The Man from Brodney's

SEVERAL PHILOSOPHERS

The four burly men sat down upon the chests, Von Blitz alone being visible to the watchers. They were fagged to the last extreme.

"Dis is der last," panted Von Blitz, blowing hard and stretching his big arms. The guttural German tones were highly accentuated by the effort required in speaking. His three helpers said nothing in reply. For fully five minutes the quartette sat silent, collecting their strength for the next trip with the chests. Again it was Von Blitz who spoke. He had been staring savagely at the floor for several minutes, brooding deeply.

"I fix him," he growled. "His time vill come, by tarn! I let him know he can't take my vives avay mit him. Der dog! I fix him some day purdy soon. Und dem tarn vimmens! Dem tarn hyenas! Dey run avay mit him, eh? Ach, Gott, if I could only put my hands by deir necks yet!"

"Vat for you fret, Yacob?" growled one of the Boers. "You couldn't take dose vimmens back by Europe mit you. I tink you got goot luck by losing dem. Misder Chase can't take dem back needer—so, dey go to hell yet. Don't fret."

"Veil," said Von Blitz, arising. "Come on, boys. Dis is der lasd of dem. Den ve blow der tarn t'ing up. Grab hold dere, Joost. Up mit it, Jan. Vat? No?"

"Gott in himmel, Yacob, vait a minutes. My back is proke," protested Joost stubbornly. Von Blitz swore steadily for a minute, but could not move the impassive Boers. He began pacing back and forth, growling to himself. At last he stopped in front of the tired trio.

"Vat for you tink I vant you in on dis, you svine? To set aroundt und dream? Nobody else knows aboud dis treasures, und ve got it all for ourselves—ve four und no more, und you say, 'Vat's der hurry?' It's all ours. Ve divide it oop in der cave mit all der money ve get from der bank. Vat? Yes? Den, ven der time comes, ve send it all by Australia und no von is der viser. Der natives von't know und der white peebles von't be alive to care aboudt it. Ve let it stay hided in der cave undil dis drouble is all over und den it vill be easy to get it avay from der island, yoost so quiet. Come on, boys! Don't be lazy!"

"I don't like dot scheme to rob der bank," growled Jan. "If der peeples get onto us, dey vould cut us to bieces."

"But dey von't get onto us, you fool. Dey vouldn't take it demselves if it vas handed to dem. Dey're too honest, yes. Vell, don't dey say ve're honest, too? Vell, vat more you vant? Dey don't know how much money und rubies dere is in der bank. Ve von't take all of it—und dey von't know der difference. Ve burn der books. Das is all. Ve get in by der bank to-night, boys."

"I don't like id," said Joost. "Id's stealing from our freunds, Yacob. Besides, if der oder heirs should go before der government mit der story. Vat den?"

"Der oder heirs vill never get der chance, boys. Dey vill die mit der plague—ha, ha! Sure! Dere von't be no oder heirs. Rasula says it must be so. Ve can'd vait, boys. It vill be years before der business is settled. Ve must get vat ve can now and vait for der decision aftervards. Brodney has wrote to Rasula, saying dat dot Chase feller is to stay here vedder ve vant him or not. He says Chase is a goot man! By tarn, it makes me cry to fink of vot he has done by me—dot goot man!"

To the amazement of all, the burly German began to blubber.

"Don't cry, Yacob," cried Joost, coming to his master's side and shaking him by the shoulder. "You can get oder vives some day—besser as dese, yes!"

"Joost, I can't help crying—I can't. Ven I t'ink how I got to kill dem yet! I hates to kill vimmens."

They permitted him to weep and swear for a few minutes. Then, without offering further consolation, the three foremen made ready to take up the remaining chests.

"Come on, Yacob," said Jan gruffly.

Von Blitz shook his fist at the door across the chamber and thundered his final maledictions.

"Sir John says in der letter to Misder Chase dere is a movements on foot in London to settle der contest out of court," volunteered Joost.

"Sure, but he also say dat ve all may die mit old age before it is over yet."

"Don't forget der plague!" said Jan.

They groaned mightily as they lifted the heavy chests to their shoulders and started for the door.

"Close der door, Jan," commanded Von Blitz from the passage. "Ve vill light der fuse ven ve haf got beyond der first bend. Vat? Look! By tam, von of you swine has broke der fuse. Vait! Ve vill fix him now."

The door was closed behind them, but the listeners could hear them repairing the damage that Selim had done to the fuse.

