no_ one hear me? Has my journey been all in vain? Has it
been useless?--worse than useless?"

The Dead Man looked upward, in an anguish of desperation. He seemed to
be entreating the Unseen in his clamour of wild, hopeless appeal.

"Has it all been for nothing?" he wailed. "Must we forever stand or fall
by the mistakes we make in this world? Is there _no_ second chance?"

Frederik shook his head angrily as though to banish clinging unwelcome
thoughts from his brain, got up and crossed to the sideboard, where he
poured himself a double drink of liquor and swigged it down with
feverish eagerness.

As he left the desk, Marta entered from the kitchen with the light
supper he had ordered:--coffee, with sugar and cream, and a plate of
little cakes. She went to the desk and began clearing a space among the
scattered papers for the supper tray. As her free hand moved among the
papers, the Dead Man was at her elbow.

"Marta!" he whispered, as though fearing his words might reach Frederik.
"Look! _Look!_"

He pointed excitedly to the torn letter and the photograph that lay face
downward under her hand. And she picked up both letter and picture, to
make room for the tray.

"Marta!" urged the Dead Man, almost incoherent in his wild haste. "See
what you have there! Look down at that picture in your hand! Turn it
over and _look_ at it! Look at the hand-writing on that torn letter!
Look quickly! Then run with them to Miss Kathrien. Make her piece the
letter together and read it! Quick! It's the only way she can learn the
truth. Frederik will never tell her. Marta!--_Ah!_"

His wild plea broke off in a cry of chagrin. For Frederik, turning from
the sideboard, had seen the old woman.

"Your coffee, Mynheer Frederik," said she, laying down the photograph
and letter without a glance at them.

"Yes, yes. Of course," answered Frederik. "I forgot. Thanks."

She turned to leave the room. Frederik, coming over to the desk, caught
sight of the torn blue envelope and the picture, where she had laid
them.

Hurriedly covering them with his hand, he glanced at her in quick,
terrified suspicion. But the face she turned to him as she hesitated for
a moment at the kitchen door showed him at once that he was safe.
Nevertheless, Marta lingered on the threshold.

"Well?" queried Frederik, seating himself beside the tray.

"Is there," she stammered, "is there no--no word--no letter----?"

"Word? Letter?" he echoed nervously. "What do you