BY the time Jones reached the front hall he found the door open and Mrs. Burnham awaiting his arrival with an angry sparkle in her eyes.

“Late again, Jones,” she remarked, and her tone caused the butler to flush uncomfortably. “Help Mr. Burnham off with his coat and then assist him to bed.”

Burnham rejected the butler’s aid with the same petulance he had shown to Maynard when the latter offered his assistance.

“I’m not a baby,” he remarked through chattering teeth. “What if I did catch a chill coming home, Lillian; it’s nothing serious. Here, take my keys, Jones, and bring me some whiskey from the sideboard.” Jerking the bunch of keys from the front door lock where he had left it dangling in his haste to enter the house, he tossed it to the waiting servant, and laying his hand on Maynard’s arm started with him up the staircase. Mrs. Burnham turned to follow when Evelyn, who had remained in the vestibule, stepped inside the house, closed the door, and called her softly by name.

“Come in the dining room, Mother, dear,” she said. “I must have a word with you, alone,” and the quiet emphasis on the last word belied her unnaturally high color and brilliant eyes. “Please, Mother.” Seeing Mrs. Burnham hesitate, she moved forward and gently encircled her waist with her arm. “Spare just a moment to me.”

Mrs. Burnham bent forward and kissed her with warmth. “Of course, Evelyn,” she said cheerily. “Say as many words to me as you want,” and she led the way into the drawing room, pausing only long enough to turn on the lights.

“Sit by me here,” she suggested, making herself comfortable on the sofa, but Evelyn, too nervous to remain quiet, only paused in her restless moving about to stand in front of her.

“Mother,” she began, and in spite of her determination to keep her voice steady it shook. “I love René La Montagne.”

Mrs. Burnham’s expression altered. “You think you do, Evelyn,” she corrected gently.

“No, Mother.” Evelyn’s gaze never shifted. “I love René and I intend to marry him.”

“Need we go into that?” Mrs. Burnham smiled, not unkindly. “Suppose for to-night we just admit the first premise—you love him.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Evelyn rested her hands against the table at her back and steadied herself. “René,” she blushed hotly. “René loves me.”

Mrs. Burnham gazed steadily at her daughter and a sudden wave of tenderness swept over her, and for a second the charming picture—Evelyn in her straight young beauty and her tattered Belgian costume—was blurred from sight by blinding tears. Unconscious of her mother’s emotion, Evelyn waited a moment before speaking.

“René loves me and I love René,” she reiterated. “Therefore; Mother, will you announce our engagement to-morrow morning?”

Mrs. Burnham sat bolt upright. “Will I do what?” she demanded.

“Announce my engagement to René La Montagne.”

“My dear child,” Mrs. Burnham raised her hands in horror. “Utterly unthought of!”

“But why? René and I have thought of it, and we are the most concerned.”

“Preposterous!” fumed Mrs. Burnham. “Why, the man’s under a cloud!”

“Exactly, mother; that is why I wish our engagement announced.” Evelyn stood proudly erect. “Shall you make the announcement or I, Mother?”

Mrs. Burnham stared at her in blank astonishment. “Have you taken leave of your senses?” she demanded. “Sit down here, Evelyn, and let us discuss this matter rationally.”

“Thanks, Mother, but I prefer to stand. I—I will not keep you long; in fact,” her smile was very winning, “I but wait your answer.”

Mrs. Burnham sighed. “The perversity of life!” she exclaimed. “Why do you pick out the one man I could not welcome as a son-in-law?”

“But why can’t you welcome him?” asked Evelyn impetuously. “René is all that a man should be—tender, true, and brave. Look at the record he had made in that gallant army of France. You have every reason to be proud of René, mother. Why, then, are you so absurdly prejudiced against him? He has never done anything to you.”

“Not to me perhaps——” began Mrs. Burnham, but Evelyn gave her no time to finish.

“Is it fair to take Mr. Burnham’s opinion about René instead of mine?” she demanded hotly. “My word is just as good as his, if not——”

“Stop, Evelyn.” Mrs. Burnham held up her hand imperatively. “It is not a question of word but of judgment; you are immature, impulsive, impressionable——”

“Good gracious, Mother,” Evelyn laughed vexedly. “Any more ‘ims’ you can think of? Mr. Burnham is determined to get René into trouble, and it is plain to be seen that he has influenced you against me.”

Mrs. Burnham flushed. “You are unjust, Evelyn,” she remonstrated. “You carry your dislike of your step-father too far——”

“You mean he has carried his dislike of René too far,” retorted Evelyn, bitter resentment against Burnham getting the better of her determination to curb her anger. “He has, even to preferring false charges against René.”

“Gently, Evelyn, gently.” Mrs. Burnham rose. “Do not say things in anger which you may bitterly regret later.”

“I shall never regret one word I say in defense of René,” responded Evelyn with undaunted spirit “And when Mr. Burnham charges René killed that unknown man in our library, he lies.”

