“Doris!” exclaimed Mr. Wynne, as the veiled girl entered the room where he sat.  “Doris, my dear girl, what are you doing here?”

He arose and went toward her.  She tore off the heavy veil impatiently, and lifted her moist eyes to his.  There was suffering in them, uneasiness—­and more than that.

“Have you heard from him—­out there?” she demanded.

“Not to-day, no,” he responded. “Why did you come here?”

“Gene, I can’t stand it,” she burst out passionately.  “I’m worried to death.  I can’t hear a word, and—­I’m worried to death.”

Mr. Wynne wondered if she, too, had seen the morning papers.  He stared at her gravely for an instant, then turned, crumpled up the section of newspaper with its glaring head-lines and dropped it into a waste-basket.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently.

“I telephoned twice yesterday,” she rushed on quickly, pleadingly, “and once last night and again this morning.  There was no—­no answer.  Gene, I couldn’t stand it.  I had to come.”

“It’s only that he didn’t happen to be within hearing of the telephone bell,” he assured her.  But her steadfast, accusing eyes read more than that in his face, and her hands trembled on his arm.

“I’m afraid, Gene, I’m afraid,” she declared desperately.  “Suppose—­ suppose something has happened?”

“It’s absurd,” and he attempted to laugh off her uneasiness.  “Why, nothing could have happened.”

“All those millions of dollars’ worth of diamonds, Gene,” she reminded him, “and he is—­I shouldn’t have left him alone.”

“Why, my dear Doris,” and Mr. Wynne gathered the slender, trembling figure in his arms protectingly, “not one living soul, except you and I, knows that they are there.  There’s no incentive to robbery, my dear—­a poor, shabby little cottage like that.  There is not the slightest danger.”

“There is always danger, Gene,” she contradicted.  “It makes me shudder just to think of it.  He is so old and so feeble, simple as a child, and utterly helpless if anything should happen.  Then, when I didn’t hear from him after trying so many times over the telephone —­I’m afraid, Gene, I’m afraid,” she concluded desperately.

The long-pent-up tears came, and she buried her face on his shoulder.  He stood silent, with narrowed, thoughtful eyes.

This, and the thing in the newspaper there!  And evidently she had not seen that!  It was not wise that she should see it just yet.

“That day I took the horrid things from you in the cab I was awfully frightened,” she continued sobbingly.  “I felt that every one I passed knew I had them; and you can’t imagine what a relief it was when I took them back out there and left them.  And now when I think that something may have happened to him!” She paused, then raised her tear-dimmed eyes to his face.  “He is all I have in the world now, Gene, except you.  Already the hateful things have cost the lives of my father and my brother, and now if he—­Or you—­Oh, my God, it would kill me!  I hate them, hate them!”