"Should I listen to all this?" Elsa asked.

"You should not," Millar replied promptly; "but listen just the same. It may help you. And now, go dance with Karl. You must conquer. But don't try to be a woman; be a girl. Don't try to be saucy."

"I don't care to be saucy, but it is so original," Elsa said contritely.

"Don't try to be original," Millar said earnestly. "Be yourself. Be modest. Be ashamed of your pure white shoulders. Look at Karl as if you feared he is trying to steal you away from girlhood land and show you the way to woman's land. And if any one ever dares to call you saucy again, tell him you once met a gentleman to whom you wanted to give a piece of your mind and that you left him with a piece of his mind, feeling very small indeed yourself, and making him feel as if he were the biggest rascal in the world."

Elsa turned and went toward the other room, meeting Karl at the door as Millar withdrew behind a curtain of palms.



CHAPTER IX

Millar had played with devilish ingenuity on the tender susceptibilities of Elsa. He encouraged her in her love for Karl and her determination to win him, evidently with the deliberate purpose that she should repel the boy whose will he had determined to subordinate to his own. He watched as a cat watches its prey the meeting between Karl and Elsa after he withdrew quietly into the sheltering recess behind the palms.

Karl had been searching for her and stopped, barring her way into the ballroom.

"So here you are at last, Miss Elsa," he exclaimed.

"Yes," Elsa replied, dropping her eyes demurely.

"Why are you not in the ballroom?"

"I wanted to be alone. If any one really wanted me he could find me."

Her dejection surprised Karl.

"You seem sad. Are you worried?"

"No."

"Then what has happened?" Karl asked.

He walked toward her, and as he did so Millar emerged from his place of concealment. Karl looked at him.

"Ah, now I understand," he said.

"Surely you do not mean to suspect that I am the cause of Miss Elsa's unhappiness," he said blandly.

Karl ignored him and turned to Elsa, looking at her in frank admiration.

"You are very pretty to-night," he said, going close to her. "It is because you are yourself—a sweet, pure, natural girl. I like you better this way, Elsa. I could take you in my arms and hug you."

"Oh, Karl!" Elsa exclaimed, blushing and hiding her face.

Millar's cynical smile overspread his face, and he turned away, well satisfied with the progress he was making.

"Excuse me," he murmured. "I must say good-evening to our hostess," and he stole quietly out.

The two young people did not notice him. They sat down very close to each other, Karl leaning forward and looking into the big blue eyes of the girl. Elsa gave a glance at the disappearing figure of Millar.

"I am awfully glad to be alone with you, Elsa," Karl said. "You are the one natural thing in this fetid, artificial atmosphere. Don't you feel warm?"

"Yes, as if some hot breeze were blowing through this room. It stifles me."

"You never spoke like that before," Karl said.

His back was toward the ballroom door and he did not see Millar usher Olga into the room. The man had brought Olga that she might witness the fulfilment of her plan, and that he might triumph in her jealousy and further thwart them. Elsa saw them come in and seat themselves across the room.

"There is Olga," she said, "and she, too, is jealous. Don't you want to speak to her?"

"I have seen her," Karl replied without turning around. "I would rather talk with you. It's far more interesting."

"They are talking about us," Elsa said warningly, as she saw Olga and Millar look toward them.

"Oh, what of it?" Karl exclaimed impatiently. "Let us be glad we are together. I am just beginning to know you, Elsa."

"Why do you look around, then?" Elsa said.

"Am I looking around?" Karl asked. "I wasn't aware of it."

But even as he spoke he could not help furtively glancing around to see what Millar and Olga were doing. He remembered the man's declaration in the studio that afternoon and he distrusted and feared him. He was beginning to hate him.

By a sheer effort of will he forced himself to turn to Elsa. He resolved that he would talk to her; that he would make love to her; that he would marry her and banish from his heart those hateful emotions which Millar had aroused. He leaned forward and spoke of love to the girl in low tones, while Elsa, with color coming and going in her face, listened and watched the woman she knew for her rival.

"Our first love usually is our last love—our last love always is the first," Karl said.

"I don't know," Elsa cried demurely. "I have never been in love, although I was disappointed twice," she added gayly.

Karl was beginning to find his task difficult. His attention wandered to Olga.

"Disappointments; well, yes, who has not been disappointed?"

Elsa observed his growing inattention, his efforts to concentrate his thoughts on their talk, his futile love-making, and she turned from him coldly. Meanwhile Millar and Olga were having a conversation in which Olga was being torn on the rack of her jealous emotions.

Millar had brought her into the anteroom to show her Karl making love to Elsa. Every circumstance favored his design. Olga at first was disposed to withdraw when she saw them.

"Don't you think we should leave the young people together?" she said.

"You are too considerate," Millar replied cynically.

"They seem to be growing fond of each other," Olga said jealously.



"Yes; do you dislike it?"

"No."

"Shall we leave now?"

"No; I rather enjoy watching my seed bear fruit."

Olga tried to speak lightly and smile. Millar, watching her closely, saw her lips twitch, and it was with difficulty that she controlled herself.

"They are an interesting couple," he said.

"Can't we discuss something besides these two?" Olga asked impatiently.

"Yes, certainly," Millar acquiesced. "I came here to-night to decide a wager," he went on.

"What was it?" Olga asked absently, looking with jealous eyes at Elsa and Karl.

"I made a wager that you would fall in love with me to-night."

Olga was startled by the declaration, but she treated it lightly as one of Millar's strange sayings.

"With whom did you make such a wager?" she asked.

"With Karl," Millar answered quickly.

"Karl—and what did he say?" Olga cried, almost rising from her seat.

"I must not tell you now; it might hurt you."

"Oh, no, it won't; please tell me now," Olga pleaded, leaning over the table toward him.

Millar, too, leaned forward, his face almost touching her white shoulder, his hand touching hers as it rested on the table. It was thus Karl saw them with one of those furtive glances, and the glist froze the pretty speech he was trying to make to Elsa. The girl, seeing his look, jumped to her feet, exclaiming angrily, and so that all three heard her:

"Take me to the ballroom immediately. I have promised the next dance."

Karl also, his face white with passion, had jumped to his feet. Elsa, almost in tears, stamped her foot at him.

"Why do you stand there? Take me away. Aren't you coming?"

She turned and started to the door, Karl following. They passed Millar and Olga, still seated at the table.

"I thought you were in the ballroom," Olga said sweetly to the girl.

"Oh, did you?"

"I hope you are enjoying the dancing."

"I hate dancing, but I shall dance every dance to-night," Elsa cried passionately.

She looked angrily at Olga, who arose and moved toward her. Karl stepped between them, giving his arm to Elsa. The two walked together, leaving Olga looking helplessly into the smiling face of Millar.

Olga looked angrily at the stormy little Elsa as she floundered from the room into the ballroom, followed by the enraged Karl. Millar smiled more cynically than ever as he saw the play of emotion on Olga's face. His ruse had worked admirably. He had at least beaten down Olga's will, but he had yet to make certain of Karl.