Led by Selim, the four made a rush for the door leading into the château. They threw it open and passed through, flying as if for their lives. No one could tell how soon an explosion might bring disaster to the region; they put distance between them and the powder keg. Selim paused long enough to drop the bolts and turn the great key with the lever. At the second turn in the narrow corridor, he overtook Chase and the scurrying women.

"Is there nothing to be done?" cried the Princess. "Can we not prevent the explosion? They will cut off our means of escape in that—"

"I know too much about gunpowder, Princess," said Chase drily, "to fool with it. It's like a mule. It kicks hard. 'Gad, it was hard to stand there and hear those brutes planning it all and not be able to stop them."

The Princess was once more at his side; he had clasped her arm to lead her securely in the wake of Neenah's electric lantern. She came to a sudden stop.

"And pray, Mr. Chase," she said sharply, as if the thought occurred to her for the first time, "why didn't you stop them? You had the advantage. You and Selim could have surprised them—you could have taken them without a struggle!"

He laughed softly, deprecatingly, not a little impressed by the justice of her criticism.

"No doubt you consider me a coward," he said ruefully.

"You know that I do not," she protested. "I—I can't understand your motive, that is all."

"You forget that I am the representative of these very men. I am the trusted agent of Sir John Brodney, who has refused to supplant me with another. All this may sound ridiculous to you, when you take my anomalous position into account. I can't very well represent Sir John and at the same time make prisoners or corpses of his clients, even though I am being shielded by their legal foes. I don't mean to say that I condone the attempt Von Blitz is making to rob his fellow-workmen of this hidden plate and the plunder in the bank. They are traitors to their friends and I shall turn them over sooner or later to the people they are looting. I'll not have Von Blitz saying, even to himself, that I have not only stolen his wives but have also cast him into the hands of his philistines. It may sound quixotic to you, but I think that Lord Deppingham and Mr. Browne will understand my attitude."

"But Von Blitz has sworn to kill you," she expostulated with some heat. "You are wasting your integrity, I must say, Mr. Chase."

"Would you have me shoot him from ambush?" he demanded.

"Not at all. You could have taken him captive and held him safe until the time comes for you to leave the island."

"He would not have been my captive in any event. I could do no more than deliver him into the hands of his enemies. Would that be fair?"

"But he is a thief!"

"No more so than Taswell Skaggs and John Wyckholme, who unquestionably cheated the natives out of the very treasure we have seen carried away."

"Admitting all that, Mr. Chase, you still forget that he has stolen property which now belongs quite as much to Lady Deppingham and Mr. Browne as it does to the natives."

"Quite true. But I am not a constable nor a thief catcher. I am a soldier of the defence, not an officer of the Crown at this stage of the game. To-day I shall contrive to send word to Rasula that Von Blitz has stolen the treasure chests. Mr. Von Blitz will have a sad time explaining this little defection to his friends. We must not overlook the fact that Lady Deppingham and Robert Browne are quite willing to take everything from the islanders. Everything that Taswell Skaggs and John Wyckholme possessed in this island belongs to them under the terms of the will."

They were at the top of the second flight of stairs by this time and quite a distance from the treasure chamber. His coolness, the absence of any sign of returning sentiment, was puzzling her sorely. Every vestige of that emotion which had overwhelmed him during their sweet encounter was gone, to all appearances: he was as calm and as matter-of-fact as if she were the merest stranger. She was trying to find the solution—trying to read the mind of this smiling philosopher. Half an hour before, she had been carried away, rendered, helpless by the passion that swayed him; now he spoke and looked as if he had forgotten the result of his storming. Strangely enough, she was piqued.

When they came into the well-lighted upper corridor he proceeded ruthlessly to upset all of her harsh calculations. They were now traversing the mosaic floors of the hall that led to the lower terraces. He stopped suddenly, stepping directly in front of her. As she drew up in surprise, he reached down and took both of her hands in his. For the moment, she was too amazed to oppose this sudden action. She looked up into his face, many emotions in her own—reproof, wonder, dismay, hauteur—joy!

"Wait," he said gently. They were quite alone. The stream of daylight from the distant French windows barely reached to this quiet spot. She saw the most wonderful light in his grey eyes; her lips parted in quick, timorous confusion. "I love you. I am sorry for what I did down there. I couldn't help it—nor could you. Yet I took a cruel advantage of you. I know what you've been thinking, too. You have been saying to yourself that I wanted to see how far I could go—don't speak! I know. You are wrong. I've absolutely worshipped you since those first days in Thorberg—wildly, hopelessly—day and night. I was afraid of you—yes, afraid of you because you are a princess. But I've got over all that, Genevra. You are a woman—a living, real woman with the blood and the heart and the lips that were made for men to crave. I want to tell you this, here in the light of day, not in the darkness that hid all the truth in me except that which you might have felt in my kiss."

