room to where there stood on a shelf a little
ebony cabinet, clamped with dull silver of foreign workmanship. He
unlocked it, and withdrew from it a letter, the paper faintly yellowed
and brittle with the passage of time.

He held it out to Diana.

"No eyes but mine haf ever rested on it since it was given into my hand
after her death," he said very gently. "But you, my child, you shall
read it; you are hurt and unhappy, battering against fate, and
believing that those who love you haf served you ill. But we were all
bound in different ways. . . . Read the letter, little one, and thou
wilt see that I, too, was not free."

Hesitatingly Diana unfolded the thin sheet and read the few faded lines
it contained.

"CARLO MIO,

"I think the end is coming for Anton and for me. The revolt of the
people is beyond all quelling. My only fear is for Nadine; my only
hope for her ultimate safety lies in Max. If ever, in the time to
come, your silence or your speech can do aught for my child--in the
name of the love you gave me, I beg it of you. In serving her, you
will be serving me.

"SONIA."

Very slowly Diana handed the letter back to Baroni.

"So--that was why," she whispered.

Baroni bent his head.

"That was why. I could not speak. But I did all that lay in my power
to prevent this marriage of yours."

"You did." A wan little smile tilted the corners of her mouth at the
remembrance.

"Afterwards--your happiness was on the knees of the gods!"

"No," said Diana suddenly. "No. It was in my own hands. Had I
believed in Max we should have been happy still. . . . But I failed
him."

A long silence followed. At last she rose, holding out her hands.

"Thank you," she said simply. "Thank you for showing me the letter."

Baroni stooped his head and carried her hands to his lips.

"My dear, we make our mistakes and then we pay. It is always so in
life. Love"--and the odd, clouded voice shook a little--"Love
brings--great happiness--and great pain. Yet we would not be without
it."

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE AWAKENING

Somehow the interminable hours of the day had at last worn to evening,
and Diana found herself standing in front of a big mirror, listlessly
watching Milling as she bustled round her, putting the last touches to
her dress for the Duchess of Linfield's reception. The same thing had
to be gone through every concert night--the same patient waiting while
the exquisite toilette,