Phyllys' hand was on his arm, and a soft voice whispered, "Please don't! Is she—quite like other people?" "You don't understand—you can't!" Mrs. Keith spasmodically wailed. "It was—a mistake—a mistake—a mis—" The strain became too great. She burst into a storm of hysterics and had to be carried from the room. "I believe that girl is in the right," muttered Reeves. "Most charitable view to take, anyway—poor thing!" CHAPTER XXXVI THE COIL IN ITS BEGINNING SOME twenty-eight years before the date of this tale James Randolph, the then owner of Castle Hill, with his wife, spent a winter in the south of France, being ordered there for health. At the same place, staying also, was his brother-in-law, Geoffry Keith. Keith's first wife, the sister of James, had died years earlier; and his second wife, "née" Cecil Reeves, was an attractive young woman. Mrs. Randolph and Mrs. Keith became warm friends. Then, unexpectedly, Geoffry Keith died, leaving his widow totally unprovided for. Her child, Colin, was born before arrangements for her future could be discussed, and the Randolphs saw that she had everything she needed. Six weeks after the birth of Colin Keith, Giles Randolph was born; and less than a month later Mrs. Randolph died. Her husband, distracted by the blow, decided to travel in the east. He implored the handsome young widow to take pity on his forlorn little child, and she responded with open arms. "I shall be gone at least three years," he said, after explaining that, so long as she had charge of the boy, she should have annually the sum of eight hundred pounds. "By-and-by we must arrange something for your future, but I have no heart now for business. If you need more, write to Mr. Penrhyn. My boy must have the best of everything." Mrs. Keith remained where she was till spring, then took the babes to Switzerland. She loved the Continent, and Randolph had left her free to follow her own devices. Mr. Penrhyn ran out to inspect the child, and wrote a good report to the father. "A pretty intelligent little chap, slight and pale, but healthy," he said. Randolph never had this letter. An attack of fever carried him off, and Giles was an orphan. Mr. Penrhyn already held the reins of government at Castle Hill. He was Giles' guardian, but no question existed about leaving the little boy where his father had placed him. A second winter was passed in the south of France, the baby-boys flourishing. When spring arrived, they were about sixteen months old, bonny blue-eyed children—Giles slim and active, Colin sturdy and robust.