costume, which was a blue replica of his own gray silks.

"Dysart!" he said sharply.

The masked figure swung gracefully around and stood still, searching the
shadowy woodland inquiringly.

"I want a word with you. Here--not in the light, if you please. You
recognise my voice, don't you?"

"Is that you, Mallett?" asked Dysart coldly, as the former appeared in
the light for an instant and turned back again with a curt gesture.

"Yes. I want you to step over here among the trees, where nobody can
interrupt us."

Dysart followed more slowly; came to a careless halt:

"Well, what the devil do you want?" he demanded insolently.

"I'll tell you. I've had an encounter with a mask who mistook me for
you.... And she has said--several things--under that impression. She
still believes that I am you. I asked her to wait for me over there by
those oaks. Do you see where I mean?" He pointed and Dysart nodded
coolly. "Well, then, I want you to go back there--find her, and act as
though it had been you who heard what she said, not I."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly that. The girl ought never to know that what she said
was heard and--and _understood_, Dysart, by any man in the world except
the blackguard I'm telling this to. Now, do you understand?"

He stepped nearer:

"The girl is Sylvia Quest. _Now_, do you understand, damn you!"

A stray glimmer from the distant lanterns fell across Dysart's masked
visage. The skin around the mouth was loose and ashy, the dry lips
worked.

"That was a dirty trick of yours," he stammered; "a scoundrelly thing to
do."

"Do you suppose that I dreamed for an instant that she was convicting
herself and you?" said Duane in bitter contempt. "Go and manufacture
some explanation of my conduct as though it were your own. Let her have
that much peace of mind, anyway."

"You young sneak!" retorted Dysart. "I suppose you think that what you
have heard will warrant your hanging around my wife. Try it and see."

"Good God, Dysart!" he said, "I never thought you were anything more
vicious than what is called a 'dancing man.' What are you, anyhow?"

"You'll learn if you tamper with my affairs," said Dysart. He whipped
off his mask and turned a corpse-like visage on the younger man. Every
feature of his face had altered: his good looks were gone, the youth in
his eyes had disappeared, only a little evil lustre played over them;
and out of the drawn pallor Duane saw an old man peering, an