y in some respects; you need not stop with Doria if you
don't want to."

"Might my husband be alive? Do you imagine it possible that he could
be alive? I think of him as my husband again, now that this
midsummer madness is over. I have much to say to you. I want you--I
pray you--to help me as well as my uncle. But he must come first, of
course."

"We shall possibly find that in helping him we are helping you,"
answered Peter. "But you ask a question and I always answer a
question when it's reasonable to do so. No, Jenny, I cannot think
that Michael Pendean is alive. Let us go out into the air; it is
stuffy here. But remember I do not say that he is not alive. It was
certainly man's blood that an unknown hand shed at Foggintor; it was
man's blood in the cave under the cliffs near Mr. Bendigo Redmayne's
home; but as yet we know no more, with absolute certainty, who lost
it than who spilled it. That is the large problem I am here to
solve. And perhaps, if you want to help me, you can do so. This at
any rate I promise you: if you help me, you will also help yourself
and your Uncle Albert."

"He is in danger?"

"Consider the situation. In process of time the estate of Albert's
two brothers will devolve upon him. That means, I suppose, that
sooner or later the bulk of the money must be yours. Albert is
frail. I do not think he will be a long-lived man. What follows?
Surely that you--the last of the Redmaynes--will inherit everything.
And you are married. Here is a proposition, then. And what have you
just told me? That your husband is 'a devil,' and that you hate him
since you have seen a glimpse of his heart. These facts cannot be
entirely separated. They may or may not be closely allied."

She looked at him steadfastly.

"I have only thought of Giuseppe Doria in connection with myself,
never in connection with Uncle Bendigo and Uncle Albert. Uncle
Bendigo died--if he is dead--before I consented to marry
Doria--before he asked me to do so. But keep my mistake from my
uncle. I don't want him to know I'm miserable."

"You must decide where to put your trust, my dear," answered Mr.
Ganns. "Otherwise you may find yourself on dangerous ground."

She weighed her answer.

"You are thinking of something," she said.

"Naturally. What you have told me as to your relations with your
Italian husband offers considerable food for thought. But consider
very carefully. You cannot run with the hare and hunt with the
hounds. Ho