“It is so,” he said at last, in a low voice, his eyes still regarding her with almost painful intensity.

“Do you trust me—­now—­again?” she asked, a tremor in her voice and her small hand clasping ever and ever tighter the fingers of the lad, whose eyes watched her with such dog-like adoration.

A mournful smile stole to his lips—­and stayed.  “Come where we can be quiet and I will tell you all,” he said.  “You can help me, maybe.”

“I will help you,” she said, firmly, as the nurse entered the room again and, approaching the bed, said, “I think he ought to sleep now”; and forthwith proceeded to make Jigger comfortable.

When Stafford bade Jigger good-bye, the lad said:  “I wish I could ’ear the singing to-night, y’r gryce.  I mean the primmer donner.  Lou says she’s a fair wonder.”

“We will open your window,” Jasmine said, gently.  “The ball-room is just across the quadrangle, and you will be able to hear perfectly.”

“Thank you, me lydy,” he answered, gratefully, and his eyes closed.

“Come,” said Jasmine to Stafford.  “I will take you where we can talk undisturbed.”

They passed out, and both were silent as they threaded the corridors and hallways; but in Jasmine’s face was a light of exaltation and of secret triumph.

“We must give Jigger a good start in life,” she said, softly, as they entered her sitting-room.  Jigger had broken down many barriers between her and the man who, a week ago, had been eternities distant from her.

“He’s worth a lot of thought,” Ian answered, as the pleasant room enveloped him, and they seated themselves on a big couch before the fire.

Again there was a long silence; then, not looking at her, but gazing into the fire, Ian Stafford slowly unfolded the wide and wonderful enterprise of diplomacy in which his genius was employed.  She listened with strained attention, but without moving.  Her eyes were fixed on his face, and once, as the proposed meaning of the scheme was made dear by the turn of one illuminating phrase, she gave a low exclamation of wonder and delight.  That was all until, at last, turning to her as though from some vision that had chained him, he saw the glow in her eyes, the profound interest, which was like the passion of a spirit moved to heroic undertaking.  Once again it was as in the years gone by—­he trusted her, in spite of himself; in spite of himself he had now given his very life into her hands, was making her privy to great designs which belonged to the inner chambers of the chancelleries of Europe.

Almost timorously, as it seemed, she put out her hand and touched his shoulder.  “It is wonderful—­wonderful,” she said.  “I can, I will help you.  Will let you let me win back your trust—­Ian?”

“I want your help, Jasmine,” he replied, and stood up.  “It is the last turn of the wheel.  It may be life or death to me professionally.”

“It shall be life,” she said, softly.