"It need not be a sell at all," replied Marrion. "The child shall have the title--he must have that--but not one penny of the money shall he take till the debts are paid, Mr. Peter! I know the law. I have studied it to find out where I stand; and you are the boy's natural guardian. I"--she spoke bitterly--"am only the mother. I have no say. But I am going to buy freedom from you. Live here--promise me that--use the monies as your own. Keep the old place up for the child; but I will take him for myself. I will bring him up away from the evil traditions of this old house, and when he comes back to it, a man grown, he will be different--even from his father--even, I hope, from me!" So she said then, but as the years passed little Lord Drummuir came more than once to visit his invalid uncle, for Peter, away from the excitements of town life, defied the doctors for a time. And from the Carpathian pine woods the little lad travelled more than once to a solitary cairn on the Balkan hills by the side of which Andrew Fraser--who never ceased rejoicing that his plain speaking had shown Marrion the wickedness of stealing the bairn's name--would tell him marvellous tales of the dead colonel, his father, and of his prowess in every way. The honest fellow had but one care. The double title was the fly in the honey-pot, and when the old Princess would ask, "Where is Prince Pauloffski?" Andrew would invariably reply: "Lord Drummuir is waiting on his mother." Thus the game of life went on and it was well worth it. But perhaps, as Marrion often told herself, the honours lay with one who in that life had been the curse of his family. * * * * * BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD ENGLAND