"How dared she speak like that?" Olga demanded, turning to her cynic Millar. "Karl must love her."

"Let us not reach conclusions so hastily," Millar said. "First let me tell you how Karl answered me this afternoon."

"When you made the wager?" Olga asked quickly.

"Yes; when I promised to make you fall in love with me."

"What did he say?"

"He tried to kill me," Millar answered slowly.

The color rushed to Olga's cheeks. Her eyes sparkled as she turned them toward her tempter. It was delight she felt; mad, unreasoning joy that Karl's love for her had prompted him to kill another who threatened to win her from him. Still smiling, Millar went on, taking the shining revolver from his pocket and showing it to her:

"With his own hands, dear lady, Karl tried to kill me with this little pistol. I took it away from him."

"He tried to shoot you?" Olga exclaimed.

"Yes; and he would have done so. This is nicely loaded for six."

Almost to herself Olga whispered her next words:

"This afternoon he wanted to kill you when you only spoke of making love to me, and now—he saw you whisper in my ear, hold my hand, touch my shoulders. Why, he must have fallen in love with——"

"Don't you think it silly to shoot a friend on account of a woman?" Millar interrupted, before she could pronounce Elsa's name.

"Oh, he's fond of me—perhaps you said something about me," Olga stumbled on hurriedly. "Karl holds me in high regard, but, there is no doubt of it, these young people are in love."

"I fear you regret the success of your matrimonial scheme for Karl and Elsa," Millar said.

"Do you think it will be successful?" she asked eagerly.

"I don't know, but we may find out easily enough."

"How?"

Millar took a turn up and down the room, his up-slanting eyebrows drawn together in deep thought.

"This afternoon he tried to shoot me when I told him I would make you fall in love with me," he said, stopping in front of Olga. "That means love. Don't speak to me of respect or regard, my dear lady. They fire off cannons in salute out of respect, but when they draw pistols, that means love. Now, you think Karl loves this little girl. Suppose we find out who is right. We will make Karl tell us himself."

Olga turned away with a gesture of dissent, but Millar went on insinuatingly:

"Of course, I understand it interests you only because you planned this marriage, and after all it is only right that you should feel a certain amount of pride in the success of your plans. Is it not so?"

"Yes, that is true."

"Very well, then; Karl shall tell us which was real—his attempt to murder me or this little affair with Elsa."

"But how—you don't mean to ask Karl?" Olga asked in bewilderment. "You are not going to listen at key-holes?"

"Oh, madam, no."

"Then how can we make him tell us?"

"It is simple; I have a plan. But you must follow my instructions to the letter. Don't ask for any reasons; simply do as I say."

Olga looked at him reflectively. She knew instinctively that he had some new bit of devilish ingenuity, some sinister twist of that marvelous brain, and she was afraid. But she wanted more than anything else to be assured that Karl did not love Elsa; that her scheme for their marriage had failed, and she replied:

"Very well, it is agreed."

"I saw you once at the opera with a very beautiful cloak that covered you completely from your neck to your shoe tips. Have you such a cloak now?"

"Yes."

"Good. Put this cloak on. Let only your bare neck show above it and the tips of your shoes beneath. Button it from top to bottom, as if you felt cold. Then we shall need but the presence of yourself and Karl, here in this room, to solve the problem."



Olga looked at Millar a moment in silence. There flashed instantly through her mind the full meaning of his daring suggestion, and at first she was on the point of indignant refusal. Then she as quickly resolved to carry out the scheme; to beat the man at his own cunning game; to find out for herself what Karl really felt.

"Unconditionally obey me and we shall know everything," Millar assured her, observing her hesitation.

"This is very mysterious," Olga said slowly. "What strange influence do you possess that compels me to obey your will? Your eyes seem to have all the wisdom of the world behind them."

"You do my eyes poor, scant justice," Millar replied. "Now go, dear madam. If any one expresses astonishment that you wear a cloak indoors, simply say that you felt cold."

"It really is cold," Olga said with a little shiver as they turned away.

"Out this way," Millar said quickly, pointing to the palms and a door beyond them. "Karl is coming."

Olga gathered her skirts up and hurried from the room just as Karl entered. The young artist caught a glimpse of her dress as she disappeared behind the palms. He looked at Millar with jealous rage making his eyes glow.

"Who was that?" he demanded.

"Who?" Millar asked, blandly.

"Did Olga run away from me?"

"No one ran from you that I know of, Karl. That is a pretty girl, my young friend, that little Elsa."

"Yes, she is pretty," Karl replied absently, sitting down at a table.

He was still tortured by the sight of Millar leaning over Olga, touching her hands, whispering in her ear. He was tormented by the insinuating words the man had uttered in the afternoon when he swore that Olga should love him; should be his. He would have liked to take Millar's throat in his two hands and throttle him.

Keenly aware of the inferno he had raised in Karl, Millar continued to chat affably, Karl not deigning to answer. Finally Millar said:

"You seem annoyed."

Karl lost control of himself and leaped to his feet. He went close to Millar, staring into his eyes.

"I am annoyed. Do you want to know why?" he demanded, putting all the insolence he could command into his tone.

"No," Millar replied with a smile.

"I want to tell you why," Karl declared.

"Please don't," Millar said deprecatingly.

"Yes, I will," Karl went on belligerently. "I am amazed at the change which has come over you since this afternoon. Don't imagine that it is on account of Olga—we won't discuss her at all."

"Certainly not; she is out of the question," Millar assented warmly.

"Absolutely," Karl went on. "I came here this evening determined to ask Elsa to marry me."

"Fine! I am very glad to hear it. I wish you good luck, my boy!" Millar cried with enthusiasm.

"You are glad?"

"Delighted," Millar assured him.

"It does not take you long to change your mind," Karl continued, still with a truculent air. "This afternoon you insisted I should not marry Elsa. To-night you are delighted at the prospect."

"Oh, yes; I see the matter now in a different light."

"Then it was Olga who ran away as I entered!" Karl almost shouted, glaring at him menacingly.

"Ran away? Why should she run away?" Millar asked, pretending embarrassment.

"Don't act like a cad!" Karl cried threateningly.

"What do you mean, Karl?"

"I mean exactly what I say. Don't act like a cad. If you were a gentleman you would hide your pleasure."

Millar pretended to be shocked at the indignation of the young artist, which secretly delighted him.

"Don't talk that way, Karl," he urged. "As you seem to have penetrated my secret, I suppose I might as well—but have you made up your mind to marry Elsa?"

"Absolutely."

"And you will not change your mind—you promise?"

"I will not change my mind."

"Well, of course, if that is the case, I can tell you. I——"

He hesitated as if embarrassed at his own question. Karl cried roughly:

"And did you succeed?"

"Well, I——"

"What of her husband?"

"Ah, Karl, he is deaf, dumb and blind," Millar cried gleefully.

Stifled with the pain at his heart, Karl turned away.

"This afternoon, at my house, you met her for the first time," he said.

