Mark's pulses quickened. He guessed to what Doria possibly referred and felt concern but no surprise. The other continued. "Ambition may succumb before beauty. Ancestral castles may crumble before the tide of love, as a child's sand building before the sea. Too true!" Doria sighed and looked at Brendon closely. The Italian stood in a tight-fitting jersey of brown wool, a very picturesque figure against his dark background. The other had nothing to say and prepared to descend. He guessed what had happened and was concerned rather with Jenny Pendean than the romantic personality before him. But that the stranger could still be here, exiled in this lonely spot, told him quite as much as the man's words. He was not chained to "Crow's Nest" with his great ambitions in abeyance for nothing. Mark, however, pretended to miss the significance of Giuseppe's confession. "A good master--eh! I expect the old sea wolf is an excellent friend when you know his little ways." Doria admitted it. "He is all that I could wish and he likes me, because I understand him and make much of him. Every dog is a lion in his own kennel. Redmayne rules; but what is the good of a home to a man if he does not rule? We are friends. Yet, alas, we may not be for long--when--" He broke off abruptly, puffed a villainous cloud of smoke, and went back to his wire netting. But he turned a moment and spoke again as Brendon proceeded. "Madonna is at home," he shouted and Mark understood to whom he referred. He had reached "Crow's Nest" in five minutes and it was Jenny Pendean who welcomed him. "Uncle's in his tower," she said. "I'll call him in a minute. But tell me first if there is anything to tell. I am glad to see you--very!" She was excited and her great, misty blue eyes shone. She seemed more lovely than ever. "Nothing to report, Mrs. Pendean. At least--no, nothing at all. I've exhausted every possibility. And you--you have nothing, or you would have let me hear it?" "There is nothing," she said. "Uncle Ben would most certainly have told me if any news had reached him. I am sure that he is dead--Robert Redmayne." "I think so too. Tell me a little about yourself, if I may venture to ask?" "You have been so thoughtful for me. And I appreciated it. I'm all right, Mr. Brendon. There is still my life to live and I find ways of being useful here." "You are contented, then?" "Yes. Contentment is a poor substitute for happiness; but I am contented." He longed to speak intimately, yet had no excuse for doing so. "How much I wish it was in my power to brighten your content into happiness again," he said. She smiled at him. "Thank you for such a friendly wish. I am sure you mean it." "Indeed I do." "Perhaps I shall come to London some day, and then you would befriend me a little." "How much I hope you will--soon."