I must have named Boris, for I could
have gone on hating him just the same as before. With Ulick it is
different, for he really cared."

"But now," interrupted Constans, impatiently, "it is no longer a
question of choice, but of a decision."

"I have already come to it," she returned. "I must escape from Doom; I
cannot stay here for even another day."

In their absorption neither noticed how the door leading into the
central hall slowly opened. It remained ajar, its very attitude that of
a listener.

"You want my help," said Constans, half to himself. He was casting over
in his mind the effect that the death of Boris might have upon Quinton
Edge's intrigues, and he could not but conclude that Esmay had become a
factor more necessary than ever in their successful development. Ulick
was now the sole heir to the old Dom Gillian, and he was hostile to
Quinton Edge. Only through Ulick's passion for this slip of a girl
could the Doomsman hope to control him. What an admirable stroke, then,
to snatch the card from his hand before he had a chance to play it.

"I will help you," he continued, aloud. "But where to find a boat?"

"There is a canoe which is generally kept moored at the garden dock; you
can see it from the terrace. It is a good, stout dugout, and, oh----"

"Well?"

"There is Nanna, my sister; I cannot go without her."

"She is in no danger," said Constans, with calm indifference. "The boat
will carry only two--is that it?"

"Yes."

"Very well, then; Nanna must remain behind."

"It is impossible to leave her; I have promised."

"No; it is her coming that is impossible, and because I say so."

The girl remained silent. Had she yielded to a will stronger than her
own? The door seemed to hesitate; then it closed noiselessly.

Esmay crossed over to one of the windows opening on the garden grounds
and flung the shutters open. The coolness of the later afternoon breeze
fell gratefully upon her hot cheeks; the horizontal, reddish-rays of the
declining sun emphasized the warm coloring of her hair and complexion,
and brought out again those curious carmine flecks in her eyes of topaz
that Constans had noticed once or twice before. An odd combination, but
he realized now that he had thought it pretty. The girl divined the
unspoken word and drew back a trifle.

Retreat is the first and essential principle of feminine strategy, and
in practice it should suggest the ambuscade to even the most thoughtless
of ma