Almost staggered by the strangeness of what was happening, Marrion was yet aware of something deep down in her which gave instant response to this claim upon her. "Yes," she said quietly, "I will do what you wish--father." "I am obliged--daughter," he replied lightly. "Of course it is for your eye alone. And now for heaven's sake give me some more of that drink. I feel quite exhausted." He lay back smiling at her. "It is better here," he remarked, "than in the north of Scotland." Then after a pause, "I suppose I ought not to have married your mother; but she was charming and it was very dull." After that he closed his eyes and slept. The doctor, coming in after an hour, found him still sleeping, while Marrion sat beside the bed holding the gold snuffbox in her hand. He bent over the slumbering face. "I don't think there will be any operation," he said quietly. "The others were right. His mind has ceased to insist upon his body surviving and so there is rest. It is well." Marrion looked up into his wise face. "How did you guess?" she asked. He shrugged his shoulders. "There was no guess," he replied; "you remember I had seen your father. Then your extraordinary likeness. When by chance I saw the famous snuff-box yesterday it became a certainty. For a day I decided to say nothing. Then I saw the old chap was fighting death--putting a strain on himself about something, and I thought you had better have your innings." He did not ask any questions and she was grateful. "Perhaps you would like to stay," he added gently. "I don't think he will wake again." And he did not. As the sunlight faded from the room the old man's breathing became slower and ceased. Marrion stood looking down on him for a moment before she called for aid. All the time she had been watching she had been thinking, thinking; but she had arrived at nothing. Only deep down in her was a glad feeling of inheritance--a consciousness that the dead man had given her something, something that she held in trust. Was it only the gold snuff-box, she wondered vaguely, as, back in her own tent, she touched the spring. "The bearer of this, Prince Paul Pauloffski----" She sat staring at the words. Prince Paul Pauloffski was her father. Then she was gentle born. Then she need not-- With a rush all the things she need not have done crushed in on her. She buried her face in the pillow as she sat on the edge of her bed and muttered-- "People who play Providence!" Of a truth the wise man with the strange eyes was right. Your past was _karma_. You could not escape from it.