A strange tale surely, a hideous nightmare, and yet so painfully realistic. One by one they were being cut off by the malignant destroyer, and ere long the family would be extinct. It seemed impossible to fight against the desolation that always struck in the darkness, and never struck in vain. Rupert Ravenspur looked out from the leads above the castle to the open sea, and from thence to the trim lawns and flower beds away to the park, where the deer stood knee-deep in the bracken. It was a fair and perfect picture of a noble English homestead, far enough removed apparently from crime and violence. And yet! A deep sigh burst from the old man's breast; his lips quivered. The shadow of that awful fear was in his eyes. Not that he feared for himself, for the snows of seventy years lay upon his head, and his life's work was done. It was others he was thinking of. The bright bars of the setting sun shone on a young and graceful couple below coming towards the moat. A tender light filled old Ravenspur's eyes. Then he started as a gay laugh reached his ears. The sound caught him almost like a blow. Where had he heard a laugh like that before? It seemed strangely out of place. And yet those two were young, and they loved one another. Under happier auspices, Geoffrey Ravenspur would some day come into the wide acres and noble revenues, and take his cousin Vera to wife. "May God spare them!" Ravenspur cried aloud. "Surely the curse must burn itself out some time, or the truth must come to light. If I could only live to know that they were happy!" The words were a fervent prayer. The dying sun that turned the towers and turrets of the castle to a golden glory fell on his white, quivering face. It lit up the agony of the strong man with despair upon him. He turned as a hand lay light as thistledown on his arm. "Amen with all my heart, dear grandfather," a gentle voice murmured. "I could not help hearing what you said." Ravenspur smiled mournfully. He looked down into a pure young face, gentle and placid, like that of a madonna, and yet full of strength. The dark brown eyes were so clear that the white soul seemed to gleam behind them. There was Hindoo blood in Marion Ravenspur's veins, but she bore no trace of the fact. And, out of the seven surviving members of that ill-fated race, Marion was the most beloved. All relied upon her, all trusted her. In the blackest hour her courage never faltered; she never bowed before the unseen terror. Ravenspur turned upon her almost fiercely. "We must save Vera and Geoffrey," he said. "They must be preserved. The rest of us are as nothing by comparison. The whole future of our race lies with those two young people. Watch over them, Marion; shield Vera from every harm. I know that she loves you. Swear that you will protect her from every evil!"