"Ah, Karl, she is a clever woman; cleverer than I thought," Millar said, affecting tremendous enthusiasm. "She deceived me this afternoon about her true character; she has been deceiving all of you. I am sure of it. Oh, she is grand, fantastic, passionate, daring. Think of it, Karl," he went on, going close to the boy and leaning over him, bringing out his words so that every one seemed to penetrate his heart; "think of it, to-night a kiss behind a door in front of which her husband was standing. Danger fascinates her. And just now, a moment before you came, we agreed——"

"So it was she?" Karl interrupted.

"Oh, yes, it was she," Millar admitted. "I suggested a wild plan, Karl; almost too daring for the first day of our acquaintance. Her honor, position, everything depend upon its success. Of course I did not dream she would carry it out. I suggested it merely to sound the depths of her passion. But she loved the idea and insisted upon doing it this very night. If it fails we are lost."

Karl trembled with apprehension for Olga, whom he believed in the devilish power of this man.

"What is it?" he asked.

"She will be here in one minute, dressed in an opera cloak—and nothing else. Think of it, Karl; the daring of it. She will walk through the ballroom on my arm, among all those people, her friends, her husband, with no one in the secret but we two—and you. Ah, Karl, I told you she would be mine," Millar concluded with rapturous accents.

With a wild cry Karl sprang at Millar, hurling one word at him:

"Liar!"

"Karl, be careful," Millar protested, avoiding him.

"It's a lie; a damnable, dirty lie!" Karl cried, trying blindly to reach him, to grasp his throat to throttle him.

Millar deftly avoided him and laughed triumphantly.

"I have trapped you who tried to trap me," he cried. "You love Olga Hofmann."

"Yes, I love her," Karl cried loudly. "I love her, and yet I will marry Elsa. Now, I have listened to your infernal lies; I have watched you gloat over them. Men like you steal a woman's reputation and boast of it and call it a success. But you shall pay for it, now, this minute, when I kick you out of the house. Out with you, like a sneak-thief that you are!"

He advanced determinedly on Millar, who quietly faced him.

"Remember, Karl, that I have the pistol now," he said coolly.

"Out with you, you sneak-thief; I am not afraid of you," Karl cried again.

He was about to seize Millar by the throat, when he started back in amazement at what seemed to be the fulfilment of the other's sinister promise. Olga stepped through the door into the room. She was clothed from head to foot in a beautiful, shimmering, fur-trimmed cloak.

Above the top button gleamed her bare throat. Her white arms projected from the short sleeves. The hem of the skirt fell to the tips of her white satin shoes.

As Olga entered she gave one glance at Karl and then moved away from him, and stood beside the table at which she and Millar had been seated. She saw the wild rage stamped on his face, and her woman's intuition made her know that Millar had told him what she had divined he meant. The situation frightened her, and she felt on the point of fleeing from the room or casting aside the cloak; but she resolved to see the game through.

Karl stared at her, rage giving place to amazement, then to despair. For full a minute no one spoke. The music floated in softly from the ballroom, mingled with the hum of voices and laughter. Olga was the first to break the stillness, but she did not look at him as she spoke.

"Karl, this is the first time I have had a chance to talk with you to-night," she said.

"What is that?" Karl absently asked.

He had not heard; his mind was confused, bewildered. Millar, cynically misunderstanding his question, said quickly:

"Why, that is an opera cloak."

Olga turned quickly, fearful that the remark might cause an eruption which she could not control. She cried impulsively, seeking to divert the threatening train of conversation:

"The ball is a great success. Every one is merry; every one dances as if it were the first affair of the season. The girls are all as happy as young widows who have just taken off mourning."

"I have observed it," Millar agreed with enthusiasm. "It is splendid. But why is Karl so sad amid all this merry-making?" he added.

"Why are you sad, Karl?" Olga asked, turning to him.

"I sad? You are silly," Karl cried with forced gayety. "I never felt happier in all my life."

There was a touch of hysteria in his voice that made Olga's heart go out to him.

"I am glad you are having such a good time," she said.

"Yes, yes; I feel like a schoolboy," Karl cried wildly; "like a young tiger. I'm mad with joy. I will get drunk to-night. I will drink, drink drink until the angels in heaven sing to me—as you said this afternoon," he added, turning to Millar.

"No, no, Karl," Olga pleaded, thoroughly frightened. "Why, you never drank. Why should you drink to-night?"

"Because I am doing things to-night I never did before," Karl replied bitterly. "I have never been engaged before; to-night I shall be engaged."

"Good! fine, Karl," Millar exclaimed. "She is a splendid girl."

"Splendid girl! What do I care what sort of a girl she is? It's not the girl; it's marriage—something new. I want to see what it is like."

"For a bridegroom you are not very gay," Millar said tauntingly.

"Gay! Why should I be gay? I am drinking the last bitter drops of my bachelor days—but I'll swallow them, and then—purity."

"Bravo, Karl!" Olga said.

"Oh, I don't care what any one else thinks about it," Karl sneered at her. "I am doing this to please myself."

Olga was hurt and surprised at his tone. She had never seen him so completely beside himself before; she had never heard him speak so bitterly, so vindictively. As she watched him he looked at her, and a spasm of pain contorted his face. He pointed his finger at her accusingly, and cried:

"Why are you wearing that cloak in the house?"

"Madam Hofmann may be cold," Millar suggested quietly.

"Yes, yes; I am cold," Olga said hurriedly, drawing the cloak around her more closely.

"You are fortunate to have such a beautiful cloak," Millar said, determined now to keep them at the main point of his game.

"Suppose we do not talk about the cloak," Olga said. "You and Elsa seemed to get on nicely to-night, Karl."

"Yes," he replied absently.

"Really, it was charming to watch such devoted young people," Millar said.

Karl flashed a look of hatred at him and turned again to Olga.

"That cloak is lined with fur, isn't it?"

Before she could reply Millar had interrupted in his silken, insinuating voice:

"Yes, soft, smooth fur."

"I did not speak to you," Karl cried at him savagely. "Well?" he demanded of Olga.

"Soft, smooth fur," Olga replied. "It is cold in here."

"Nonsense; it is hot. I feel stifling," Karl declared.

"I feel chilly," Olga insisted.

"Perhaps madam is not dressed warmly enough," Millar insinuated. "You should wear plenty of clothes in the winter time, or you may run the chance of taking cold."

Olga caught her breath and then she answered:

"I love to take chances."

"You do, eh?" Karl cried.

"Yes; what is it to you?" she asked tauntingly.

Karl threw his self-control to the winds. With flaming face and a voice that shook with anger, he cried:

"Aren't you two afraid of me?"

Olga was afraid and she looked at him apprehensively. Millar smiled his cynical, sinister smile and answered:

"Afraid? I'm not afraid of the husband. Why should I be afraid of a moralizing, joyless bridegroom?"

Karl took a step toward him, when Herman entered the room. All three were silent and Herman looked at them in surprise.

"What is this—a conspiracy?" he asked gayly.

"Oh, no, merely a conversation," Millar said.

