frame seemed
about to totter into ruin, his eyes were sunken until his face gave the
horror of a death mask. Was it possible that these people were the
father and mother of Marion--and of Neil? As he stepped to the threshold
they timidly drew back from him. In a single glance Nathaniel swept the
room and what he saw thrilled him, for everywhere were signs of Marion;
in the pictures on the walls, the snowy curtains, the cushions in the
window-seat--and the huge vase of lilacs on the mantle.

"I am a messenger of the king," he said, advancing and closing the door
behind him. "I want to speak with Marion."

"Strang--the king!" cried the old man, clutching the knob of his cane
with both hands. "She has gone!"

"Gone!" exclaimed Nathaniel. For an instant his heart bounded with
delight. Marion was on her way to the tryst! He sprang back to the
door. "When? When did she go?"

The woman had come forward, her hands trembling, her lips quivering.
Something in the terror of her face sent the hot blood from Nathaniel's
cheeks.

"They sent for her an hour ago," she said. "The king sent Obadiah Price
for her! O, my God!" she shrieked suddenly, clutching at her breast,
"Tell me--what are they doing with Marion--"

"Shut up!" snarled the old man. "That is Strang's business. She has gone
to Strang." With an effort he straightened himself until his towering
form rose half a head above Nathaniel. "She has gone to the king," he
repeated. "Tell Strang that she will wive him to-night, as she has
promised!"

In spite of his effort to control himself a terrible cry burst from
Nathaniel's lips. He flung open the door and stood for an instant with
his white face turned back.

"She went to the castle--an hour ago?" he cried.

"Yes, to the castle--with Obadiah Price--" The last words followed him
as he sped out into the night. As swiftly as a wolf he raced across the
clearing to the trail that led down to St. James. Something seemed to
have burst in his brain; something that was not blood, but fire, seemed
to burn in his veins--a mad desire to reach Strang, to grip him by the
throat, to mete out to him the vengeance of a fiend instead of that of a
man. He was too late to save Marion! His brain reeled with the thought.
Too late--too late--too late. He panted the words. They came with every
gasp for breath. Too late! Too late! His heart pumped like an engine as
he strained to keep up his speed. He passed a man and a boy hurrying
with th