"How could that be?" "He has duplicate keys, I suppose. Once before I have reason to believe he was there. We struggled together, one on each side of a door. It was in the dark, and he managed to dodge past me, but I fired at him and drew blood, I think." "When was that?" she demanded with a quickness which did not escape him. "On the morning of the day you were to have met me at the cemetery, but sent such a bitter little note instead." "A bitter little note!" And thus were the words said which, pursued for another sentence, must have unmasked Van Hupfeldt wholly; but they were both so excited, so carried out of all bounds of reasoned thought, that Violet flew off at a tangent, and David doubled after her, so delightful was it to hear the words coming from her lips, to watch her eyes telegraph their secret meanings. "He was lame that day," she whispered. "He is not quite free from stiffness in his walk yet." "Ah! I hit him then?" And David smiled a different kind of smile to that which Violet was learning to like. "But if all that you say is true, the man is a monster," she cried in a sudden rage. "I am coming to think that he is not in his right mind," said David, a surprising charity springing up in him. "And do you know what they are waiting for now?" she asked vehemently. "I cannot tell, save that it is for you." "They want me to sign a marriage settlement. Oh, what a vile world!" "Not a vile world, dear; nor are its humans altogether bad. Even this Van Hupfeldt, or Strauss, seems to have loved your sister. And she did love him. Poor girl! She meant to kill herself on his account, owing to some secret he revealed to her, something about another woman who had adopted him as her son. That was not clear in her story. She purposely kept the definite things out of her diary." The girl's mind was driven back, with quick rebound, to the memory of her sister's fate. The mere mention of the name of Strauss touched a poignant chord. Strauss was a blacker, more Satanic creature in her imagination than Van Hupfeldt. She wrenched herself free and sprang toward the door. "Do you swear that you are telling me the truth?" she cried. "I swear it." "Then I go now to meet him, and his lawyer, and my mother. Poor mother! How she will suffer!" "Shall I come with you?" She blushed. She began to remember, more vividly each instant, how long she had been there in his arms, almost clinging to him. "Better not," she said. "I shall drive him away, and when mother and I have cried together we shall see you. Are you staying in the village?" "Yes. At the inn, the Feathers I think it is called." "Then I shall send for you to-night, or perhaps to-morrow morning." "Make it to-night, if possible. Tell your mother I will not add to her sorrows, and it is best she should know all. "Good-by, then, Violet." "Good-by, David."