"Well, Karl, how are you getting along with Elsa?" Herman asked, taking the boy by the arm and walking off with him.

Olga watched them as they disappeared, going into the ballroom, Karl evidently reluctant to be taken away. Then she turned to Millar.

"What did you tell him about my cloak?"

"About the cloak? Nothing."

"You did not tell him——"

"What?"

"He stared at me as if he thought—thought I had on only this cloak."

"That is exactly what I told him," Millar assured her.

"Oh, how could you?"

"Now don't be shocked," Millar said cynically. "You knew it. The moment you entered the room you realized that I had told him. And what is more you liked it."

"How dare you!" Olga gasped, "If I had understood——"

"If you had understood, would you have taken off the cloak?"

"Yes."

"Well, now you understand, why do you not take it off?"

Olga raised her head and looked straight into Millar's eyes. She said not a word, but drew her cloak more closely about her with a movement that sent a thrill of suspicion and surprise through him.

"Madam, you didn't really?" he cried in amazement.

"Do you think I am a child?" she asked. "Do you imagine that I did not understand your suggestion from the very first? You wanted me to fool Karl. Perhaps I have fooled you. How do you know I am not nude beneath this cloak?"

"Madam!" Millar cried in wide-eyed amazement.

"Now let us see if you will take a chance," Olga said. "Give me your arm, my dear doctor, and we will walk together through the ballroom."

Millar was at a loss for a moment. His imperturbable calm was broken. Olga had matched her woman's intuition against his cunning and had won. But his bewilderment gave way to undisguised admiration, and, bowing as gallantly as a youthful sweetheart, he gave her his arm.

As they were about to leave, however, Karl suddenly barred their way, coming hurriedly in from the ballroom.

"Are you coming in with us, Karl?" Olga asked, as they paused.

"No," Karl almost shouted; "and you are not going—you stay here."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what I said. You stay here. And you, too," he added to Millar.

He turned and closed the ballroom door. Then he faced them again.

"We will settle this thing right here. Take off that cloak."

"I will not."

"By heavens, I'll tear it off," he cried furiously, rushing at her.

Olga stood unmoved. Millar caught Karl by the arm and stopped him.

"Why did you stop him?" Olga asked, smiling.

She was perfectly self-possessed now and in command of the situation. Millar was frankly afraid that she had taken his meaning literally. Karl was mad with rage and jealousy. Olga was unruffled.

"Madam, I was afraid," Millar said.

"You will take it off," Karl cried, still held back by Millar. "If you do not, I'll find your husband and he shall have the pleasure."

Olga turned to him sweetly.

"Karl, will you help me off with my cloak?" she asked.

Karl almost leaped toward her, but when his hands nearly touched her cloak he drew back, afraid. Slowly he backed away from her, while she smiled.

"Dr. Millar, will you help me remove my cloak?" she asked sweetly.

Millar put out his hands as if to do so, but quickly folded them over his breast, bowed very low and smiled, cynically shaking his head.

Olga looked first at one and then the other with her tantalizing smile. The three might have been carved of stone, so still were they when Herman entered.

"Hello, Karl; I lost you when I went to find Elsa," he said. "What are you talking about?"

"I think we have been discussing cloaks," Millar said.

"Oh, I see Olga is wearing one. Isn't it rather warm for that, dear?"

"Yes, it is, but I felt chilly a while ago," Olga answered. "Will you help me off with it, Herman?"

Herman stepped to her side as she loosened the clasps, and lifted the beautiful fur-lined garment from her shoulders. She stood before them again in the beauty of her shimmering evening gown, her white arms and shoulders gleaming, her lips parted in a dazzling smile.

Karl did not speak. He half involuntarily made a step toward Olga, and she, fearing what he might say, cried lightly:

"Now, I have devoted too much time to you two. My guests are departing. I must go. Come, Herman."



CHAPTER X

Herman took his wife's arm, and together they returned to the ballroom. Karl watched them disappear and turned on Millar as if to attack him. There was such menace in his manner, the frenzied appearance of his face, that Millar put his hand behind him quickly and half drew his revolver.

Before either spoke, however, Elsa entered from the ballroom. She was in her cloak, ready to leave, and said, holding out her hand to Karl:

"I wanted to say good-by."

Her voice seemed to awaken Karl as from a bad dream. He took her hand eagerly, stepped forward impulsively as if he would take her in his arms and kiss her, but Millar interposed himself between them, and a servant entered at the same moment. Checked in his advance, Karl said:

"I shall take you to your carriage."

The servant announced that Elsa's aunt awaited her. She took Karl's arm, and Millar directed the servant to follow them.

"The sidewalk is very slippery," he said. "Take Miss Elsa's other arm."

He was determined not to give the beautiful girl a chance alone with Karl. In the young artist's present excited state almost anything might occur to wreck his plans.

As the two went out, followed by the servant, Olga came in excitedly. She looked around to see that Millar was alone and said:

"Your plan worked splendidly."

"What are you going to do now?" asked Millar anxiously, as Olga sat at a table and took out writing materials.

"I am going to write to him," she answered, addressing an envelope.

"But what will you say?"

"I shall tell him," Olga said wearily, with her hands clasped to her forehead, "never to speak to me again. I never want to see him. He must leave town immediately. To think he believed me capable of——"

"Of what?"

"Ah, it is all over," Olga cried, ignoring him. "I never want to see him again, because——"

"Because you love him?"

"Oh, no. After what has happened I hate him."

"I am very sorry, madam," Millar said contritely.

"You need not be," Olga assured him. "I am glad it happened. With all your cynicism you are clever and you have done me a great service. When I know that this letter is in his hands again I shall be perfectly happy," she went on, dipping her pen in the ink-well.

"You say I have helped you; let me render you one more service," Millar urged.

"What can that be?" Olga asked.

"I have begun this; let me finish it. Let me dictate this letter. You are excited. You cannot think of things to say. It must be firm, strong."



"Yes, firm, strong," Olga acquiesced.

"Undoubtedly," Millar went on. "Let me tell you what to say."

Wearily Olga yielded to his spell. She seemed under hypnotic influence as she replied:

"Very well, I shall write whatever you tell me to say."

Millar stood behind her chair, hovering over her like an evil spirit. His singular, expressive hands twitched.

"Good. I shall try to express your thoughts," he said. "Cold, formal?"

"Yes, it must be so," Olga said.

"It is finished forever?"

"Forever."

"Then write," he ordered.

She settled herself to her task. Leaning over her, Millar suggested a sinister hypnotist bending a helpless victim to his will. He dictated, while Olga wrote:

"I have found out what I dreaded to learn—that you love me. Your behavior to-night convinced me. I could not place any other interpretation on it, and my own heart answered, I cannot, dare not, see you again. God knows I want to; I long for the happiness that I might find with you, but I must not. Only the certainty that I am not to see you impels me to this confession. Good-by forever."

When this was finished Olga dropped her pen and stared at the letter. Before she could do anything, Millar had taken the sheet of paper, blotted it, folded it and placed it within the envelope, which he deposited in his pocket.

