few lines.
She had told her son all, and he elected to assert his rightful name
and position. In future he intended to call himself "De Vaux" and on
my death he would claim the estates.

"'I read the letter, and determined on instant action. In a week my
son Paul and I were on board my yacht, starting for the Mediterranean.
We made for Palermo, and here we separated,--Paul, at all hazard, to
find Count Hirsfeld, to whom I made a splendid offer if he would
aid me in inducing Irene to change her purpose; I for Cruta, to see
Irene.'

* * * * *

"This is almost the end of your father's confession to me," Father
Adrian continued. "At Cruta he sought the hospitality of the
monastery, where he was taken ill. He wrote an urgent letter to you,
and immediately he was able to walk he went up to the castle. I have
already told you of the manner of return. Of that visit he told me
scarcely anything, and he told me nothing at all concerning the wound
which he received there. Only I gathered that he was more than ever
anxious to see Count Hirsfeld. It was while waiting for your return
that he made this confession to me. I have finished."

* * * * *

The white morning light was stealing into the room through the
uncurtained windows. The fire had burnt out, and there was only a
handful of ashes in the grate. Outside in the park a grey mist was
hanging about in the hollows and over the tree-tops, and something of
its damp chilliness seemed to have found its way into the apartment.
Paul, who had been leaning heavily upon the mantelpiece, with his head
buried in his hands, looked up and shivered. Then he glanced quickly
across towards the opposite easy-chair. Father Adrian was still there,
and at Paul's movement he rose to his feet.

"This has been a terrible night for you, I fear," he said quietly.
"I am sorry to have given you so much pain. If I could I would have
spared you."

"I thank you," Paul answered wearily. "It was right that I should
know. Why did you not tell me at Cruta?"

"It seemed to me that your father's death was enough for you to bear!
Perhaps I was wrong!"

Paul made no answer. His thoughts seemed suddenly to have travelled
far away. Father Adrian watched his pale, stricken face with cold,
pitiless eyes.

"You are weary," he said softly. "I shall leave you now, but I have
something more to say to you on this matter. It is no part of your
father