He was in the library of an Alameda county lawyer, host of the Stanley
and the Windham families. Across the mahogany table, grasping the back
of a chair for support, one hand half outstretched in a supplicating
gesture, stood his Uncle Robert--pale, shaken ghost of the
self-possessed man that he usually was. Between them, imminent with
subtle violence, was the echo of Frank's question, hurled, like an
explosive missile at the elder man:

"Why did Bertha Larned kill herself?"

After an interval of silence Windham pulled himself together; looked
about him hastily ere he spoke. "Hush! Not here! Not now!" The eyes
which sought Frank's were brilliant with suffering. "Is she--dead?"

The young man nodded dumbly. Something like a sob escaped the elder. He
was first to speak. "Come. We must get out of here. We must have a
talk." He opened the door and went out, Frank following. In the street,
which sloped sharply downward from a major elevation, they could see the
bay of San Francisco, the rising smoke cloud on the farther shore. They
walked together upward, away from the houses, toward a grove of
eucalyptus trees. Here Robert halted and sat down. He seemed utterly
weary. Frank stood looking down across the valley.

"Bertha Larned was my daughter," said his uncle almost fiercely.

Frank did not turn nor start as Windham had expected. One might have
thought he did not hear. At length, however, he said slowly, "I
suspected that--a little. But I want to know."

"I--can't tell you more," said the other brokenly.

"Who--who was her mother, Uncle Bob?"

"If you love her, Frank, don't ask that question."

The young man snapped a dry twig from a tree and broke it with a sort of
silent concentration into half a dozen bits. "Then--it's true ... the
tale heard round town! That you and--"

"Yes, yes," Windham interrupted, "Frank, it's true."

"The--procuress?"

"Frank! For God's sake!" Windham's fingers gripped his nephew's arm.
"Don't let Maizie know. I've tried to live it down these twenty
years...."

"Damn it, do you think I'd tell Aunt Maizie?"

"It's--I can't believe it yet! That you--"

"Maizie wouldn't leave her mother." With a flicker of defiance Robert
answered him. "I was young, rudderless, after my people went East.... A
little wild, I guess."

"So you sought consolation?"

"Call it what you like," the other answered. "Some things are too strong
for men. They overwhelm one--like Fate."

Frank began paci