"What have I written?" Olga cried, bewildered.

"The last letter," Millar replied, with a smile of triumph. "I will deliver it to Karl," he said.

Olga passed her hands wearily over her eyes, and struggled to clear her mind of the strange, intricate network of intrigue, insinuation and suggestion which Millar had woven there. She thought she was rid of his sinister influence until her fingers wrote, in obedience to his will, the letter which she would have given anything to have left unwritten.

When she looked up, Millar was putting the letter in his pocket, and his face wore the evil, cynical smile.

"I wrote it, yet I am ashamed of what I have written," she faltered, speaking with difficulty. "I tried to resist—yes, I did—but my hands, my pen, followed your words. You are a very strange man."

"I will deliver the letter to Karl," Millar repeated slowly.

"You know I did not mean it; you know I did not want to write it," Olga said.

"A woman does not always write what she wants," Millar said lightly, "but she always wants what she writes."

"The letter was not for him; it was for me," Olga insisted.

She arose and her hand was extended imploringly, begging Millar to return the missive to her, when Herman entered. The house had grown still. The music was hushed, the guests were gone. Only Millar, spirit of evil, incarnation of the devil, remained.

"This is good of you, to stay behind and entertain the hostess," Herman said cordially.

"Madam Hofmann's conversation has been so entertaining that I quite forgot the time," Millar said, looking at his watch. "By Jove! it is late; I must go immediately."

"Won't you have some cognac before you go out? The night is cold," Herman urged.

"No, I thank you; I have an important engagement in the morning, and it is now too late. Madam, I must bid you good-night. I have really spent a very pleasant evening."

Millar started toward the door. Olga uttered a half-suppressed cry, and he turned inquiringly.

"I left a letter lying here on the table; did you, perhaps, pick it up?" she asked nervously.

She was almost weeping and spoke in a half-hysterical tone. Millar, without changing countenance, drew the letter from his pocket.

"Perhaps this is it," he said, holding it up. "If it is of interest to your husband——"

He made a movement as if to hand it to Herman. Fear clutched at Olga's heart and she cried quickly:

"No, no, it was not that; it was nothing."

She forced herself to laugh. Millar bowed with impressive politeness and left the room. Herman bowed the strange guest out, and then noticed for the first time Olga's weariness and distress.

"You look tired, dear," he said tenderly. "It has been a long evening."

"Yes, I am tired," she said sadly.

Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. As she stood leaning against the table Herman thought her prettier than he had ever seen her before. He went up to her, took her hands in his and kissed her.

"You seem excited, too," he said. "It makes you prettier, and I like it, my dear, sweet, darling wife."

Olga shrank from his caress so obviously that Herman was hurt. She withdrew her hands.

"Please don't," she said. "I am awfully nervous."

"Your cheeks are burning, dear," he said, touching them.

"Don't, Herman; I wish to be alone for a few minutes; to rest all alone. Please leave me here."

"Very well, it shall be as you wish," Herman replied, adding as he left the room:

"But it would be better if you went to sleep."

A servant entered, and Olga signed to him to extinguish the lights. In a few moments she was alone, in semi-darkness, the room being partially lighted by the reflected light from the garden lamps. As she sat there, the tall, sinister figure of Millar, in his fur overcoat and his top hat, passed the window.

"It would be better if I went to sleep," Olga repeated to herself slowly.

Just then the shadow of Millar, as he passed in front of one of the garden lamps, was thrown against the white wall of the room, and she could hear distinctly his cynical chuckle. With a cry of horror she raised herself to her full height, put out her hands to ward off the evil spell, and shrieked:

"No! no! no!"

Then she sank fainting on the floor. For a moment the shadow lingered above her, and faded.

When Karl left the home of Herman and Olga to conduct Elsa and her aunt to their carriage he did not return. He was deeply ashamed of the suspicion he had entertained, and humiliated at the trick played upon his overheated imagination by Millar. He could not bear to face Olga or his tormentor.

Sending the servant back for his overcoat and hat, he plunged along through the snow, walking briskly. Old Heinrich had gone to bed when he reached the studio. There remained but a few hours of the night, but Karl could not bring himself to sleep. He paced restlessly up and down the studio, his mind tortured by the thoughts so skilfully implanted there by Millar.

He was not surprised when the door bell rang and it was Millar whom he admitted. His strange visitor shook the snow from his great fur coat and laid it aside. Then he walked over to the grate where the fire burned cheerfully and stood in front of it, rubbing his hands as he held them out to the blaze.

Karl resumed his restless march up and down the room. Millar watched him cynically for a few moments.

"You seem nervous this morning, Karl," he said.

"I am nervous; I'm crazy," Karl answered.

"You ought to be very happy," Millar insinuated.

"Ought to be happy! I ought to be miserable—as I am, but it is all through your evil machinations. You have made me reveal all that is evil in me to the woman——"

"To the woman you love?"

"Yes, to the woman I love and have no right to love; to the woman whose honor I have held sacred for six years; to the woman I must never see again."

"You will see her again," Millar asserted quietly.

"How base she must think me," Karl went on wildly. "I did not know myself; I did not dream that I could be so rotten."

"You will see her again," Millar repeated. "She will come to you of her own free will here, in this very studio, to-day, and she will tell you with her lips on yours that she loves you."

"Stop! I won't listen to your infernal insinuations. You have ruined my happiness; you shall not ruin hers. I want you to keep out of her way. Do you understand? I give you fair warning."

"My dear Karl, you don't know what you are saying. I shall not mar her happiness or yours."

"Why did you play that evil trick on me to-night?"

"Why, you dull, young artist? Because I wanted to show her that you loved her; that you cared not two straws for that little slip of a girl to whom you were trying to play devoted. Because I wanted to show her that her great love is not wasted on an empty-pated ass."

"Her love!"

"Of course. Her love. She loves you, and has loved you for six years, and you were blind and did not know it."

"It is not true. It must not be so. She is a true, loyal wife to my friend."

"Bah! Do you want her to be loyal to that big boor of a husband when she loves you?"

"I refuse to listen to you any further. Now, let me tell you this. I am going away. I shall not see Olga again. I shall close my studio and return to Paris. And I wish not to see you again. Do you understand? I am going to bed now. When I awake I want you to be gone. Don't let me find you here."

"You are not hospitable, my dear young friend," Millar said, smiling and bowing. He seemed genuinely amused at the passionate outburst of the young artist.

"I believe you are the devil!" Karl cried.

"And you don't find the devil a pleasing personage to look upon, except when he is decked out by poets in the disguise of Cupid," Millar sneered.

Karl abruptly left the room, going into his own room and locking the door. He threw himself upon the bed and tried to sleep, but for hours he lay awake, haunted by the sinister shadow of his temptation.

Left alone, Millar sank comfortably back in the big, Gothic arm-chair before the fire. The red glow of the flames seemed to absorb him. He was merged in the shadows—light and shadow, as they played around the big chair, from whence there came his devilish chuckle.

