"Yes," said Simon Orts; "get up!" His voice had a rasp; she might from his
tone have been a refractory dog. But Lady Allonby obeyed him.

"We are in a devil of a mess," said Simon Orts; "yet I see a way out of
it--if you can keep your head. Can you?"

"I am past fear," she said, dully. "I drown, Simon, in a sea of feathers. I
can get no foothold, I clutch nothing that is steadfast, and I smother. I
have been like this in dreams. I am very tired, Simon."

He took her hand, collectedly appraising her pulse. He put his own hand
upon her bared bosom, and felt the beat of her heart. "No," said Simon
Orts, "you are not afraid. Now, listen: You lack time to drown in a sea of
feathers. You are upon Usk, among men who differ from beasts by being a
thought more devilish, and from devils by being a little more bestial; it
is my opinion that the earlier you get away the better. Punshon has orders
to pass Simon Orts. Very well; put on this."

He caught up his long cloak and wrapped it about her. Lady Allonby stood
rigid. But immediately he frowned and removed the garment from her
shoulders.

"That won't do. Your skirts are too big. Take 'em off."

Submissively she did so, and presently stood before him in her
under-petticoat.

"You cut just now a very ludicrous figure, Anastasia. I dare assert that
the nobleman who formerly inhabited yonder carcass would still be its
tenant if he had known how greatly the beauty he went mad for was beholden