"Please, please don't," she said once more, her lip trembling, her eyes full of the softness that the woman who loves cannot hide. "You shall not go on! It is wrong!"

"It is not wrong," he cried passionately. "My love is not wrong. I want you to understand and to believe. I can't hope that you will be my wife—it's too wildly improbable. You are not for such as I. You are pledged to a man of your own world—your own exalted world. But listen, Genevra—see, my eyes call you darling even though my lips dare not--- Genevra, I'd give my soul to hear you say that you will be my wife. You do understand how it is with me?"

The delicious sense of possession thrilled her; she glowed with the return of her self-esteem, in the restoration of that quality which proclaimed her a princess of the blood. She was sure of him now! She was sure of herself. She had her emotions well in hand. And so, despite the delicious warmth that swept through her being, she chose to reveal no sign of it to him.

"I do understand," she said quietly, meeting his gaze with a directness that hurt him sorely. "And you, too, understand. I could not be your wife. I am glad yet sorry that you love me, and I am proud to have heard you say that you want me. But I am a sensible creature, Mr. Chase, and, being sensible, am therefore selfish. I have seen women of my unhappy station venture out side of their narrow confines in the search for life-long joy with men who might have been kings had they not been born under happier stars—men of the great wide world instead of the soulless, heartless patch which such as I call a realm. Not one in a hundred of those women found the happiness they were so sure of grasping just outside their prison walls. It was not in the blood. We are the embodiment of convention, the product of tradition. Time has proved in nearly every instance that we cannot step from the path our prejudices know. We must marry and live and die in the sphere to which we were born. It must sound very bald to you, but the fact remains, just the same. We must go through life unloved and uncherished, bringing princes into the world, seeing happiness and love just beyond our reach all the time. We have hearts and we have blood in our veins, as you say, and we may love, too, but believe me, dear friend, we are bound by chains no force can break—the chains of prejudice."

She had withdrawn her hands from his; he was standing before her as calm and unmoved as a statue.

"I understand all of that," he said, a faint smile moving his lips. She was not expecting such resignation as this.

"I am glad that you—that you understand," she said.

"Just the same," he went on gently, "you love me as I love you. You kissed me. I could feel love in you then. I can see it in you now. Perhaps you are right in what you say about not finding happiness outside the walls, but I doubt it, Genevra. You will marry Prince Karl in June, and all the rest of your life will be bleak December. You will never forget this month of March—our month." He paused for a moment to look deeply into her incredulous eyes. His face writhed in sudden pain. Then he burst forth with a vehemence that startled her. "My God, I pity you with all my soul! All your life!"

"Don't pity me!" she cried fiercely. "I cannot endure that!"

"Forgive me! I shouldn't say such things to you. It's as if I were bullying you,"

"You must not think of me as unhappy—ever. Go on your own way, Hollingsworth Chase, and forget that you have known me. You will find happiness with some one else. You have loved before; you can and will love again. I--- I have never loved before—but perhaps, like you, I shall love again. You will love again?" she demanded, her lip trembling with an irresolution she could not control.

"Yes," he said calmly, "I'll love the wife of Karl Brabetz." His eyes swept hungrily over the golden bronze hair; then he turned away with the short, hard laugh of the man who scoffs at his own despair. She started violently; her cheek went red and white and her eyes widened as though they were looking upon something unpleasant; her thoughts went back to the naïve prophecy in the treasure chamber.

She followed him slowly to the terrace. He stopped in the doorway and leisurely drew forth his cigarette case.

"Shall we wait for the explosion?" he asked without a sign of the emotion that had gone before. She gravely selected a cigarette from the case which he extended. As he lighted his own, he watched her draw from her little gold bag a diamond-studded case, half filled. Without a word of apology, she calmly deposited the cigarette in the case and restored it to the bottom of the bag.

Then she looked up brightly. "I am not smoking, you see," she said, with a smile. "I am saving all of these for you when the famine comes."

"By Jove!" he exclaimed, something like incredulity in the smile that transfigured his face.

"I could be a thrifty housewife, couldn't I?" she asked naïvely.

At that moment, a dull, heavy report, as of distant thunder, came to their ears. The windows rattled sharply and the earth beneath them seemed to quiver. Involuntarily she drew nearer to him, casting a glance of alarm over her shoulder in the direction from which they had come.

"You could, if you had half a chance," he said drily, and then casually remarked the explosion.