* * * * *

Olga's maid, alarmed at the prolonged absence of her mistress, found her moaning on the floor, where she had fallen in a swoon after Millar's departure. The maid helped her mistress to her room and to bed.

"As soon as it is daylight go to Monsieur Karl's studio and find out at what time he will arise. Let no one else know that you go there. And awaken me as soon as it is possible for me to see him."

"Yes, madam."

Olga meant to get to Karl to intercept the letter which Millar had tricked her into writing. She meant to tell him to go away; to end everything between them. But, although she did not know it, she was blindly obeying the evil will of Millar.

Broad, glaring daylight had come when Heinrich entered the reception-room of the studio. He divined no presence. There were no conflicting passions in his old heart. He pottered about, humming an old song to himself, dusting the vases and paintings, stirring the slumbering fire, until the door bell rang.

He admitted to the anteroom a beautiful young woman whom he had never seen before. When he returned to the reception-room to ruminate on the situation he was confronted by the figure of Millar—the figure of the devil.

"I—I beg your pardon; I did not know you were here," he said.

"I am here," Millar responded cheerfully. "Who rang?"

"A lady, sir."

"A real lady?"

"Oh, yes, sir."

"That's odd. What does she want?"

"She wants to see my master, sir, Mr. Karl."

Heinrich hurried out and ushered in Elsa. The poor little girl had lost her bravado of the night before. She was ready to humble herself. She was stricken with the terrible malady. She was in love; she acknowledged it to herself, and she knew that the man she loved had his heart elsewhere. But she had resolved to make a fight—to win him if she could, and she had taken this desperate move.

She was startled, though, when she was ushered into the reception-room and saw Millar there, his hands on his breast, bowing profoundly.

"You seem to be everywhere," she exclaimed. "What are you doing here? Are you Karl's secretary?"

Millar was transformed back into his frock coat, his immaculate trousers, his wine-colored waistcoat. He was again the polished, suave, affable gentleman of the afternoon, with ingratiating manner, cynical smile and insinuating words.

"No, I am not Karl's servant; only his friend," he said. "How are you feeling to-day?"

"Oh, very well, thank you. I did not know there was any one in here or I should have waited outside. But as it is only you I do not mind."

She resented the presence of this man in the place, and she took a seat, turning her back to him. Millar, not in the least disturbed, said:

"Karl got in very late this morning."

"I assume that he did; it was very late when the ball ended."

"Still, I think he would be very much pleased to know that you are here. Will you permit me to acquaint him of the pleasure that awaits him?"

"Thank you, no; I will wait for him here. This is an interesting room. I have never been here before."

"I know that," Millar said.

"How do you know it?" Elsa demanded with spirit.

"Oh, Heinrich told me. A lady may come here secretly every day, but when she comes the first time it cannot be secret, even to Heinrich."

"I wish I had not come alone," Elsa declared.

"I know that also," said the imperturbable Millar.

"How do you know that?"

"Oh, Heinrich told me there was a real lady waiting."

"I am glad at least that Heinrich recognized me as such," Elsa declared indignantly. "He is the only one who has spoken to me as if he realized that."

"Then he must have thought you the other kind," Millar said cynically. "Heinrich made a mistake."

"I think Heinrich is the better judge," Elsa said.

"An excellent judge, I grant you," Millar said, laughing. "He is the one man who should have brought you here. You know only two men have the right to open the door of a bachelor apartment to a young lady. They are his valet and the clergyman. You may choose which of the two you would prefer."

Elsa turned on him with eyes that flashed indignation.

"I was once left alone with a man who kissed me, and I insulted him," she said.

"I was once alone with a lady who insulted me and I kissed her," the cynical person replied.

"You are horrible!" Elsa exclaimed.

Millar saw her distress and rang the bell. When Heinrich entered he said:

"Get a little red leather pocketbook out of my overcoat."

"Oh, you need not fear; I shall not cry this morning," Elsa said.

"I am not apprehensive, but I thought you were laughing," Millar said. "When girls laugh I fear they are going to cry. Why did you come here?"

"I want to have my portrait painted, and I shall come every day," Elsa replied.

"You mean you want to come every day, and therefore you will have to have your portrait painted," said the cynic.

"You are an expert word juggler," said Elsa.

"Do you know that another lady comes here to have her portrait painted?"

"Yes; that is why I am coming," Elsa declared boldly. "I want to see whose portrait will be better."

"That is a bold challenge, my little girl; you were not so brave yesterday."

"Yesterday I was undecided. To-day I have made up my mind to fight. You gave me good advice."

"I have some more advice to give you to-day; we did not finish last night."

"What is it?"

"It is this. Do not fight. You were not made to fight."

"Why not? I am courageous."

"Yes, you are courageous, but you are not strong. Don't fight, because you will batter yourself against an impenetrable wall and suffer defeat. Do you know where Karl's heart is?"

"No."

"Then let me tell you. He loves Olga. He cannot love any one else. He has no room in his heart for any other image. Do not make sorrow for yourself, my child. Forget. Go away. Karl is the man for another woman."

Elsa was courageous. She had set aside her conventional training and ideas when she came to the studio to see Karl—to fight for him. Now she resolved that Millar should not defeat her again. She looked at him squarely and said:

"In spite of all that you tell me, I shall not give up."

In spite of her resolve to fight she was on the verge of tears. She sat at a table, shrinking from the sinister figure before her. Millar inspired her with a nameless terror, and it was almost against her will that she listened.

"Let me tell you what you must do," he said, sitting down in front of her. "Do you know what you should do?"

"I don't like to have you sit in judgment on me this way," she protested. "You question me as if you were a judge."

"No, it is not that, but you answer as if you were a prisoner. Now, little Elsa, stand up and listen. You know that Karl is in love with Olga."

"Yes, I know it; it is the only thing I do know."

"Then you should give Karl up."

"I can't give him up."

"You must learn."

"How? From whom shall I learn?"

"Let me see; I think I have here the very person," Millar said.

He walked over and opened the hall door.

"Mimi, come in here and wait; it is warmer," he called.



CHAPTER XI

To the amazement of Elsa, the shrinking little model came in, hesitating on the threshold. She wore a red woolen jersey over her bodice that fitted her tightly and made her look very slight and shivering. She looked with wide-open eyes at the beautiful girl and dropped a courtesy as she sat in the seat Millar drew out for her. Elsa nodded at her in silence, and Millar, after watching them a few seconds with a smile of amusement, walked out of the room, whistling softly. Mimi was the first to break the silence, squirming under Elsa's direct scrutiny.

"Madam is waiting for the artist?"

"Yes," Elsa replied shortly.

"So am I," Mimi said, adding, with engaging frankness:

"He went on a spree last night. When he does that he always sleeps late."

Elsa was embarrassed, and there was another interval of silence. Then Mimi said:

"Is madam to have her portrait painted?"

"Yes."

"I know all those who come here to be painted," Mimi went on. "This is quite like home to me. I am his model. I don't have to pay for my portraits. Madam has a splendid profile."

