betrayed the father, what impulse of fear or humanity
prompted him to take charge of the child, God alone, who reads all
hearts, can say. He went to England to look for her, found her in the
streets to which she had been abandoned by the faithlessness of the
guardians to whom I left her, and shut their mouths by buying them to
the perjury of burying the unknown body of an unfortunate being in the
name of my beloved child."

The hand on Rossi's arm trembled feebly, and slipped down to his own
hand. It was cold as ice. The voice from the phonograph was growing
faint.

"She is now in Rome, living in the name that was mine in Italy, amid an
atmosphere of danger and perhaps of shame. My son, save her from it. The
man who betrayed the father may betray the daughter also. Take her from
him. Rescue her. It is my dying prayer."

The hand in Rossi's hand was holding it tightly, and his blood was
throbbing at his heart.

"David," the voice from the phonograph was failing rapidly, "when this
shall come to your hands the darkness of the grave will be over me....
In my great distress of mind I torture myself with many terrors.... Do
not trifle with my request. But whatever you decide to do ... be gentle
with the child.... I dream of her every night, and send my heart's heart
to her on the swelling tides of love.... Adieu, my son. The end is near.
God be with you in all you do that I did ill or left undone. And if
death's great sundering does not annihilate the memory of those who
remain on earth, be sure you have a helper and an advocate in heaven."

The voice ceased, the whirring of the instrument came to an end, and an
invisible spirit seemed to fade into the air. The pattering of the rain
had stopped, and there was the crackle of cab wheels on the pavement
below. Roma had dropped Rossi's hand, and was leaning forward on her
knees with both hands over her face. After a moment, she wiped her eyes
with her handkerchief and began to put on her hat.

"How long is it since you received this message?" she said.

"On the night you came here first."

"And when I asked you to come to my house on that ... that useless
errand, you were thinking of ... of my father's request as well?"

"Yes."

"You have known all this about the Baron for a month, yet you have said
nothing. _Why_ have you said nothing?"

"You wouldn't have believed me at first, whatever I had said against
him."

"But afterwards?"

"Afterwards I had another reas