THE DISQUIETING END OF PONG

Later on, he and Deppingham visited the underground chamber, accompanied by Mr. Britt. They found that the door to the passage had been blown away by the terrific concussion. Otherwise, the room was, to all appearances, undamaged, except that some of the wine casks were leaking. The subterranean passage at this place was completely filled with earth and stone.

Deppingham stared at the closed mouth of the passage. "They've cut off our exit, but they've also secured us from invasion from this source. I wonder if the beggars were clever enough to carry the plunder above the flood line. If not, they've had their work for nothing."

"Selim says there is a cave near the mouth of the passage," said Chase. "The tunnel comes out half way up the side of the mountain, overlooking the sea, and the hole is very carefully screened by the thick shrubbery. Trust Von Blitz to do the safe thing."

"I don't mind Von Blitz escaping so much, Chase," said his lordship earnestly, "as I do the unfortunate closing of what may have been our only way to leave the château in the end."

"You must think me an ungrateful fool," said Chase bitterly. He had already stated his position clearly.

"Not at all, old chap. Don't get that into your head. I only meant that a hole in the ground is worth two warships that won't come when we need 'em."

Chase looked up quickly. "You don't believe that I can call the cruisers?"

"Oh, come now, Chase, I'm not a demmed native, you know."

The other grinned amiably. "Well, you just wait, as the boy says."

Deppingham put his eyeglass in more firmly and stared at his companion, not knowing whether to take the remark as a jest or to begin to look for signs of mental collapse. Britt laughed shortly.

"I guess we'll have to," said the stubby lawyer.

After satisfying themselves that there was no possibility of the enemy ever being able to enter the château through the collapsed passage, the trio returned to the upper world.

Involuntarily their gaze went out searchingly over the placid sea. The whole sky glared back at them, unwrinkled, smokeless, cloudless. Chase turned to Deppingham, a word of encouragement on his lips. His lordship was looking intently toward the palm-shaded grotto at the base of the lower terrace. Britt moved uneasily and then glanced at his fellow-countryman, a queer expression in his eyes. A moment later Deppingham was clearing his throat for the brisk comment on the beauty of the view from the rather unfrequented spot on which they stood.

Robert Browne and Lady Agnes were seated on the edge of the fountain in Apollo's Grotto, conversing earnestly, even eagerly, with Mr. Bowles, who stood before them in an unmistakable attitude of indecision and perturbation. Deppingham's first futile attempt to appear unconcerned was followed by an oppressive silence, broken at last by the Englishman. He gave Chase a look which plainly revealed his uneasiness.

"Ever since I've heard that Bowles has the power to marry people, Chase, I've been upset a bit," he explained nervously.

"You don't mean to say, Lord Deppingham, that you're afraid the heirs will follow the advice of that rattle-headed Saunders," said Chase, with a laugh, "Why, it wouldn't hold in court for a second. Ask Britt."

Britt cleared his throat. "Not for half a second," he said. "I'm only wondering if Bowles has authority to grant divorces."

"I daresay he has," said Deppingham, tugging at his moustache. "He's—he's a magistrate."

"It doesn't follow," said Chase, "that he has unlimited legal powers."

"But what are they ragging him about down there, Chase," blurted out the unhappy Deppingham.

"Come in and have a drink," said Chase suddenly. Deppingham was shivering. "You've got a chill in that damp cellar. I can assure you positively, as representative of the opposition, that the grandchildren of Skaggs and Wyckholme are not going to divorce or marry anybody while I'm here, Britt and Saunders and Bowles to the contrary. And Lady Deppingham is no fool. Come on and have something to warm the cockles. You're just childish enough to have the croup to-night." He said it with such fine humour that Deppingham could not take offence.

"All right, old chap," he said with a laugh. "I am chilled to the bone. I'll join you in a few minutes." To their surprise, he started off across the terrace in the direction of the consulting trio. Chase and Britt silently watched his progress. They saw him join the others, neither of whom seemed to be confused or upset by his appearance, and subsequently enter into the discussion that had been going on.

"Just the same, Chase," said Britt, after a long silence, "he's worried, and not about marriage or divorce, either. He's jealous. I didn't believe it was in him."

"See here, Britt, you've no right to stir him up with those confounded remarks about divorce. You know that it's rot. Don't do it."

"My dear Chase," said Britt, waving his hand serenely, "we can't always see what's in the air, but, by the Eternal, we usually can feel it. 'Nough said. Give you my word, I can't help laughing at the position you're in at present. It doesn't matter what you get onto in connection with our side of the case, you're where you can't take advantage of it without getting killed by your own clients. Horrible paradox, eh?"

