e is better away--out of the country. Oh, I am
sure of that."

"Colonel Ray has done what he believed to be his duty," I said slowly.
"It is hard that he should suffer for that."

"Often," she murmured, "one has to suffer for doing the right thing. My
father has made himself a poor man because of his sense of what was
right. I do not know what to do."

I glanced out of the window. For many reasons I did not wish to prolong
this interview.

"He is waiting," I reminded her.

"I must do one of two things," she murmured. "I must break my faith
with my father--or with him."

Then she lifted her eyes to mine.

"Tell me what you think, Mr. Ducaine?" she asked.

I opened my lips to speak, but I could not. Was it fair that she should
ask me? My little room was peopled with dreams of her, with delightful
but impossible visions. My very nerves were full of the joy of her
presence. It was madness to ask for my judgment, when the very poetry
of my life was an unreasoning and hopeless love for her.

"I cannot!" I muttered. "You must not ask me."

She seemed surprised. After all, I had guarded my secret well, then?

"You will not refuse to help me," she pleaded.

I set my teeth hard. I longed for Ray, but there were no signs of him.

"Your father has ordered you to break your engagement with Colonel Ray,"
I said, "but he has done so under a misapprehension of the facts. You
owe obedience to your father, but you owe more--to--the man whose wife
you have promised to be. I do not think you should give him up."

She listened eagerly. Was it my fancy, or was she indeed a little
paler? Her eyes seemed to gleam with a strange softness in the
twilight. Her head drooped a a little as she resumed her former
thoughtful attitude.

"Thank you," she said, simply. "I believe that you are right."

I caught up a bundle of papers from my desk and stole softly from the
room. Ray was close at hand, and I called to him.

"She is in there waiting for you," I said. "I have some transcribed
matter, which I am taking up to the safe."

Ray nodded abruptly, and I heard the door of my cottage open and close
behind him.

CHAPTER XXX

MOSTYN RAY'S LOVE STORY

In a dark corner of the library, sitting motionless before a small
writing-desk, I found the Duke. The table was littered all over with
papers, a ledger or two and various documents. I had met Mr. Hulshaw,
the agent to the estates, in the drive, so I judged that the two had had