men call death--and there together we
shall await the coming of the husband and father we could neither
of us claim in this miserable, gray old world. Father Paul--dearest
and best and truest of fathers, your Boy has learned with you the
cost of love, and has gladly paid the price--'sorrow and death!'"

He bent again over the cold form, he pushed aside the clustering curls,
and kissed again and again, with all the fervor and pain of a lifetime's
repression, the white marble face of his son.

And a few words of that little note rang in his ears
unceasingly--"dearest, and best, and _truest_ of fathers!" _Truest of
fathers_! Ah, yes! The Boy--his Boy--had understood!

And the scalding tears came that were his one salvation, for they washed
away for a time some of the deadly ache from his bereaved heart.

* * * * *

When the force of his outburst was spent, Sir Paul Verdayne mastered
himself resolutely. There was much to be done. It was indeed a double
torture to find such an affliction here, of all places under Heaven, but
he told himself that his Queen would have him brave and strong, and
master his grief as an English gentleman should. And her wishes were
still, as they had ever been, the guide of his every thought and action.

One thing he was determined upon. The world must never know the truth.

To be sure, Sir Paul himself did not know the secret of that one day. He
could only surmise. Even Vasili did not know. The Boy had cleverly
managed to have the day, as he had the preceding one, "all to himself,"
as he had informed Vasili, and Opal had been equally skillful in
escaping the attendance of her maid. They had left the hotel separately
at night, in different directions, returning separately at night. Who
was there to suspect that they had passed the day together, or had even
met each other at all? Surely--no one!

And what was there for the world to know, in the mystery of their death?
Nothing! They were each found alone, stabbed to the heart, and the
dagger that had done the deed had not even been withdrawn from the body
of the Boy, when they found him. Sir Paul and Vasili had recognized it,
but who would dare to insinuate that the same dagger had drunk the blood
of the young American lady, or to say whose hand had struck either blow?
It was all a mystery, and Sir Paul was determined that it should remain
so.

Money can accomplish anything, and though all