When Deppingham rejoined them, he was pale and very nervous. His wife, who had been weeping, came up with him, while Browne went off toward the stables with the ex-banker.

"What do you think has happened?" demanded his lordship, addressing the two men, who stood by, irresolutely. "Somebody's trying to poison us!"

"What!" from both listeners.

"I've said it all along. Now, we know! Lady Deppingham's dog is dead—poisoned, gentlemen." He was wiping the moisture from his brow.

"I'm sorry, Lady Deppingham," said Chase earnestly. "He was a nice dog. But I hardly think he could have eaten what was intended for any of us. If he was poisoned, the poison was meant for him and for no one else. He bit one of the stable boys yesterday. It—"

"That may all be very true, Chase," protested his lordship, "but don't you see, it goes to show that some one has a stock of poison on hand, and we may be the next to get it. He died half an hour after eating—after eating a biscuit that was intended for me! It's—it's demmed uncomfortable, to say the least."

"Mr. Bowles has been questioning the servants," said Lady Agnes miserably.

"Of course," said Chase philosophically, "it's much better that Pong should have got it than Lord Deppingham. By the way, who gave him the biscuit?"

"Bromley. She tossed it to him and he—he caught it so cleverly. You know how cunning he was, Mr. Chase. I loved to see him catch—"

"Then Bromley has saved your life, Deppingham," said Chase. "I'm sure you need the brandy, after all this. Come along. Will you join us, Lady Deppingham?"

"No. I'm going to bed!" She started away, then stopped and looked at her husband, her eyes wide with sudden comprehension. "Oh, Deppy, I should have died! I should have died!"

"My dear!"

"I couldn't have lived if—"

"But, my dear, I didn't eat it—and here we are! God bless you!" He turned abruptly and walked off beside her, ignoring the two distressed Americans. As they passed through the French window, Deppingham put his arm about his wife's waist. Chase turned to Britt.

"I don't know what you're thinking, Britt, but it isn't so, whatever it is."

"Good Lord, man, I wasn't thinking that!"

A very significant fact now stared the occupants of the château in the face. There was not the slightest doubt in the minds of those conversant with the situation that the poison had been intended for either Lord or Lady Deppingham. The drug had been subtly, skilfully placed in one of the sandwiches which came up to their rooms at eleven o'clock, the hour at which they invariably drank off a cup of bouillon. Lady Deppingham was not in her room when Bromley brought the tray. She was on the gallery with the Brownes. Bromley came to ask her if she desired to have the bouillon served to her there. Lady Agnes directed her to fetch the tray, first inviting Mrs. Browne to accept Lord Deppingham's portion. Drusilla declined and Bromley tossed a sandwich to Pong, who was always lying in wait for such scraps as might come his way. Lady Agnes always ate macaroons—never touching the sandwiches. This fact, of course, it was argued, might not have been known to the would-be poisoner. Her ladyship, as usual, partook of the macaroons and felt no ill effects. It was, therefore, clear that the poison was intended for but one of them, as, on this occasion, a single sandwich came up from the buffet. No one but Deppingham believed that it was intended for him.

In any event, Pong, the red cocker, was dead. He was in convulsions almost immediately after swallowing the morsel he had begged for, and in less than three minutes was out of his misery, proving conclusively that a dose of deadly proportions had been administered. It is no wonder that Deppingham shuddered as he looked upon the stiff little body in the upper hall.

Drusilla Browne was jesting, no doubt, but it is doubtful if any one grasped the delicacy of her humour when she observed, in mock concern, addressing the assembled mourners, that she believed the heirs were trying to get rid of their incumbrances after the good old Borgia fashion, and that she would never again have the courage to eat a mouthful of food so long as she stood between her husband and a hymeneal fortune.

"You know, my dear," she concluded, turning to her Husband, "that I might have had Lord Deppingham's biscuit. His wife asked me to take it. Goodness, you're a dreadful Borgia person, Agnes," she went on, smiling brightly at her ladyship. Deppingham was fumbling nervously at his monocle. "I should think you would be nervous, Lord Deppingham."

The most rigid questioning elicited no information from the servants. Baillo's sudden, involuntary look of suspicion, directed toward Lady Agnes and Robert Browne, did not escape the keen eye of Hollingsworth Chase.

"Impossible!" he said, half aloud. He looked up and saw that the Princess was staring at him questioningly. He shook his head, without thinking.

Despair settled upon the white people. They were confronted by a new and serious peril: poison! At no time could they feel safe. Chase took it upon himself to talk to the native servants, urging them to do nothing that might reflect suspicion upon them. He argued long and forcefully from the standpoint of a friend and counsellor. They listened stolidly and repeated their vows of fidelity and integrity. He was astute enough to take them into his confidence concerning the treachery of Jacob Von Blitz. It was only after most earnest pleading that he persuaded them not to slay the German's wives as a temporary expedient.

