"I thought it advisable to state the motive of my visit frankly," said Power. "I take it you are not inclined to discuss the matter in an amicable way; though I am at a loss to understand why--before I have reached any of the points I want you to consider--you are so markedly hostile both to me and to my purpose." "Then I'll tell you," and Marten took a letter from a portfolio on the table. "It appears that my late father-in-law, Francis Willard, had taken your measure more accurately than I. I remember treating you as a trustworthy subordinate; but your conduct during my temporary absence from America at a certain period led him to regard you as unprincipled and knavish. He has been dead several years; but he still lives to watch you. He left funds with a firm of lawyers in New York to carry out his instructions, which were that, if ever you were found hanging about any place where I or any member of my family was residing, I should be warned against you, because, owing to his action, and that alone, my dear wife was saved from something worse than a mere indiscretion in which you were the prime factor. A dead hand can reach far sometimes. On this occasion it has stretched across the Atlantic. The communication I received a few days ago is quite explicit. These lawyers have, at times, been much troubled to discover your whereabouts; but, on this occasion, their English agents have kept their eyes open." "'Can vengeance be pursued farther than death?'" murmured Power, shocked by this revelation of Willard's undying hatred. The other did not recognize the quotation. "Yes, and what is more," he snarled, "they go on to say that Willard has intrusted a document to their care which will scare you effectually if this present remonstrance is unavailing. In that event, they will act on their own initiative, and not through me. I wonder what the precious scandal is?" "I am here to make it known, known beyond reach of doubt or dispute." Marten moved uneasily. He tossed the letter back into the portfolio, and glared at Power in silence for a few seconds. "I neither care to hear your secrets nor mean to attach any significance to them when heard," he said, at last. "My only anxiety is to prevent you from sapping my daughter's affections from me. Damn you, you have caused the one cloud that has come between us!" "I, too, have Nancy's welfare at heart." "I don't see what good purpose you serve by alluding to my daughter in that impertinently familiar way." "Now we are close to the heart of the mystery. Nancy is not your daughter! She is my daughter!" Marten leaned back in his chair, and glowered at the self-possessed man who had uttered these extraordinary words so calmly. His voice was tinged with sadness, it is true, but otherwise wholly devoid of emotion. "Do you realize what you are saying?" demanded the older man, and the words came thickly, as though he spoke with difficulty. "Yes."