"What could it mean? Who could the man have been? Surely not Herbert himself, and yet--oh! why will they not let sleeping dogs lie; why must that old scandal, that one stain on Pennington Lawton's past have been brought again to light, and at such a time? I pray God that Anita never mentions it to anyone else, never learns the truth. By Jove, if any complications arise from this, there will be only one thing for me to do. I must call upon the Master Mind." CHAPTER II REVELATIONS For two days Anita wandered wraithlike about the great darkened house. The thought that Ramon was keeping something from her--that he and her dead father together had kept a secret which, for some reason, must not be revealed to her, weighed upon her spirits. Conjectures as to the unknown intruder on the night of her father's death, and his possible purpose, flooded her mind to the exclusion of all else. In the dusk of the winter afternoon she was lying on the couch in her dressing-room, lost in thought, when Ellen, tapping lightly at the door, interrupted her reverie. "The minister, Miss Anita--the Rev. Dr. Franklin--he is in the drawing-room." "Oh!" Anita gave a little movement of dismay. "Tell him that I am suffering from a very severe headache, and gave orders that I was not to be disturbed by anyone. He means well, Ellen, of course, but he always depresses me horribly, lately. I don't feel like talking to him this afternoon." The maid retired, but returned again almost immediately with a surprised, half-frightened expression on her usually stolid face. "Please, Miss Anita, Dr. Franklin says he must see you and at once. He seems to be excited and he won't take no for an answer." "Ramon!" Anita cried, springing from the couch with swift apprehension. "Something has happened to Ramon, and Dr. Franklin has come to tell me. He may be injured, dead! Ah, God would not do that; He would not take him from me, too!" "Don't take on so, Miss Anita, dear," the faithful Ellen murmured, as she deftly smoothed the girl's hair and rearranged her gown; "the little man acts more as if he had a fine piece of gossip to pass on--fidgeting about like an old woman, he is. Begging your pardon, Miss, I know he is the minister, of course, and I ought to show him more respect, but he forever reminds me of a fat black pigeon." The remarks of the privileged old servant fell upon deaf, unheeding ears. Anita, sobbing softly beneath her breath, flew down to the drawing-room, where the pompous black-cloaked figure rose at her entrance. But--was it purely Anita's fancy or had some indefinable change actually taken place in the manner of her spiritual adviser? The rather close-set eyes seemed to the girl to gleam somewhat coldly upon her, and although he took both her hands in his in quick, fatherly greeting, his hand-clasp appeared all at once to be lacking in warmth. "My poor child, my poor Anita!" he began unctuously, but she interrupted him.