which
invents disaster in moments of suspense, so that he was able to keep his
watch more patiently than many another might have done. Once he tried to
smoke; but the mere scent of tobacco seemed out of place in this curious
world, alive with odd psychical suggestions, and he threw the cigar away
into the darkness, where its light glowed reproachfully, like a dying
eye, till it went out.

It was after three when a sudden sound from the driveway struck his ear;
but he had been deceived so often that he would pay it no attention.
Though it seemed like the unmistakable approach of an automobile, it had
seemed so before, and he would not even look round till he had reached
the distant end of the terrace. When he turned he could see through the
trees, and along the dark line of the avenue, the advance of the
heralding light. Dorothea had come at last. She was even close upon
them. In a few more seconds she would be alighting at the steps.

He hurried inside to wake the porter and warn Diane.

"She's here!" he called, rapping sharply at her door. "Please come!
Quick!"

There was a response and a hurried movement from within, but he did not
wait for her to appear. When she came out of her room she could see from
the light thrown over the terrace that the motor had already stopped at
the steps. Some one was getting out, and she could hear men's voices.
Advancing to a spot midway between her room and the main entry, she
stood waiting for Derek to bring her his daughter. A moment later he
sprang into the light of the doorway with features white and alarmed.

"Go back!" he cried to her, with a commanding gesture. "Go back!"

"But what's the matter?"

"Go back!" he ordered, more imperiously than before.

"Oh, Derek, it's Dorothea! She's hurt. I must go to her. I will not go
back."

She rushed toward the entry, but he caught her and pushed her back.

"I tell you you must go back," he repeated.

"It's Dorothea!" she cried. "She's hurt! She's killed! Let me go! She
needs me!"

"It isn't Dorothea," he whispered, forcing her over the threshold of her
own room and trying to close the door upon her.

"Then what is it?" she begged. "Tell me now. You're hurting me. Let me
go! You're killing me."

"It's--"

But there was no need to say more, for the main door swung open again
and the Marquis de Bienville entered, followed by a porter carrying his
valise.

At his appearance Derek relinquished Diane's hands, and Diane her