ch I could not
penetrate. Some hostile influence had been at work; in death, even
more than in life, perhaps, her father's will weighed upon her. I
could imagine how a feeling of remorse might grow and deepen, and urge
her toward foolish and useless sacrifice.

And just then Mrs. Hargis came out and told me that someone wanted me
on the 'phone. It was Swain.

"They let me come out here to the office to 'phone to you," he said,
as he heard my exclamation of surprise. "Simmonds happened in and told
them it would be all right. He's here now."

"And they're treating you all right?"

"They're treating me like the star boarder," he laughed. And then his
voice grew suddenly serious. "Have you seen Miss Vaughan?"

"Yes," I answered; for I knew of course that the question was coming.

"Well?"

"Miss Vaughan refuses to go to the Royces', Swain."

There was a moment's silence.

"Then where will she go?"

"She won't go anywhere."

"You don't mean," he cried, panic in his voice, "that she's going to
stay out there?"

"Yes; she laughed when I mentioned danger. There's one
consolation--the servants will stay."

"Did you tell her how anxious I was for her?"

"Yes; I did my best, Swain."

"And it made no difference?"

"No; it made no difference. The fact is, Swain, I fancy she's a little
remorseful about her father--his death has unnerved her--and there was
the funeral to-day--and, as a sort of atonement, she's trying to do
what she imagines he would wish her to do."

"He wished her to become a priestess," said Swain, his voice ghastly.

"Oh, well, she won't go that far," I assured him cheerfully; "and no
doubt in a few days, when the first impression of the tragedy has worn
off, she will be ready to go to the Royces'. I'll keep suggesting it,
and I'm going to have Mrs. Royce call on her."

"Thank you, Mr. Lester," he said, but his voice was still shaking.
"I--this sort of knocks me out--I hadn't foreseen it. I'll have to
think it over. But there's one thing you _can_ do."

"What is it?"

"Watch the house!" he cried. "Watch the house! And be ready if she
screams again."

"All right," I said, soothingly, "I'll do that. But tell me, Swain,
what is it you fear?"

"I fear Silva!" said Swain, in a voice husky with emotion. "It isn't
remorse for her father--it's Silva who's working on her. I feel it,
some way--I'm sure of it. God knows what he'll try--any villainy. You
must watch the house, Mr. Lester--day and