One of the stable boys volunteered to carry a note from Chase to Rasula, asking the opportunity to lay a question of grave importance before him. Chase suggested to Rasula that he should meet him that evening at the west gate, under a flag of truce. The tone of the letter was more or less peremptory.

Rasula came, sullen but curious. At first he would not believe; but Chase was firm in his denunciation of Jacob von Blitz. Then he was pleased to accuse Chase of duplicity and double-dealing, going so far as to charge the deposed American with plotting against Von Blitz to further his own ends in more ways than one. At last, however, when he was ready to give up in despair, Chase saw signs of conviction in the manner of the native leader. His own fairness, his courage, had appealed to Rasula from the start. He did not know it then, but the dark-skinned lawyer had always felt, despite his envy and resentment, a certain respect for his integrity and fearlessness.

He finally agreed to follow the advice of the American; grudgingly, to be sure, but none the less determined.

"You will find everything as I have stated it, Rasula," said Chase. "I'm sorry you are against me, for I would be your friend. I've told you how to reach the secret cave. The chests are there. The passage is closed. You can trap him in the attempt to rob the bank. I could have taken him red-handed and given him over to Lord Deppingham. But you would never have known the truth. Now I ask you to judge for yourselves. Give him a fair trial, Rasula—as you would any man accused of crime—and be just. If you need a witness—an eye-witness—call on me. I will come and I will appear against him. I've been honest with you. I am willing to trust you to be honest with me."

DEPPINGHAM FALLS ILL

That evening Lord Deppingham took to his bed with violent chills. He shivered and burned by turns and spent a most distressing night. Bobby Browne came in twice to see him before retiring. For some reason unknown to any one but himself, Deppingham refused to be treated by the young man, notwithstanding the fact that Browne laid claim to a physician's certificate and professed to be especially successful in breaking up "the ague." Lady Agnes entreated her liege lord to submit to the doses, but Deppingham was resolute to irascibility.

"A Dover's powder, Deppy, or a few grains of quinine. Please be sensible. You're just like a child."

"What's in a Dover's powder?" demanded the patient, who had never been ill in his life.

"Ipecac and opium, sugar of milk or sulphate of potash. It's an anodyne diaphoretic," said Browne.

"Opium, eh?" came sharply from the couch. "Good Lord, an overdose of it would—" he checked the words abruptly and gave vent to a nervous fit of laughter.

"Don't be a fool, George," commanded his wife. "No one is trying to poison you."

"Who's saying that he's going to poison me?" demanded Deppingham shortly. "I'm objecting because I don't like the idea of taking medicine from a man just out of college. Now judge for yourself, Browne: would you take chances of that sort, away off here where there isn't a physician nearer than twelve hundred miles? Come now, be frank."

Bobby Browne leaned back and laughed heartily. "I daresay you're right. I should be a bit nervous. But if we don't practise on some one, how are we to acquire proficiency? It's for the advancement of science. Lots of people have died in that service."

"By Jove, you're cold-blooded about it!" He stared helplessly at his wife's smiling face. "It's no laughing matter, Agnes. I'm a very sick man."

"Then, why not take the powders?"

"I've just given my wife a powder, old man. She's got a nervous headache," urged Browne tolerantly.

"Your wife?" exclaimed Deppingham, sitting up. "The devil!" He looked hard at Browne for a moment. "Oh, I say, now, old chap, don't you think it's rather too much of a coincidence?"

Browne arose quickly, a flash of resentment in his eyes. "See here, Deppingham—"

"Don't be annoyed, Bobby," pleaded Lady Agnes. "He's nervous. Don't mind him."

"I'm not nervous. It's the beastly chill."

"Just the same. Lady Agnes, I shall not give him a grain of anything if he persists in thinking I'm such a confounded villain as to—"

"I apologise, Browne," said Deppingham hastily. "I'm not afraid of your medicine. I'm only thinking of my wife. If I should happen to die, don't you know, there would be people who might say that you could have cured me. See what I mean?"

"You dear old goose," cried his wife.

"I fancy Selim or Baillo or even Bowles knows what a fellow doses himself with when he's bowled over by one of these beastly island ailments. Oblige me, Agnes, and send for Bowles."

Bowles came bowing and scraping into the room a few minutes later. He immediately recommended an old-fashioned Dover's powder and ventured the opinion that "good sweat" would soon put his lordship on his feet, "better than ever." Deppingham kept Bowles beside him while Browne generously prepared and administered the medicine.

