n of what she had already betrayed,
she suddenly took her hand from her father's arm. Santoine turned his
face toward his daughter. Another twinge racked the tumult of his
emotions. He groped and groped again, trying to catch his daughter's
hand; but she avoided him. She directed servants to lift Blatchford's
body and told them where to bear it. After that, Santoine resisted no
longer. He let the servants, at his daughter's direction, help him to
his room. His daughter went with him and saw that he was safe in bed;
she stood beside him while the nurse washed the blood-splotches from
his hands and feet. When the nurse had finished, he still felt his
daughter's presence; she drew nearer to him.

"Father?" she questioned.

"Yes."

"You don't agree with Donald, do you?--that Mr. Eaton went to the study
to--to get something, and that whoever has been following him found him
there and--and interrupted him and he killed Cousin Wallace?"

Santoine was silent an instant. "That seems the correct explanation,
Harriet," he evaded. "It does not fully explain; but it seems correct
as far as it goes. If Donald asks you what my opinion is, tell him it
is that."

He felt his daughter shrink away from him.

The blind man made no move to draw her back to him; he lay perfectly
still; his head rested flat upon the pillows; his hands were clasped
tightly together above the coverlet. He had accused himself, in the
room below, because, by the manner he had chosen to treat Eaton, he had
slain the man he loved best and had forced a friendship with Eaton on
his daughter which, he saw, had gone further than mere friendship; it
had gone, he knew now, even to the irretrievable between man and
woman--had brought her, that is, to the state where, no matter what
Eaton was or did, she must suffer with him! But Santoine was not
accusing himself now; he was feeling only the fulfillment of that
threat against those who had trusted him with their secrets, which he
had felt vaguely after the murder of Gabriel Warden and, more plainly
with the events of each succeeding day, ever since. For that threat,
just now, had culminated in his presence in purposeful, violent action;
but Santoine in his blindness had been unable--and was still
unable---to tell what that action meant.

Of the three men who had fought in his presence in the room below--one
before the safe, one at the fireplace, one behind the table--which had
been Eaton? What had h