well," I said. "That is agreed."

And then, picking up the speaking-tube, I told the wretched man at the
wheel. He swung us around; we turned back, and in five minutes more
drew up again, according to my direction, not by the Estabrooks' door,
but under the spreading limbs of the oak across from the Marburys'
ornate residence.

"Take some of this, my boy," I said as he crawled, wet and trembling,
into the interior. "It will be good for you, and for you, Margaret,
too!"

"Oh, Mr. Estabrook!" she exclaimed when she had swallowed the stimulant,
"I lied to you. I once lied to you very sore, as you shall see."

"Enough--enough!" he cried. "What of her--my wife? She is still alive?"

"Have no fear," replied the old woman. "It's not death that's with us,
I'm believing."

The poor fellow wrung his hands.

"But, by the Saints, what I'll tell you now is true," she said, putting
her hands first on his knees and then on mine. "Look! The light is
shining on my face and you can read it if you like. Sure, I'm praying
that you may use the knowledge to save us all."

"Go on," said the young man hoarsely.

And thereupon, in an awkward, jerking manner, which I can only hope to
suggest in the repetition, she told a tale of strange mingling of good
and evil. This was her story....

BOOK IV

A PUPIL OF THE GREAT WELSTOKE

CHAPTER I

LES TROIS FOLIES

I was born on the Isle of Wight. My father was a seafaring man. He owned
his own vessel--a brigantine as sailed from the Thames to British South
Africa and sometimes around the Hope to Madagascar.

Where he met my mother I never knew. He was Scotch and she was an Irish
beauty, I can tell you. Looking back on it now, I believe she was of
rich and proud people and that they had cast her off for her folly in
marrying a man that was rough of cheek and speech, for all his ready
good heart. She was as delicate and high-strung and timid, as he was
brown, big, and fearless as to anything, be it man or typhoon. And yet
it was she who could stick to one purpose as if the character of a
bulldog was behind the slender, girlish face of her, while he was always
making for this and that end, charging at life with head down, like a
bull.

I can see the two of them now, walking together arm in arm, when he'd
come back out of the sea; I can see them strolling off d