Later in the night the Princess came to see how the patient was getting on. He was in a dripping perspiration.

Genevra drew a chair up beside his couch and sat down.

Lady Agnes was yawning sleepily over a book.

"Do you know, I believe I'd feel better if I could have another chill," he said. "I'm so beastly hot now that I can't stand it. Aggie, why don't you turn out on the balcony for a bit of fresh air? I'm a brute to have kept you moping in here all evening."

Lady Agnes sighed prettily and—stepped out into the murky night. There were signs of an approaching storm in the sultry air.

"I say, Genevra, what's the news?" demanded his lordship.

"The latest bulletin says that you are very much improved and that you expect to pass a comfortable night."

"'Gad I do feel better. I'm not so stuffy. Where is Chase?"

Now, the Princess, it is most distressing to state, had wilfully avoided Mr. Chase since early that morning.

"I'm sure I don't know. I had dinner with Mrs. Browne in her room. I fancy he's off attending to the guard. I haven't seen him."

"Nice chap," remarked Deppingham. "Isn't that he now, speaking to Agnes out there?"

Genevra looked up quickly. A man's voice came in to them from the balcony, following Lady Deppingham's soft laugh.

"No," she said, settling back calmly. "It's Mr. Browne."

"Oh," said Deppingham, a slight shadow coming into his eyes. "Nice chap, too," he added a moment later.

"I don't like him," said she, lowering her voice. Deppingham was silent. Neither spoke for a long time The low voices came to them indistinctly from the outside.

"I've no doubt Agnes is as much to blame as he," said his lordship at last. "She's made a fool of more than one man, my dear. She rather likes it."

"He's behaving like a brute. They've been married less than a year."

"I daresay I'd better call Aggie off," he mused.

"It's too late."

"Too late? The deuce—"

"I mean, too late to help Drusilla Browne. She's had an ideal shattered."

"It really doesn't amount to anything, Genevra," he argued. "It will blow over in a fortnight. Aggie's always doing this sort of thing, you know."

"I know, Deppy," she said sharply. "But this man is different. He's not a gentleman. Mr. Skaggs wasn't a gentleman. Blood tells. He will boast of this flirtation until the end of his days."

"Aggie's had dozens of men in love with her—really in love," he protested feebly. "She's not—"

"They've come and gone and she's still the same old Agnes and you're the same old Deppy. I'm not thinking of you or Aggie. It's Drusilla Browne."

"I see. Thanks for the confidence you have in Aggie. I daresay I know how Drusilla feels. I've—I've had a bad turn or two, myself, lately, and—but, never mind." He was silent for some time, evidently turning something over in his mind. "By the way, what does Chase say about it?" he asked suddenly.

She started and caught her breath. "Mr. Chase? He—he hasn't said anything about it," she responded lamely. "He's—he's not that sort,"

"Ah," reflected Deppingham, "he is a gentleman?"

Genevra flushed. "Yes, I'm sure he is."

"I say, Genevra," he said, looking straight into her rebellious eyes, "you're in love with Chase. Why don't you marry him?"

"You—you are really delirious, Deppy," she cried. "The fever has----"

"He's good enough for any one—even you," went on his lordship coolly.

"He may have a wife," said she, collecting her wits with rare swiftness. "Who knows? Don't be silly, Deppy."

"Rubbish! Haven't you stuffed Aggie and me full of the things you found out concerning him before he left Thorberg—and afterward? The letters from the Ambassador's wife and the glowing things your St. Petersburg friends have to say of him, eh? He comes to us well recommended by no other than the Princess Genevra, a most discriminating person. Besides, he'd give his head to marry you—having already lost it."

"You are very amusing, Deppy, when you try to be clever. Is there a clause in that silly old will compelling me to marry any one?"

"Of course not, my dear Princess; but I fancy you've got a will of your own. Where there's a will, there's a way. You'd marry him to-morrow if—if----"

"If I were not amply prepared to contest my own will?" she supplied airily.

"No. If your will was not wrapped in convention three centuries old. You won't marry Chase because you are a princess. That's the long and the short of it. It isn't your fault, either. It's born in you. I daresay it would be a mistake, after a fashion, too. You'd be obliged to give up being a princess, and settle down as a wife. Chase wouldn't let you forget that you were a wife. It would be hanging over you all the time. Besides, he'd be a husband. That's something to beware of, too."

"Deppy, you are ranting frightfully," she said consolingly. "You should go to sleep."

"I'm awfully sorry for you, Genevra."

"Sorry for me? Dear me!"

