tly.
The words of Sonia Turgeinov--"_Est ce qu'elle aime un autre_?"--flamed
through his mind. "That there is some one else; that there always was.
And that is the reason you were so gay--so very gay. You sought to
forget--"

A change came over Betty Dalrymple's face; she seemed to grow whiter--to
become like ice--

"You let me think there wasn't any one; but there was. That story of
some one out west?--you laughed it away as idle gossip. And I believed
you then--but not now. Who is he--this American?" With a half-sneer.

"There is no one!--there never has been!" said the girl with sudden
passion, almost wildly. "I told you the truth."

"Ah," said Prince Boris. "You speak with feeling. When a woman denies in
a voice like that--"

"Let me by!" The violet eyes were black now.

"Not yet!" He studied her--the cheeks aflame like roses. "He shall never
have you, that some one--I will meet him and kill him first--I swear
it--"

"Let me by!"

"_Carissima!_ Your eyes are like stars--the stars that look down on one
alone on the wild steppe. Your lips are red flowers--poppies to lure to
destruction. They are cruel, but the more beautiful--"

He suddenly reached out, took her in his arms.

The cry on her lips was stifled as his sought and almost touched them.
At the same moment the door of the cabin, by which the prince had
entered, was abruptly thrown open.

CHAPTER XVII

THE PRINCE IS PUZZLED

His excellency turned. The intruder's eyes were bloodshot from the glare
of the furnaces, his face black, unrecognizable, from the soot. "What
the dev--" began the nobleman, as if doubting the evidence of his
senses.

He must have relaxed his hold, for the girl tore herself loose. She did
not pause, but running swiftly to the inner door she had just turned
toward, she hastily closed and locked it behind her. As she disappeared
Mr. Heatherbloom stopped an instant to gaze after her; but the prince,
with sagging jaw and amazement in his eyes, continued to regard only
him.

"Who the--" he began again furiously.

The intruder's reply was a silent one. His excellency would have stepped
back but it was too late. Mr. Heatherbloom's fist struck him fairly on
the forehead. Behind the blow was the full impetus of the lithe form
fairly launched across the spacious cabin. The prince went down,
striking hard.

But he was up in a moment and, mad with rage, made a rush. The other,
quick, agile, evaded him. The prince's musc