o your mysticism," I said. "Let us keep our feet
on the earth. You may be sincere, or you may not--it is impossible for
me to say. But I know this--it is not fair to that child to take her
at her word. She doesn't realise what she is doing. I don't know what
it is you plan for her, but before you do anything, she must have a
chance to find herself. She must be taken out of this atmosphere into
a healthier one, until she has rallied from the shock of her father's
death, and emerged from the shadow of his influence. She must have
time to get back her self-control. Then, if she chooses to return,
well and good."

"To all your 'musts,' Mr. Lester," retorted Silva, "I can only say
that I am willing. I have not lifted a finger to detain her. But what
if she will not go?"

"Then she must be made to go."

"Another 'must'!" he rejoined lightly. "I would remind you that she is
mistress of her own actions. Neither you nor I can compel her to do
anything she does not wish to do. It has been a great happiness to me
that she has chosen as she has; it would have been a great sorrow to
me had she decided differently. But I should have acquiesced. Now it
is for you to acquiesce. After all, what claim have you upon her?"

"I admit that I have no claim," I said, more calmly. "But there is one
who has a claim, and to whom she is bound to listen."

"You refer, no doubt, to that misguided young man who is now in prison."

"I refer to Frederic Swain, yes," I retorted hotly. "It is true he is
in prison. And how did he get there? By coming when she called him; by
trying to assist her."

"Was it assisting her to kill her father?" queried Silva, and his
lips were curled with scorn.

I paused a moment to make sure of my self-control, for it seemed to be
slipping from me.

"Senor Silva," I said, at last, "how her father came to his death I do
not know; but I do know that Swain had no hand in it."

"Yet he is in prison," he reminded me.

"Innocent men have been in prison before this. I will get him out."

"By what means?"

"By finding the real murderer!" I said, and looked at him with eyes
which I know were bloodshot.

He returned my gaze steadily.

"So you think I am the murderer?" he asked, quietly.

I got a grip of myself--I saw that I had gone too far.

"I do not know what to think," I answered. "I am seeking light. In any
event, Swain merits some consideration. Miss Vaughan should, at least,
listen to what he has to say. S