleven. He thought that the hotel doors might be closing, and told himself dimly that he had better go back, unless he wanted to wake the tired concierge. He turned and, ten minutes later, as he was about to mount the steps of the deserted balcony, Nora Verney ran down to him.
"I have been waiting for you," she announced. "They said you were out."
"I hope you are going to tell me of some way in which I can serve you," he replied, kindly, yet with a slight constraint.
"If I dared to tell you!" she almost groaned.
"I think you may dare anything you can wish to dare with me," he answered.
"Oh, it isn't for fear of you I hesitate!" The words rushed from the girl's lips like a flood breaking down some barrier that had held it back. "It isn't that
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