e dunes with Billy,
and the bay seemed an impassable barrier between them and Bluff Head.

To go to Billy and demand the sequel to the pitiful story of Mary
Andrews's life was out of the question. Mr. Thorndyke was long since
dead, and had left no papers nor books to help any of his clients in
their affairs. While he lived, he had served them faithfully, according
to his light; but he felt that in dying he cancelled all obligations.
Suppose Mary Andrews had gone to Captain Billy with her secret buried
from sight, who was he that he should deal the faithful man at the
Station a blow that might end his life--surely, his trust and peace? But
Janet! There was the awful doubt. Thorndyke had said there was a child,
had he spoken true? If there were a child, was it that beautiful girl of
the Station? Devant's blood ran hotly, as he thought upon his belief in
heredity. Might it not be himself, instead of the poor mother, who was
accountable for the Pimpernel?

"Good God!" he muttered; "what would I not do for her? Train that keen
mind, so apt and greedy! Fit her for a high place and, in small measure,
redeem the brutal past! Give her perhaps--to Thornly!"

This thought stayed him. It might be by that power he would prevail--if
only he were sure!

He was standing before the mirror, tying his cravat, as these thoughts
ran through his tortured mind. Suddenly his hands dropped at his sides
and he strained his eyes at the reflection that met him. First it was
the color of the eyes that held and amazed him; then an expression at
once familiar and baffling. Was his own face, for the first time in his
life, becoming known to him? Or was the face of that girl of the dunes
crowding all other faces from his vision? Once, when first Janet's
beauty had stirred him, he had noticed her perfect ears set close to her
head. The ears were shell shaped and pink. The left ear, near the lobe,
had a curious inward curve, unlike the right--a fascinating defect that
added to, rather than detracted from, the beauty. It was like a
challenge to attract attention. Devant now observed his own left ear.
There, in coarser fashion, was the same mark! Through familiarity it
had, before, passed unnoticed, now it forced itself upon his
consciousness like a witness for the truth! Slight as these things were,
they turned the strong man weak. He dropped into a chair and rang for
Saxton.

"Bring me some coffee," he said; "make it yourself, and make it strong."