“I have Percy Seabright in my power now, and he shall trifle with me no longer. Twice he has postponed our marriage for idle reasons, but I will bear it no longer, and when Alexie marries Ralph, in January, my own wedding shall come off, too, and Alys shall marry Francis Murray then, also, if I can manage it. And I will manage it, unless I have lost my cunning. Francis Murray is losing his head over that girl, I can see it plainly, but his mother will not permit him to marry her, even if he could so far forget himself. But she must be driven away from The Lodge soon, or she will outwit me.” Then a softer light came into the large blue eyes. “I feel happy to-night, knowing that Percy does not love Italy,” she thought. “Oh, I have been miserable believing that he did, but, of course, I know better now after what happened to-day. How cleverly I shielded his crime, and punished Emmett Harlow at the same time. And now Percy’s dangerous secret is mine, thank the Fates, but yet I wonder why he hates Miss Vale, and wants her dead?” Mrs. Dunn thought she had the game in her own hands the next day, when Francis Murray announced at noon that he was compelled to go into Boston for the day, to meet some old friends who were passing through and had written for him to join them in their brief stay in the city. “You will probably be off on your moonlight party before my return,” he said. “But you will join us there--oh, do say you will join us there!” exclaimed Alys pleadingly. “Thank you, I shall be very glad to come,” he answered; then he looked at his mother. “Do not look for me home this evening, for I shall probably be late, and I will go from the station to join the party,” he said. He went away, and soon Mrs. Dunn found an opportunity to speak alone with her hostess. “Mrs. Murray, you look unhappy,” she purred sympathetically. “Oh, no, I am not feeling well to-day, that is all, Mrs. Dunn.” “My dear friend, you cannot deceive me like that. I am such a true friend to you and yours that I take the privilege of offering you my sympathy. You _are_ unhappy, and it is because you see the growing infatuation of your proud son with this girl, this Italy Vale, whom no man ought to marry because of the stain she will bring upon his name. Oh, it is terrible, the daughter of a vile murderess aspiring to wed one so proud and noble as Mr. Murray!” Mrs. Murray’s cold, proud face was bitterly troubled. “I do not want to be unkind to Italy Vale,” she said. “She has a claim on us, and she needs a home, so I cannot conscientiously send her away, and yet I own I am troubled as you describe. Francis has shown strange interest in her, and--and it would break my heart for my son to ally himself to the daughter of a wicked murderess. I will try to keep them apart.” “That is right. No one could blame you,” cried the wily adviser, and Mrs. Murray, taking courage from her sympathy, declared decidedly: