awn. He
experienced a cynical amusement in the thought that the path of true
love had been smoothed by such equivocal means. Neither of the children
would ever know of the shadows that had gathered so closely around them.

But, Mrs. Marteen--what of her? Again the longing came upon him--to know
her awake to herself and to her own soul; to know the predatory instinct
forever quieted, that upsurging of some remote inconscience of the
race's history of rapine in the open, and acquisition by stealth,
forever conquered; to know her spirit triumphant. The momentary joy of
successful battle passed, leaving him deeply troubled. All his fears
returned. The sense of impending disaster, that had withdrawn for the
moment, overwhelmed him once more.

He entered his own home absently, listened, abstracted, to the various
items Saunders thought important enough to mention, dismissed him, and
turned wearily to a pile of personal mail. His eye caught a familiar
handwriting on a thick envelope.

From Mrs. Marteen evidently--postmarked St. Augustine. He broke the
seal, wondering how her letter came to bear that mark. What change had
been made in her plans? He hesitated, panic-stricken, like a woman
before an unexpected telegram. He withdrew the enclosure, noting at a
glance a variety of papers--the appearance of a diary.

"Dear, dear friend," it began, "I must write--I must, and to you,
because you know--you know, and yet you have made me your friend--to
you, because you love my little girl. They are killing me, killing me
through her. I'm coming home, as fast as I can; I don't yet know how,
for I'm heading the other way, and I can't stop the steamer, but I'm
coming. I received a message, the second day out. It had been given to
the purser for delivery and marked with the date--that's nothing
unusual; I've had steamer letters delivered, one each day, during a
whole crossing. I never gave it a thought when he handed it to me, I
never divined. It seems to me now that I should have sensed it. I read
it, and--but how to tell you? I have it here; I'll send it to you."

A sheet of notepaper was pinned to the letter. Sick at heart, Gard
unfastened it. Mahr's name appeared at the bottom. Gard read: "Dear
lady, you forgot to give your daughter the combination of the jewel safe
and its inner compartment before you sailed. I am attending to that for
you, and have no doubt that she will at once inventory the contents. We
are always glad to retur