Mrs. Burnham laid a firm hand on Evelyn’s shoulder. “Hush!” she commanded. “René will have an opportunity to prove his innocence shortly. I understand——” She faltered for a second, then continued sternly: “I understand he has been arrested for the crime.”

Evelyn shrank back from her mother and covered her face with her hands. When she looked up her expression had altered.

“Either you or I will announce in to-morrow’s papers my engagement to René—which shall it be?” she asked.

“Evelyn.” Mrs. Burnham seldom used that tone in addressing her daughter and the girl looked at her dumbly. “Have you considered what such a step means in the face of my disapproval?”

“You mean—giving up my fortune?”

“Yes. By the terms of your father’s will you forfeit your inheritance if you marry against my wishes.”

“Well, what of it?” Evelyn shrugged her shoulders disdainfully. “Thank God, money isn’t everything!”

“You are very young.” Mrs. Burnham smiled faintly. “In this case there is more than money involved; a crime and public scandal. Child!” For a second Mrs. Burnham’s composure deserted her. “You must be mad to desire to announce your engagement to a man whom your step-father charges with a heinous crime.”

“Charges can be disproved,” retorted Evelyn. “Mother,” she laid an imploring hand on her arm. “Mother, I assure you René is not guilty, no matter how much circumstantial evidence points to him; he no more killed that man than did Peter Burnham.”

Rapidly approaching footsteps caused Mrs. Burnham to turn abruptly and she welcomed Maynard’s entrance almost with eagerness.

“I have persuaded your husband to go to bed,” he said. “I think he will rest very comfortably. He has given me a prescription to fill for him; can you tell me where to find the nearest drug store which stays open all night?”

“I am afraid it is fully six blocks away, on Connecticut Avenue,” exclaimed Mrs. Burnham. “It is a shame to take you out at this hour of the night.”

“Not a bit of it.” Maynard nodded gayly at Evelyn. “Too bad you can’t stroll down town with me, Evelyn, the walk might do you good; not in that thin dress,” hastily. “Fortunately, to-night I was cast for an appropriate costume; uniforms are not conspicuous these days.”

“Our uniforms are always conspicuous,” rebuked Evelyn. “Just think of the gallant men wearing them.”

“All honor to them!” Maynard raised his hand in quick salute. “Some day, God willing, I’ll go up the line with the boys in khaki and over the top; until then——” A quick sigh completed the sentence. “I’ve taken your latch-key, Mrs. Burnham, so don’t have any one wait up for me,” and he hurried out of the house.

“Go to bed and get some rest, Evelyn,” suggested Mrs. Burnham, pausing with her hand on the electric light button. “We can talk more reasonably after a good night’s sleep. Come and see me after breakfast, and remember——”

“Yes, Mother.” Evelyn waited for her mother to lead the way up the staircase. But Mrs. Burnham did not complete her sentence until she had reached the second floor. In front of her door she turned and patted Evelyn gently on her shoulder. “Remember,” she said, “do nothing rash.”

It was not until Evelyn was in her own bedroom arranging her hair that she recollected her mother had omitted her customary good-night kiss. Evelyn’s lip quivered; her sensitive high-strung nature made her a prey to every slight, however unintentional or imaginary they were. She felt cruelly the barrier which she had been quick to see was slowly but surely separating her from her mother, a mother she had idolized up to the time of her marriage to Peter Burnham.

She had never been able to conquer her distaste for Peter Burnham and her growing fear that he might some day supplant her in her mother’s affections. She had little hope that she could win her mother’s consent to her engagement to René La Montagne, and still less that her mother would announce the engagement. But Evelyn came of a loyal courageous race and her fighting blood was up. Her lover, alone in a strange country, faced, in her opinion, unjust imprisonment for a crime he had not committed, and she was determined to offset her step-father’s charges against him by the announcement of their engagement. Let tongues wag in society and scandal be whispered; if she showed her faith in René La Montagne others would rally to his aid. There was Marian Van Ness and Dan Maynard— A tap on her door awoke her from her abstraction.

“What is it?” she called.

“It is I, Miss Evelyn,” announced Mrs. Ward, pushing the door farther open. “Your mother thought you might need my help in getting out of that dress. Let me do that for you,” and she deftly extracted a pin Evelyn had been vainly trying to reach for some moments.

“Thanks.” Evelyn submitted to being undressed with alacrity; she was utterly weary. “Aren’t you up pretty late for a woman who has been as ill as you have?”

“I am well again,” replied the housekeeper, arranging Evelyn’s clothes neatly on a chair and picking up brush and comb. “Just slip into bed, Miss Evelyn, and I’ll brush and braid your hair for you.”

With a murmur of thanks Evelyn followed her advice and partly sat and lay at ease while the experienced woman (she had graduated from lady’s maid to her position of housekeeper) deftly arranged her long silky hair, badly tangled from having worn it loose down her back in the tableau.

“There, Miss Evelyn, that is done,” Mrs. Ward announced twenty minutes later. “Is there anything else you would like?”

Evelyn looked about the room. “If you will open all my windows and raise the shades, I shall be greatly obliged,” she said. “The room is horribly hot.”

