nd, after a moment of surprise, smiled
faintly. But she said nothing, nor did Karl, until he had lifted one of
her cold hands and brushed it with his lips.

"Well!" he said. "And again, Olga!"

"Once again." She looked up at him. Yes, he was changed. The old Karl
would have taken her in his arms. This new Karl was urbane, smiling,
uneasy.

He said nothing. He was apparently waiting for her to make the first
move. But she did not help him. She sat down and he drew a small chair
to the fire.

"There is nothing wrong, is there?" he said. "Your note alarmed me. Not
the note, but your coming here."

"Nothing--and everything." She felt suddenly very tired. Her very voice
was weary. "I sent you a letter asking you to come to the castle. There
were things to discuss, and I did not care to take this risk of coming
here."

"I received no letter."

"No!" She knew it, of course, but she pretended surprise, a carefully
suppressed alarm.

"I have what I am afraid is bad news, Olga. The letter was taken. I
received only a sheet of blank paper."

"Karl!" She leaped to her feet.

She was no mean actress. And behind it all was her real terror, greater,
much greater, than he could know. Whatever design she had on Karl's
pity, she was only acting at the beginning. Deadly peril was clutching
her, a double peril, of the body and of the soul.

"Taken! By whom?"

"By some one you know--young Larisch."

"Larisch!" No acting there. In sheer amazement she dropped back from
him, staring with wide eyes. Nikky Larisch! Then how had the Terrorists
got it? Was all the world in their employ?

"But--it is impossible!"

"I'm sorry, Olga. But even then there is something to be explained. We
imprisoned him--we got him in a trap, rather by accident. He maintained
that he had not made away with the papers. A mystery, all of it. Only
your man, Niburg, could explain, and he--"

"Yes?"

"I am afraid he will never explain, Olga."

Then indeed horror had its way with her. Niburg executed as a spy, after
making who knew what confession! What then awaited her at the old castle
above the church at Etzel? Karl, seeing her whitening lips, felt a
stirring of pity. His passion for her was dead, but for a long time he
had loved her, and now, in sheer regret, he drew her to him.

"Poor girl," he said softly. "Poor girl!" And drew his hand gently over
her hair.

She shivered at his touch. "I can never go back," she said brokenly.

But at that