too, is
part of the sacrifice."

"Part of the sacrifice," Hamel repeated, frowning. "Is she, indeed! I
don't know what sacrifice you mean, but Esther is the girl whom sooner
or later, somehow or other, I am going to make my wife, and when she is
my wife, I shall see to it that she isn't afraid of Miles Fentolin or of
any other man breathing."

A gleam of hopefulness shone through the stony misery of the woman's
face.

"Does Esther care?" she asked softly.

"How can I tell? I can only hope so. If she doesn't yet, she shall some
day. I suppose," he added, with a sigh, "it is rather too soon yet to
expect that she should. If it is necessary, I can wait."

Mrs. Fentolin's eyes were once more fixed upon the Tower. The sun had
caught the top of the telephone wire and played around it till it seemed
like a long, thin shaft of silver.

"If you go down there," she said, "Esther will not be allowed to see you
at all. Mr. Fentolin has decided to take it as a personal affront. You
will be ostracised from here."

"Shall I?" he answered. "Well, it won't be for long, at any rate. And
as to not seeing Esther, you must remember that I come from outside
this little domain, and I see nothing more in Mr. Fentolin than a
bad-tempered, mischievous, tyrannical old invalid, who is fortunately
prevented by his infirmities from doing as much mischief as he might.
I am not afraid of your brother-in-law, or of the bully he takes about
with him, and I am going to see your daughter somehow or other, and I am
going to marry her before very long."

She thrust out her hand suddenly and grasped his. The fingers were very
thin, almost bony, and covered with rings. Their grip was feverish and
he felt them tremble.

"You are a brave man, Mr. Hamel," she declared speaking in a low, quick
undertone. "Perhaps you are right. The shadow isn't over your head. You
haven't lived in the terror of it. You may find a way. God grant it!"

She wrung his fingers and rose to her feet. Her voice suddenly changed
into another key. Hamel knew instinctively that she wished him to
understand that their conversation was over.

"Chow-Chow," she cried, "come along, dear, we must have our walk. Come
along, Koto; come along, little dogs."

Hamel strolled down the terrace steps and wandered for a time in the
gardens behind the house. Here, in the shelter of the great building, he
found himself suddenly in an atmosphere of springtime. There were
beds of crocuses and