"Wilmot," said he, "will never consent to save himself at your expense. And I think I can promise you that Blizzard will do nothing in this matter for some time. He is to undergo a very serious operation to-night. It has all been arranged. A man under obligation to Blizzard has consented to give his legs--I am to operate. Don't look at me like that, daughter. I have given my word that if I thought the thing could be done, I would do it. The man consents. There is no reason why I shouldn't. I would do more to undo what I have done, and in the interests of science." "You don't understand. The man who _consents_ is Wilmot." "Did Blizzard tell you so?" "Nobody has told me. I know it. He consents so that I may go free." "Of course if Wilmot is the man--" "You couldn't--you wouldn't do it to _him_, father." "And you so in love with him, my dear! We must go to the police." "No, we mustn't. He said that if we tried to play any tricks, we might get him, but never Wilmot, alive. Don't you see? Father, the man isn't fit to live. He's insane." "Answer wanted, Miss Barbara." Bubbles entered hesitatingly, a note in his hand. One glance at the superscription, and Barbara ripped open the envelope. She read the note and her brows contracted with pain. "Read that, father." Dr. Ferris read: DEAREST BARBS: I can't help breaking my silence to say I love you with my whole heart and soul. Only tell me that you are safe and sound in your father's house. I want much to know that, for I am on the brink of a great, a dangerous, and I think a noble venture. WILMOT. "What did I tell you!" she exclaimed. "Who brought this, Bubbles?" "Nobody--a messenger-boy." "Barbara," said her father, "write that you are safe at home. I'll tell Lichtenstein what has happened. He's our best advice. Where is Mr. Lichtenstein, Bubbles?" "In his room, sir, writing." Dr. Ferris left hurriedly, and Bubbles, gnawed by unsatisfied curiosity, stood first on one foot and then on the other while Barbara wrote to Wilmot. Somehow it was a very difficult note to write, for she felt sure that it would not be read by Wilmot's eyes alone, and she didn't wish by a syllable further to incite the legless man against his prisoner. So at last she merely wrote that she was with her father at Clovelly. What she wanted to write was that her love for him had grown and grown until she was sure of it. After Bubbles had gone with the note she sat for a long time without moving, silent and white. When her father returned, bringing Lichtenstein, he, too, was white. "I am going to town at once," he said. "God willing, I shall have only good news for you." Barbara turned to Lichtenstein. "You've thought out something?" He nodded gravely. [Illustration: "Read that, father"] XLV "My treasure! My ownest own!" Rose cowered from the cold malice in the legless man's voice, and from the unearthly subdued excitement in his eyes.