he
would not discuss anything with me. Even at the stately, elegantly
served meals, he barely spoke. He always seemed to be listening,
waiting.

De Lacy shared my fears, but he suggested nothing to help. "He has been
marked, my lord," he said gravely. "We can only pray. But even in
prayers there is no refuge, for Helene is beyond such things."

"Surely----" I began to remonstrate.

"The power of evil is as strong as the power of good, or at least there
is little between them. Helene herself is bound fast by hate of Black
George."

Curses live, I knew that--witness the lasting quality of the curses and
spells of the Egyptian priests. But Helene was not evil. I said as much.

De Lacy shook his head. "She is cut off from her lover. She does not
feel kindly toward men. Remember she promised vengeance century after
century, that day in the great hall."

That night in the silence of my chamber I called her name. "Helene!
Helene!" I flung my agonized summons into the night, but there was no
answer.

I went over in my mind the tales de Lacy had told me of the havoc she
had caused; how one man had cast himself down from the highest turret,
crying her name; how another had been found dead in the rose garden,
horror frozen on his face. There were still others who had looked upon
her, and death or madness came as the result.

The more I thought of these tales of terror, the more I feared for
Wrexler. At last I could stand no more. I thrust my arms into the rich
velvet robe that had taken the place of my bath gown, and went to
Wrexler's room. The guards stood back to let me pass.

* * * * *

I did not mean to wake him, but some inner foreboding made me feel I
must know that he was safe.

As I drew aside the curtains of his bed, I could not entirely stifle the
cry that came to my lips, for the bed was empty. But upon the pillow lay
a small, white rose. It was the kind they use in funeral wreaths in
France. My heart almost stopped beating.

The rose garden!--or perhaps the library. A more normal thought struck
me. Wrexler might have wanted to read. I rushed into the hall, to find
de Lacy waiting for me, summoned by the guards. He held a silver
candle-stick in which a tall, white candle burned.

"The library!" I gasped. That was nearest, we should try it first. De
Lacy knew my meaning. He had instantly grasped the situation and his
face was white and tense.

Together we descended the cu