ait similar to
that one hangs in the Royal Gallery at Madrid, you might try to learn
the identity of the original for me. It's quite interesting to feel
that one may have the picture of some bewitching member of royalty
hanging in his own apartments. By all means try to learn who the lady
is--unless you know." He stopped and searched the churchman's face.

But Lafelle shook his head. "No, I do not know her. But--that picture
has haunted me from the day I first saw it in the Royal Gallery. Who
designed your yacht?"

"Crafts, of 'Storrs and Crafts,'" replied Ames. "But he died a year
ago. Storrs is gone, too. No help from that quarter."

Lafelle moved thoughtfully toward the door. The valet appeared at that
moment.

"Show Monsignor to his stateroom," commanded Ames. "Good night,
Monsignor, good night. Remember, we dock at seven-thirty, sharp."

Returning to the table, Ames sat down and rapidly composed a message
for his wireless operator to send across the dark waters to the city,
and thence to acting-Bishop Wenceslas, in Cartagena. This done, he
extinguished all the lights in the room excepting those which
illuminated the stained-glass windows above. Drawing his chair up in
front of the one which had stirred Lafelle's query, he sat before it
far into the morning, in absorbed contemplation, searching the sad
features of the beautiful face, pondering, revolving, sometimes
murmuring aloud, sometimes passing a hand across his brow, as if he
would erase from a relentless memory an impression made long since and
worn ever deeper by the recurrent thought of many years.

CHAPTER 14

Almost within the brief period of a year, the barefoot, calico-clad
Carmen had been ejected from unknown Simiti and dropped into the midst
of the pyrotechnical society life of the great New World metropolis.
Only an unusual interplay of mental forces could have brought about
such an odd result. But that it was a very logical outcome of the
reaction upon one another of human ambitions, fears, lust, and greed,
operating through the types of mind among which her life had been
cast, those who have followed our story thus far can have no doubt.
The cusp of the upward-sweeping curve had been reached through the
insane eagerness of Mrs. Hawley-Crowles to outdo her wealthy society
rivals in an arrogant display of dress, living, and vain, luxurious
entertaining, and the acquisition of the empty honor attaching to
social leadership. The covete