s feet and went across to one of the windows, and he stood
there for a long time frowning out into the summer day. If ever in his
life, he said to himself with some deliberation, he was to need a cool
and clear head, faculties unclouded and unimpaired by emotion, it was
now in these next few days. Much more than his own well-being depended
upon him now. The fates of a whole family, and quite possibly the lives
of some of them, were in his hands. He must not fail, and he must not,
in any least way, falter.

For enemies he had a band of desperate adventurers, and the very boy
himself, the centre and reason for the whole plot, had been, in some
incomprehensible way, so played upon that he, too, was against him.

The man standing by the window forced himself quite deliberately to look
the plain facts in the face. He compelled himself to envisage this
beautiful girl with her tragic eyes for just what his reason knew her to
be--an adventuress, a decoy, a lure to a callow, impressionable, foolish
lad, the tool of that arch-villain Stewart and of the lesser villain her
father. It was like standing by and watching something lovely and
pitiful vilely befouled. It turned his heart sick within him, but he
held himself to the task. He brought to aid him the vision of his lady,
in whose cause he was pursuing this adventure. For strength and
determination he reached eye and hand to her where she sat enthroned,
calm-browed, serene.

For the first time since the beginning of all things his lady failed
him, and Ste. Marie turned cold with fear.

Where was that splendid frenzy that had been wont to sweep him all in an
instant into upper air--set his feet upon the stars? Where was it? The
man gave a sudden, voiceless cry of horror. The wings that had such
countless times upborne him fluttered weakly near the earth and could
not mount. His lady was there; through infinite space he was aware of
her, but she was cold and aloof, and her eyes gazed very serenely beyond
at something he could not see.

He knew well enough that the fault lay somewhere within himself. She was
as she had ever been, but he lacked the strength to rise to her. Why?
Why? He searched himself with a desperate earnestness, but he could find
no answer to his questioning. In himself, as in her, there had come no
change. She was still to him all that she ever had been--the star of his
destiny, the pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day, to guide him on
his path. Where,