gain within its log walls the tragedy of her father's death. He had
lain there by the fire, his life snuffed out like a candle by his own
hand. The broken-hearted old man down South had carried the child of
his son away, fiercely denied the Indian blood, and pledged Aunt Agatha
to the keeping of the secret. And this was the net that had driven
Carl to the verge of insanity and sent Themar to his death in a Florida
swamp!

There was no princess--no child of the exiled Theodomir. The paper
stuffed in the candle-stick in a reckless moment had been but the
ingenious figment of a man's brain for the entertainment of an hour.
The old chief and Sho-caw with their broken tale to Philip had but
tangled the net the more. As the blood of the Indian mother had driven
Diane forth to the forest, so had the blood of the artist father driven
Keela forth from the Indian village, a wanderer apart from her people,
and Fate had relentlessly knotted the threads of their lives in a
Southern pine wood.

CHAPTER LIII

BY MIC-CO'S POOL

To the dark, old-fashioned house in St. Augustine in which Baron Tregar
was a "paying guest" came one twilight, a man for whom compassionately
he had waited. His visitor was sadly white and tired, with heavy lines
about his sullen mouth and the dust of the highway upon his motoring
rig. There was no fire in his eyes; rather a stupid apathy which in a
man with less strength about the mouth and chin might easily have
become commonness.

"Tregar," he said with an effort, "you told me to come when I needed
you. I am here. I can not see my way--"

Tregar held out his hand in silence. Only he knew the sacrifice of
insolent pride that had brought his guest so low.

Ronador took his hand and reddened.

"My father rightly counts upon your loyalty," he choked and walked away
to the window.

Suddenly he wheeled with blazing eyes of agony.

"Why must that old horrible remorse grind and tear!" he cried, "now
when I can not bear it! It is keener and crueler now than it was that
day when you found me in the forest. Every new twist of this damnable
mess has been a barb tearing the old wound open afresh. And now--I--I
can not even find Miss Westfall. I have motored over the roads in
vain. The van is gone from the lake shore. It seemed that I must make
one final desperate effort to make her understand--"

With the memory of the eyes of Diane and Philip flashing messages of
utter trust that day