Mrs. Ward hesitated perceptibly. “I’m afraid you are a bit feverish,” she exclaimed. “Do you think it’s wise to open all the windows, Miss Evelyn? This room really isn’t any too warm.”

“I can’t sleep in it as it is,” exclaimed Evelyn. “I must have air; my head is swimming. Don’t worry about my catching cold, Mrs. Ward; I always sleep with the wind blowing on me.”

“Very well, Miss Evelyn.” The housekeeper went to first one window and then the other and pulled up the Holland shades, then flung the windows wide open. On her way to the door she stopped by the bed and looked thoughtfully down at Evelyn, then without speaking glided from the room to return a moment later with a silver whistle.

“If the room gets too cold, Miss Evelyn, and you don’t want to get up, just blow on this and I’ll come downstairs and help you,” she said, laying the whistle in Evelyn’s hand.

Genuinely touched, Evelyn raised herself on her elbow. “That’s very thoughtful and kind of you,” she exclaimed. “Thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it, Miss Evelyn, good-night,” and Mrs. Ward hurried away.

Sleep was far from Evelyn’s eyes and for long hours she tossed and turned on her pillow; the cool night air gradually lowered the temperature of the room and she felt relief. She had a touch of fever, she admitted to herself, touching her hot forehead, and half determined to get up and rummage around in her mother’s medicine cabinet for a bottle of “sweet spirits of niter,” but the thought of waking her mother deterred her.

As the night passed Evelyn slept by fits and starts. She was lying drowsily awake listening to a distant clock chiming three when she grew conscious of a light streaming directly in her eyes. Her lids flew open and she blinked for a few seconds before realization came to her. Jerking herself up on her elbow she gazed at a thin wave of light shining steadily through one of the windows full on her pillow. Too weary to do more than stare, she finally pulled her pillow around and settled herself in another position. She was just dozing off when the light again aroused her. Three times she changed her position and each time the light shone directly in her eyes. There was something uncanny in its power and its silent search only for her eyes. Evelyn felt a chill creep down her spine; then, conquering her nervousness, she reached over to a chair near the bed where lay her wrapper and proceeded to put it on. There was nothing for her to do but get up and pull down her window shades.

Suddenly just as she was about to spring out of bed a flash of light on the blank wall opposite her bed caught her attention and glancing up she was horrified to see vividly outlined there the scene of Tuesday morning—the large library chair with the dead man sitting with head thrown back, and once again she gazed in breathless suspense straight into the man’s wide open staring eyes.

Evelyn sat spell-bound; then shuddering she covered her eyes with her hands and cowered back. When she looked up again the wall opposite was blank. Closing her eyes she pressed the lids down with her finger-tips and kept them so for at least ten minutes. The next time she looked at the wall the space was still blank, and steadying her shaken nerves with the thought that her imagination was running away with her, she started to rise when before her eyes appeared a cord, exaggerated in size against the blank wall; suspended apparently by unknown, unseen means in mid-air, it twined about like some uncanny snake, but even as it twisted to and fro, Evelyn recognized the peculiar style of the cord—she had seen it three times before: taken from the dead man’s pocket, hanging from the open parcel in her hand two days later, and given to her the next afternoon by Dan Maynard.

With desperate fingers Evelyn groped under her pillow for the silver whistle—she would not stay another minute alone; she must tell some one of her hallucination before she went entirely out of her head. With eyes averted from the opposite wall, she twisted about in bed until the missing whistle turned up under her left elbow.

Blowing the whistle was not as simple a business as she had anticipated; her mouth was dry and parched and such breath as she had in her body only raised a feeble pipe; but in desperation she persevered. She was bathed in perspiration before a sound of footsteps brought unspeakable relief.

“Hurry, hurry,” she gasped, as a white-robed figure stepped just inside her room. “Come nearer. Look!” and with eyes averted she pointed to the opposite wall.

She was conscious of the figure’s approach at her hoarse whisper, but the continued silence snapped her last remnant of self-control.

“Tell me you see it,” she begged piteously. “The string, Mrs. Ward; you see the string!” and she caught the woman and swung her about, imploring eyes upraised—the woman who faced her was not the housekeeper, but her mother.

“Be calm, Evelyn,” she said, stroking the girl’s hot head. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Can’t you see the string on the wall?” asked Evelyn clinging to her.

Mrs. Burnham looked in the direction Evelyn pointed.

“No, dear,” she whispered soothingly. “Look for yourself.”

Slowly, reluctantly Evelyn turned and looked full at the wall—her mother was right, it was blank. But even as she stared at it, the wall lightened and once again she gazed into the eyes of the dead man seated in the chair facing her.

“See, Mother!” she cried.

Like one carved from stone Mrs. Burnham stared at the opposite wall; motionless, almost with breathing suspended, she continued to look ahead of her. Suddenly she spoke, and it was a voice Evelyn had never heard before and would never have recognized as hers.

“I see nothing, Evelyn,” she said. “The wall is blank.”