"You're tremendously gone on him."

"Nonsense! Why, I couldn't marry Mr. Chase," she exclaimed, irritable at last. "Don't put such things into my head—I mean, don't get such things into that ridiculous old head of yours. Are you forgetting that I am to become Karl's wife in June? You are babbling, Deppy----"

"Well, let's say no more about it," he said, lying back resignedly. "It's too bad, that's all. Chase is a man. Karl isn't. You loathe him. I don't wonder that you turn pale and look frightened. Take my advice! Take Chase!"

"Don't!" she cried, a break in her voice. She arose and went swiftly toward the window. Then she stopped and turned upon him, her lips parted as if to give utterance to the thing that was stirring her heart so violently. The words would not come. She smiled plaintively and said instead: "Good-night! Get a good sleep."

"The same to you," he called feverishly.

"Deppy," she said firmly, a red spot in each cheek, her voice tense and strained to a high pitch of suppressed decision, "I shall marry Karl Brabetz. That will be the end of your Mr. Chase."

"I hope so," he said. "But I'm not so sure of it, if you continue to love him as you do now."

She went out with her cheeks burning and a frightened air in her heart. What right, what reason had he to say such things to her? Her thoughts raced back to Neenah's airy prophecy.

Bobby Browne and Agnes were approaching from the lower end of the balcony. She drew back into the shadow suddenly, afraid that they might discover in her flushed face the signs of that ugly blow to her pride and her self-respect. "I'm not so sure of it," was whirling in her brain, repeating itself a hundred times over, stabbing her each time in a new and even more tender spot.

"If you continue to love him as you do now," fought its way through the maze of horrid, disturbing thoughts. How could she face the charge: "I'm not so sure of it," unless she killed the indictment "if you love him as you do now?"

Lady Agnes and Browne passed by without seeing her and entered the window. She heard him say something to his companion, softly, tenderly—she knew not what it was. And Lady Agnes laughed—yes, nervously. Ah, but Agnes was playing! She was not in love with this man. It was different. It was not what Neenah meant—nor Deppingham, honest friend that he was.

Down below she heard voices. She wondered—inconsistently alert—whether he was one of the speakers. Thomas Saunders and Miss Pelham were coming in from the terrace. They were in love with each other! They could be in love with each other. There was no law, no convention that said them nay! They could marry—and still love! "If you continue to love him as you do now," battered at the doors of her conscience.

Silently she stole off to her own rooms; stealthily, as if afraid of something she could not see but felt creeping up on her with an evil grin. It was Shame!

Her maid came in and she prepared for bed. Left alone, she perched herself in the window seat to cool her heated face with the breezes that swept on ahead of the storm which was coming up from the sea. Her heart was hot; no breeze could cool it—nothing but the ice of decision could drive out the fever that possessed it. Now she was able to reason calmly with herself and her emotions. She could judge between them. Three sentences she had heard uttered that day crowded upon each other to be uppermost: not the weakest of which was one which had fallen from the lips of Hollingsworth Chase.

"It is impossible—incredible!" she was saying to herself. "I could not love him like that. I should hate him. God above me, am I not different from those women whom I have known and pitied and despised? Am I not different from Guelma von Herrick? Am I not different from Prince Henri's wife? Ah, and they loved, too! And is he not different from those other men—those weak, unmanly men, who came into the lives of those women? Ah, yes, yes! He is different."

She sat and stared out over the black sea, lighted fitfully by the distant lightning. There, she pronounced sentence upon him—and herself. There was no place for him in her world. He should feel her disdain—he should suffer for his presumption. Presumption? In what way had he offended? She put her hands to her eyes but her lips smiled—smiled with the memory of the kiss she had returned!

"What a fool! What a fool I am," she cried aloud, springing up resolutely. "I must forget. I told him I couldn't, but I—I can." Half way across the room she stopped, her hands clenched fiercely. "If—if Karl were only such as he!" she moaned.

She went to her dressing table and resolutely unlocked one of the drawers, as one would open a case in which the most precious of treasures was kept. A cautious, involuntary glance over her shoulder, and then she ran her hand into the bottom of the drawer.

"It was so silly of me," she muttered. "I shall not keep them for him." The drawer was partly filled with cigarettes. She took one from among the rest and placed its tip in her red lips, a reckless light in her eyes. A match was struck and then her hand seemed to be in the clutch of some invisible force. The light flickered and died in her fingers. A blush suffused her face, her eyes, her neck. Then with a guilty, shamed, tender smile she dropped the cigarette into the drawer. She turned the key.

"No," she said to herself, "I told him that I was keeping them for him."