Helen hesitated. John had revealed much as to the workings of the Society, but he had been careful not to disclose the names of its members. She had strong reason to suspect that Hierons belonged to it, but until she was quite sure it would be the height of folly to lay her cards on the table.
“You may tell me all,” he said, reading her thoughts without difficulty. “I was with the Council so recently as half past eleven this morning—if it is any satisfaction to you to know that.”
“That is to say you belong?”
“Yes,” he said, again taking her hands.
She could not hide the look of frank horror that came into her eyes. Her impulse was to draw away from him as if he had been a thing unclean. Man of fine perceptions as he was, he yielded instantly to her emotion, not trying to combat it, but stepping back a pace with a slight bow.
“You see,” he said in a low voice, “the stake we play for is the highest there is. All that we do, all that we have done, all that we hope to do, is dictated by the faith that the peace of the world depends upon us.”
“Do you still believe that?” asked Helen, looking at him steadily.
He did not answer at once.
With an insurgency of feeling, an odd tightening of her throat and breast, she repeated her question.
“Yes,” he said. “That is still our position.”