or her child the
certainty that she had been in the clutches of forces stronger than
herself.

"About the diamonds," she finished, at last, "I know nothing, and I am
afraid to think. Did you read of that awful case of suicide in
yesterday's paper--that man, Syke Ravenal, who has been robbing De
Beers? I am tormented with the thought that she may have known
something of him--yet how could she?"

"You must put such a thought out of your mind for ever and never
mention it to a soul," said Harlenden firmly. "That man committed
suicide because his only son had been killed by accident in Amsterdam.
He left a vast fortune and a number of jewels which had been taken from
their settings to De Beers, by way of conscience-money for several
thousand pounds' worth of diamonds in the rough which he had stolen
from them. There is absolutely no evidence to connect any other person
with his crime, except a letter asking the company to deal lightly with
a native boy called Hiangeli, who had been a tool of his."

"Then you think it could have nothing possibly to do with my poor
child?"

"Certainly not," said Denis Harlenden, without flinching.

"Not that I think that she would have done it in her right senses, but,
oh, Sir Denis, she has been under a spell all her life, an evil spell,
which, please God, will be broken when that woman dies! You do not
think me mad, I hope?"

"I do not," he answered gravely. "I am as sure of what you say as you
yourself. What you do not know, Mrs. Ozanne, is that love has already
broken that spell. Rosanne is already free from it."

She looked at him questioningly, longingly.

"I cannot tell you more," he said gently. "But, believe me, it is
true. May I go to her now?"

The mother led the way. Rosanne, who had just passed through another
terrible crisis of anguish, lay on her bed, still and white as a lily.
A crimson-silk wrapper swathed about her shoulders, and the clouds of
night-black hair, flung in a tangled mass above her pillows, threw into
violent contrast the deadly pallor of her face. Her eyes, dark and
wide with suffering, looked unseeingly at Harlenden at first, but
gradually a ray of recognition dawned in them and she put out her hand
with a faint cry.

"Denis!"

He took her hand and held it safe, while, with all the strength in him,
he willed peace and calmness into her troubled mind.

"Denis, I think I am going to die."

"Dearest, I know you are going to live--for