neliness which had driven him relentlessly to ruin.

"What did he hope to gain by writing to Houdania?" asked the girl a
little bitterly.

"Money!" said Philip firmly. "He fancied he could frighten them and
put a heavy price upon his silence. Later when his letter to Houdania
was ignored he altered his plans. If he could prove that you were the
daughter of Theodomir and not of Norman Westfall--then the great estate
of his uncle would revert to him. Before he could act further, things
began to happen. And then," added Philip thoughtfully, "comes another
dark patch in the mystery. Carl's story must have crossed wires with
something else--something that frightened them and made his death
imperative. The hysterical desperation of these men was out of all
proportion to the cause. Baron Tregar, baffling as he is at times, is
not the man to lend himself to deliberate assassination merely to keep
the succession of Ronador's son free from incumbrances. Later still,
Carl planned to sell the secret to the rival province of Galituria, but
the net closed in so rapidly and he fell to drinking so heavily, that
brain and body revolted and the first shadow of insanity whispered
another way--"

"To murder me!" flashed the girl. For the first time there was warmth
and color in her face.

Philip was glad. He had struck fire from her stony calm at last.

"Yes," he said, and catching her chilled hands, compelled the glance of
her wistful eyes. "Diane," he said deliberately, "let us withhold our
censure. Carl has a curious and tragic psychology and he has paid in
full. Thanks to a habit of wonderful alertness and ingenuity, he has
made his enemies respect and fear him. But the tangle aroused the
blackest instincts of his soul."

But the girl was very bitter. The old impatience and intolerance
flashed suddenly in her face.

Philip fell silent for an instant. Then he shot his final barb with
deliberate intention--not so much to reproach--though there was utter
honesty and loyalty to Carl in what he said--but more to touch the
girl's tragedy with something sharp enough to pierce her morbidness.

"Carl blames no one but himself," he said gently. "But--but if you had
been a little kinder, Diane--"

"Philip!" He had hurt and knew it.

"Yes, I know!" said Philip quickly, "but you're not going to
misunderstand, I'm sure. Let me say it with all gentleness and without
reproach. If you could have forgotten his mother's h