"Please do not call me madam," Elsa said impatiently. "I am miss, like yourself."

"I beg your pardon," Mimi said. "I am not madam, either. My name is Mimi."

"My name is Elsa."

"Oh, I know; I have heard of you. You are very rich as well as very beautiful. I know what it means to be rich. Once our family was well off, and I did not have to work as a model."

"I am sorry you have been unfortunate," Elsa said.

"But I have heard much of you," the girl went on. She was now tremendously interested in this beautiful woman whose coming, she believed, meant that she would no longer be Karl's model. "You see, I know all the things that go on here; I look out for the artist's laundry and sew his buttons on; and I almost know his thoughts."

"And do they interest you?"

"Oh, yes; but it will not be so any more."

"Why not?"

"Because he is to be married; because you have come and he will not need me."

"Why not? He will still paint. He must have models."

"Yes, but it will not be the same, and I will not come any more."

"Do you like Monsieur Karl?"

"Very much."

"Does he paint you now?"

"Ah, no; nothing but landscapes."

"Then you did not come as a model to-day?" Elsa asked.

"I come always as a model. If the artist does not treat me as such it is not my fault."

She noticed that Elsa looked offended, and went on hurriedly, apologetically:

"Please, if I offend you I will be quiet. But you seem to be so nice. If I were you and you were the model I should not be angry with you."

Elsa was touched by the pathos in Mimi's eyes.

"Pardon me; I am very, very sorry if I have hurt you," she cried impulsively. "Let us be friends."

"Yes, let's," Mimi cried. "You can talk to me about everything. I am not a bad sort, but I have known him for a long while. I was crying when I went away yesterday and he felt sorry for me. He came to the house on his way to the ball last night in his evening clothes, but I would not see him. It must be finished."

"Was he fond of you?"

"I liked him very much," Mimi replied simply.

"And now?"

"Ah, now it is different. If a man wants to have another sweetheart, what can we do? It is like the railway. The train comes in and goes and the little station must wait until another train comes."

"And you are going to wait for another train? You were fond of him and can speak like that?"

"I was fond of him," Mimi said. "But I am not silly enough to believe it will last just because I wanted it to last. I knew when it started that I should have to give him up some day. I have learned that. I shall forget him—and hope that he and you will be happy."

Mimi's tears came unrestrainedly now, and as she looked for her handkerchief Elsa picked up Millar's weeping satchel, where he had left it on the table, and gave it to the model. Mimi dabbed vigorously at her streaming eyes.

"I am glad that I met you here," she said when she could control her voice. "I shall be clever to-day and not see him at all. I will go away now and never come back. What time is it?"

"It is 3 o'clock," Elsa said, looking at her watch.

"Then I must go. Another artist in the next block expects me to pose for him, and his laundress comes at 3. He is very clever."

She stood up and looked around the room at the things on the walls—her own pictures—the place that seemed like home to her. She sobbed as she started toward the door.

"Good-by, miss," she said.

Elsa looked after her as she went out. Then she looked around the room and was seized with panic.

"Mimi! Mimi!" she called out.

The model did not return. Elsa seized her hat and fled, just as Millar entered from the adjoining room. His chuckle of Satanic amusement reached her as she hurried from the house.



CHAPTER XII

Millar's sardonic face was wreathed in smiles as he looked after the two young girls, each of whom carried from his hateful presence a bruised heart.

With Mimi it was the fate of a child of the underworld—something to which she was pathetically resigned. With her there was no struggle. She knew that when she ceased to charm she must go her way and find another man; a master rather than a sweetheart.

Elsa could not have told herself what fear made her fly from the studio after Mimi, but she feared that she was also doomed to give up the hope of her heart. It was her first cruel disappointment, but Mimi had made her see that she was beaten, and, in spite of her earlier resolution to fight, she saw that fighting would bring only unhappiness. She hurried to her waiting carriage and was driven home, where she locked herself in her room to weep alone.

And Millar, the sinister being, ever at hand with his insidiously evil suggestions, chuckled as he watched them go. He threw himself into a chair and rang the bell for Heinrich. The old servant entered rebelliously, but, trained to habits of obedience, he could not give expression to his feeling of hatred and distrust of his master's strange visitor. As for Millar, he even seemed to find something amusing in the old man's obvious aversion.

"Bring me tea and brandy," he ordered peremptorily.

"Yes, sir."

"Is your master up?"

"Yes, sir."

"Has any one seen him this morning?"

"No, sir. Madam Hofmann's maid was here three times."

"What for?" Millar demanded quickly.

"She wished to know when Madam Hofmann might see Mr. Karl. I told her I had strict orders not to call him before 3 o'clock."

Millar looked at his watch and saw that it was a few minutes after 3 o'clock.

"Humph! We shall have another visitor shortly," he muttered. "I think I begin to see the completion of my work. It shall be this afternoon. Get my tea," he added to Heinrich, "and serve it in the studio."

The old man went out. Millar paced slowly up and down the floor, looking at his watch, until he heard the door bell ring.

"The beautiful Olga," he said, stepping softly from the reception-room into the studio and leaving the way clear for Olga.

She was admitted by Heinrich. She hurried into the room, looked wildly about her and sank into a seat. For a moment she could not speak.

All night and all day, since Millar's shadow hovered above her fainting form in her own home, she had been torn by the emotions raised by the letter. It was a confession she had never meant to make. She dreaded the thought of Karl ever seeing it. Heinrich waited respectfully.

"Is Mr. Karl at home?" she asked.

"Yes, madam."

"My maid told me he could not be seen until 3 o'clock. It is now after 3. May I see him?"

"If you will wait a few minutes longer, madam, I will tell him that you are here."

Heinrich started toward the studio.

"One moment," Olga called after him. "Has any one seen Mr. Karl to-day?"

"No, madam."

"Has he received no letter?"

"No, madam."

"Thank God!" she exclaimed fervently. "Go, Heinrich; tell him I am in a great hurry and must see him at once."

"I am afraid, madam, you will have to wait a few minutes for Mr. Karl to dress," Heinrich said. "Shall I tell Dr. Millar you are here?"

"Who?" Olga cried, springing up in dread.

"Dr. Millar; the gentleman who was here yesterday," Heinrich said.

"Is he with your master?" Olga cried in fright.

"Yes, madam."

"Oh, God! am I too late? Tell me, did you see Dr. Millar give a letter to your master?"

"He may have done so, madam. I cannot remember."

Olga walked nervously up and down the room, while Heinrich waited, sympathizing at her distress. The old man was mystified, but he felt that Millar was to blame for the grief which his young master's beautiful visitor showed.

"It may not be too late," Olga cried to herself. Then she said to Heinrich:

"Please tell Dr. Millar to come down. Do not tell him who is here; simply say a lady wishes to see him at once."

"Yes, madam."

Heinrich withdrew, leaving Olga, with clenched hands and twitching features, walking up and down the room. It was thus Millar saw her as he entered, with his cynical smile, at which she shuddered.

