ter mature consideration. I tried paying another man, but he
shirked his work and showed the white feather; so Steinmetz and I
concluded that there was nothing to be done but do our dirty work
ourselves."

"Which, being translated, means that you do it."

"Pardon me. Steinmetz does his share."

Catrina Lanovitch was essentially a woman, despite her somewhat
masculine frame. She settled Karl Steinmetz's account with a sniff of
contempt.

"And that is why you have been so fond of Osterno the last two years?"
she asked innocently.

"Yes," he answered, falling into the trap.

Catrina winced. One does not wince the less because the pain is
expected. The girl had the Slav instinct of self-martyrdom, which makes
Russians so very different from the pleasure-loving nations of Europe.

"Only that?" she enquired.

Paul glanced down at her.

"Yes," he answered quietly.

They walked on in silence for a few moments. Paul seemed tacitly to have
given up the idea of visiting any more of the stricken cottages. They
were going toward the long old house, which was called the castle more
by courtesy than by right.

"How long are you going to stay in Osterno?" asked Catrina at length.

"About a fortnight; I cannot stay longer. I am going to be married."

Catrina stopped dead. She stood for a moment looking at the ground with
a sort of wonder in her eyes, not pleasant to see. It was the look of
one who, having fallen from a great height, is not quite sure whether it
means death or not. Then she walked on.

"I congratulate you," she said. "I only hope she will make you happy.
She is--beautiful, I suppose?"

"Yes," answered Paul simply.

The girl nodded her head.

"What is her name?"

"Etta Sydney Bamborough."

Catrina had evidently never heard the name before. It conveyed nothing
to her. Womanlike, she went back to her first question.

"What is she like?"

Paul hesitated.

"Tall, I suppose?" suggested the stunted woman at his side.

"Yes."

"And graceful?"

"Yes."

"Has she--pretty hair?" asked Catrina.

"I think so--yes."

"You are not observant," said the girl in a singularly even and
emotionless voice. "Perhaps you never noticed."

"Not particularly," answered Paul.

The girl raised her face. There was a painful smile twisting her lips.
The moonlight fell upon her; the deep shadows beneath the eyes made her
face wear a grin. Some have seen such a grin on the face of a drowning
man--a sight not to