“My soul’s clean!” she screeched, “clean! I’m free; I’m free!” laughing still. She rushed out of the house and leaped and danced in the blazing sun. “Let her be,” said Heriot softly. “The man was an iniquitous devil, but he’s paid for it.” “But Beryl----” Andria’s lips were white. Had the story of Beryl’s mother put her out of Heriot’s heart? “I can’t travel for another week,” said Heriot simply, and a shame came over her at the matter-of-fact words. “Then we’ll take her away from Erle somehow.” “But--if he’s married her?” “He can’t. Don’t you see, she must be Erceldonne’s daughter?” “He can’t be--his son! That must be what they whispered,” she was whispering herself. “Don’t you see that solves the whole thing? Her money will set them on their feet--oh! the money must be a lie to get Raimond to marry her. She can’t have any money--and neither have we. How are we to get to England?” “That’s the easiest part,” Heriot added something to the old man who stood looking from one to the other, with eyes that were frightened but sane enough. He leaped to his feet at the word and ran out after Salome. “It’s the succession,” Andria cried, harking back to her own thoughts. “Raimond will be all right if he marries her.” Heriot moved gingerly on his pillows; his face was pale, but his eyes were shining. “I’m going to marry her myself,” he said quietly. “I don’t care if the devil’s her grandfather.” The old man came running in and poured a stream of wet, green coins on Heriot’s bed. They were Erceldonne’s own sovereigns! CHAPTER XXXV. THE BEGINNING OF THE JUDGMENT. Mother Felicitas grew strangely worse at Blackpool. She only stayed for a week in the quiet convent, and neither rested nor slept till she was back in her own place. But if she had thought to find there a letter from the man she dreaded she was mistaken. Three weeks went by, and instead of being reassured by his silence she was more terrified as each day passed without a letter. She had known him well enough at the station. Sixteen years and more had not changed a line in his face. If his son married the girl, her history would have to come out--if she were to be a profitable bride. And Erceldonne could tell it with such iniquitous cleverness that it would not be he who should be involved in crime or shame. Mother Felicitas would have liked to send out messengers to ransack all England for Beryl Corselas--she had learned easily enough that they had not taken her to Erceldonne--since, with the girl in her hands, she could once more have dictated terms to the man who had been too clever for her. But she had no one to send; would not have dared if she had had the cleverest detective in England to let him try to get the girl and fail. And if Erceldonne did not write, the real Mrs. Fuller did: She assured the reverend mother, with great gusto, that every effort was being made to find the missing girl.