that is born, not
made afterwards. He has painted Rozelle over and over again. He raves
about her. He may be a genius. He is certainly mad. He wanted the child
for a model, and Rozelle could not prevent it. So she told me. I believe
she was dependent upon him at the time. She had been ill. She has been
ill for years with heart trouble. And so he had the child, but only for a
time. The girl had a will of her own and broke away, joined a circus in
California. He tracked her down, captured her again, tried to make a
slave of her. But she was like a wild creature. She stabbed him one night
and fled. That was Rozelle's trouble. She had never been able to hear of
her again. She begged me to find--and save her. I promised to do my best.
But--there was no need to search very far. To-night Spentoli pulled the
wires again. It was he who switched on that light. It was he who killed
Rozelle. The girl in the gallery with you--Toby--was her daughter--and
mine. You heard Rozelle cry out when she saw her. She never spoke again."

Larpent ceased to speak. He was no longer looking at Saltash. The far
vision seemed to have caught his gaze again. He stared beyond.

Saltash watched him with working brows. "Are you wanting to lay claim to
the girl?" he asked abruptly.

Larpent's face was grim. "I make no claim, my lord," he said. "But I have
sworn to do my best for her. I shall keep that oath of mine."

"Meaning?" said Saltash.

The sailor's look met his squarely. "You know what I mean," he said.

Saltash began to grin. "A fight to a finish, what? I'm sorry, _mon ami_.
But I've got you beaten at the start. Shall I tell you how you can best
keep that somewhat rash oath of yours?"

"Well?" The word fell brief and uncompromising. Larpent's face was as
carved granite.

Saltash thrust forth a sudden hand and took him by the shoulder. "Just by
effacing yourself, _mon vieux_," he said lightly. "Go back to _The Blue
Moon_, take her to Fairharbour, and await my orders there!"

It was carelessly, even jestingly, spoken, but a certain authority lurked
behind the words. Charles Rex knew how to assert his kingship upon
occasion, knew also how to temper it with the touch of friendship.

Larpent's look did not waver, but some of the grimness went from it.
Neither anger nor indignation had any place here. He continued to look
Saltash straight in the face.

"And that would be keeping my oath?" he said.

"Even so," said Saltash.

"You mean," La