er of polished birch and cedar in the walls, and over
his head the ceiling was rich and matched, as in the bateau cabin. They
drew nearer to the music and came to a closed door. This Black Roger
opened very quietly, as if anxious not to disturb the one who was
playing.

They entered, and David held his breath. It was a great room he stood
in, thirty feet or more from end to end, and scarcely less in width--a
room brilliant with light, sumptuous in its comfort, sweet with the
perfume of wild-flowers, and with a great black fireplace at the end of
it, from over which there stared at him the glass eyes of a monster
moose. Then he saw the figure at the piano, and something rose up
quickly and choked him when his eyes told him it was not Marie-Anne. It
was a slim, beautiful figure in a soft and shimmering white gown, and
its head was glowing gold in the lamplight.

Roger Audemard spoke, "Carmin!"

The woman at the piano turned about, a little startled at the
unexpectedness of the voice, and then rose quickly to her feet--and
David Carrigan found himself looking into the eyes of Carmin Fanchet!

Never had he seen her more beautiful than in this moment, like an angel
in her shimmering dress of white, her hair a radiant glory, her eyes
wide and glowing--and, as she looked at him, a smile coming to her red
lips. Yes, SHE WAS SMILING AT HIM--this woman whose brother he had
brought to the hangman, this woman who had stolen Black Roger from
another! She knew him--he was sure of that; she knew him as the man who
had believed her a criminal along with her brother, and who had fought
to the last against her freedom. Yet from her lips and her eyes and her
face the old hatred was gone. She was coming toward him slowly; she was
reaching out her hand, and half blindly his own went out, and he felt
the warmth of her fingers for a moment, and he heard her voice saying
softly,

"Welcome to Chateau Boulain, M'sieu Carrigan."

He bowed and mumbled something, and Black Roger gently pressed his arm,
drawing him back to the door. As he went he saw again that Carmin
Fanchet was very beautiful as she stood there, and that her lips were
very red--but her face was white, whiter than he had ever seen the face
of a woman before.

As they went up a winding stair to the second floor, Roger Audemard
said, "I am proud of my Carmin, M'sieu David. Would any other woman in
the world have given her hand like that to the man who had helped to
kill her