to know all about you, past, present, and future. I--"

"Alaire! My darling!" he cried, and his face stiffened as if with pain.

Still in a joyous mood, she teased him. "You had better tremble, I've
found you out, deceiver. I know who you really are."

"Who am I?"

"Don't you know?"

Dave shook his head.

"Really? Have you never read your mother's will?"

Law rose to his elbow, then swung his legs to the floor. "What are you
talking about?" he asked.

For answer Alaire handed him the frayed envelope and its contents.

He examined it, and then said, heavily: "I see! I was expecting this.
It seems I've been carrying it around all this time--"

"Why don't you read it?" she insisted. "There's light enough there by
the window. I supposed you knew all about it or I wouldn't have joked
with you."

He opened his lips to speak, but, seeing something in her eyes, he
stepped to the window and read swiftly. A moment, and then he uttered a
cry.

"Alaire!" he exclaimed, hoarsely. "Read this--My eyes--O God!"

Wonderingly she took the sheets from his shaking hands and read aloud
the paragraph he indicated: Fifth: I bequeath to my adopted son, David,
offspring of the unfortunate American woman who died in my house at
Escovedo--

Again Dave cried out and knelt at Alaire's feet, his arms about her
knees, his face buried in her dress. His shoulders were heaving and his
whole body was racked with sobs.

Shocked, frightened, Alaire tried to raise him, but he encircled her in
a tighter embrace.

"Dave! What is it? What have I done?" she implored. "Have I hurt you
so?"

It was a long time before he could make known the significance of that
paragraph, and when he finally managed to tell her about the terrible
fear that had lain so heavily upon his soul it was in broken, choking
words which showed his deep emotion. The story was out at last,
however, and he stood over her transfigured.

Alaire lifted her arms and placed them upon his shoulders. "Were you
going to give me up for that?--for a shadow?"

"Yes. I had made up my mind. I wouldn't have dared marry you last
night, but--I never expected to see today's sun. I didn't think it
would make much difference. It was more than a shadow, Alaire. It was
real. I WAS mad--stark, staring mad--or in a fair way of becoming so. I
suppose I brooded too much. Those violent spells, those wild moments I
sometimes have, made me think it must be true. I dare say they are no
more than