the father who had bartered her into slavery for the sake of certain
social franchises that the Iron Count had at his disposal. The outside
world, which loved her, never heard of these bitter passages between
father and child. Like Cinderella, she sometimes disappeared from joyous
things at midnight; the next heard of her, she was in Vienna, or at
Schloss Marlanx.

If the Duke of Perse repented of his bargain in giving his daughter to
the Iron Count, he was never known to intimate as much. He loved
Ingomede in his own, hard way. No doubt he was sorry for her. It is a
fact that she was sorry for him. She could read his bitter thoughts more
clearly than he suspected.

Of late she came more frequently to Edelweiss than before. She was seen
often at the Castle; no court function was complete without the presence
of this lovely noblewoman; no _salon_ worth while unless graced by her
wit and her beauty.

John Tullis was always to remember the moment when he looked upon this
exquisite creature for the first time. That was months ago. After that
he never ceased being a secret, silent worshipper at her transient
shrine.

Ten o'clock on this rainy night: A carriage has drawn up before the
lower gates to the Perse grounds, and a tall, shadowy figure leaves it
to hurry through the shrub lined walks to the massive doors. A watchman
in the garden salutes him. The tall figure dips his umbrella in
response, characteristically laconic. A footman lifts his hand to his
forelock at the top of the steps and throws open the doors without
question. This visitor is expected, it is plain to be seen; a
circumstance which may or may not explain the nervousness that attends
him as he crosses the broad hall toward the library.

Tullis had long since ceased to be a welcome visitor in the home of the
Duke of Perse. The men were openly unfriendly to each other. The Duke
resented the cool interference of the sandy-haired American; on the
other hand, Tullis made no effort to conceal his dislike, if not
distrust, of the older man. He argued--with unofficial and somewhat
personal authority,--that a man who could trade his only child for
selfish ends might also be impelled to sacrifice his country's interests
without cramping his conscience.

The Countess was alone in the long, warm-tinted library. She stood
before the dying embers in the huge old fireplace, her foot upon one of
the great iron dogs. Her smiling face was turned toward the door as h