"You are the lady who wished to see me at once?" he asked, with his most polite bow. "I am honored, madam."

"Yes, I sent for you," Olga said, not knowing how to begin.

"And what may I do for you?"

"Please tell me quickly—I am trembling—did you——"

"Yes, dear lady, I delivered your letter."

Olga sank into her chair and covered her face with her hands, while dry, tearless sobs shook her body. Millar looked at her unmoved, and as Heinrich entered with the tea tray he turned coolly to the old servant.

"Put that tea here," he said, indicating a table near Olga. "And the brandy. Thank you. You may go."

He poured himself a cup of tea and began to sip it, looking the while at the terrified woman before him.



CHAPTER XIII

It was the moment of Millar's complete triumph, and he gloated over Olga as she sat there, her trembling hands covering her face, much as a large cat gloats over a mouse, helpless beneath his paws. He lied deliberately about the letter, which even then reposed in the inside pocket of his immaculate frock coat. But he reserved it for a final coup. He knew that Olga, believing Karl was in possession of the letter, would yield to the inevitable; that she would again confess her love, even to Karl himself, and that only a miracle of resolution and faith and strength could save the two young people from the abyss of dishonor and unhappiness into which he was about to plunge them.

He sipped his tea in silence. Several moments elapsed before Olga was able to control herself. Then she asked, without looking at Millar, and her voice was dry with pain:

"Did—did Karl read the letter?"

"Oh, yes," Millar said, with another sip of tea.

"Oh, God! too late!" she cried.

Millar arose and stood behind Olga's chair, leaning over her and speaking in a soft, low voice.

"After he read the letter he buried his face in his pillow and wept," he said.

"He wept?"

"Yes; he wept with joy. I do not like men who weep."

Olga did not heed his flippancy. She looked up at him imploringly.

"I did not want him to get that letter," she said. "I came to ask him to give it back to me unopened. I am too late."

"It is not you who are too late; it was I who was too early," Millar said deprecatingly.

"Oh, is this life really a serious matter?" Olga exclaimed; "when everything can depend upon one's getting here a few moments before or a few minutes after 3 o'clock?"

"That is it exactly," Millar said. "We should not take it so seriously."

Olga looked thoughtfully away from him and said to herself softly:

"He wept."

"From joy," Millar repeated after her, in the same soft voice.

"I am afraid to speak to him, and yet I must," Olga cried, starting up. "I would like to go far, far away, but I cannot. Something seems to hold me here. I cannot, cannot go. What will become of me?"

"You will be very happy and will make Karl very happy," Millar said.

Heinrich entered and took the tea-things.

"Mr. Karl will be down in a moment," he said.

Olga clasped her hands tragically and turned an imploring face on Millar, who started for the studio door.

"Good-by," he said. "I will leave you to speak to Karl alone."

"Please don't go," Olga implored.

"I can hardly remain under the circumstances," he said.

He knew that to further his design Karl and Olga should meet quite alone. He would see to it that even old Heinrich did not interrupt them until Olga had repeated her confession of love, and the hoax of the letter had been revealed. Then he would reappear, with the letter, and they might read it together.

Olga knew that her own frail, feminine heart would give way if she were left alone to meet Karl. Evil as she believed Millar to be, yet she dreaded his going now.

"I am afraid to be alone with him," she said. "Won't you please stay?"

"But if I stay, how could you speak to Karl about the letter?" Millar asked. "And you must say something about it, you know. I would only be in the way."

Olga weakened and began to pace the floor again.

"Well, I shall be quite frank with him," she said. "I shall be honest. I shall ask him for the last time——"

Karl's voice was heard in his own room, calling to Heinrich.

"He is coming," Millar said. "I will leave you."

"Please don't go very far away," Olga implored.

"I shall be here," Millar said, going to a small anteroom adjoining the studio. "If you need me, call."

He stepped within the other room and closed the door softly. Olga stood, her hands gripping the back of her chair, waiting.

Karl entered the reception-room and stood for an instant looking at Olga. He showed that he, too, had suffered during the night. His face was white and drawn. When he saw Olga standing there, a mute statue of despair, he was filled with pity for her and self-abasement. He stepped quickly to her side, caught her hands and kissed them passionately.

"I ought to go down on my knees and beg your pardon for my conduct last night, Olga," he said.

She turned to him quickly, yielding her hands to him, leaning toward him, speaking eagerly.

"Speak very low; he is in there," she said, pointing to the anteroom where Millar was hiding. "Let us be brief, Karl. I have been very foolish, but I could not control myself. After what happened I wanted to know. I wanted to feel that you loved me as I thought you did, as I hoped you did, day and night, every minute."

"Olga!" he exclaimed rapturously.



He was not prepared for this. He feared that he had offended her, and her impulsive declaration swept him from his feet. He watched her face eagerly, hungrily, as she went on, talking very rapidly, and making no effort to disengage her hands, which he held clasped to his breast.

"Everything has changed since yesterday, Karl. But let us try to repeat what we said then. Let us shake hands honorably. Let us try to be strong and keep our promises, as we have kept them so long, Karl. If I have been bold and frivolous it was only because I wanted to know what you thought of me; nothing else. But I am afraid I have been punished too much."

Her passion swept her along, as she was swayed alternately by love for Karl and the saner impulse to flee from him. But the sweetness of knowing that she was loved, of feeling her hands clasped in his, after all her years of self-depression, broke down her resolution.

"I fear it is too late, Karl. My strength is gone. My will is lost. We have gone back six years. Karl, I love you."



CHAPTER XIV

The last words she whispered with infinite tenderness, and her head fell on his breast. Hysterically they clasped each other in their arms and, half laughing, half sobbing, looked into each other's eyes. Karl leaned over her, murmuring his love and kissing her eyes and hair.

"Be careful; he is in there," Olga warned him finally, again pointing at the door behind which their evil spirit lurked. Then she whispered shyly:

"Did my letter surprise you?"

"Letter?" Karl asked, astonished. "What letter, dear heart?"

"Karl, I understand you wish to be discreet," Olga said reproachfully, "but it is my first letter and I am not ashamed. Let us be honest; I am not afraid. I love you. When I wrote that letter I hardly knew what I was doing, and I must confess I felt ashamed at first. But I am no longer ashamed now; I am proud. Sometimes women do not write what they want, Karl, but they always want what they write. Karl, I would like to read that letter over again in your arms."

That letter meant much to Olga; it was her only love letter. She had never written to Karl before, except in the conventional boy and girl fashion, when she did not know how to express love. Her correspondence with Herman had always been of the most perfunctory sort. Never before had she poured out her soul as she did in this letter. Now she wanted to see what she had written; to read it over with the man for whom it was intended.

It was with a shock of pain that she beheld Karl's indifference, and she was amazed when he added:

"I received no letter from you, Olga."

"What! how can you say so? Was not a letter delivered to you this morning?"

"I assure you that I did not receive any letter from you," Karl said earnestly.

The realization of Millar's trick was like a blow in the face to Olga. She saw now how he had deliberately lied to her, in order that she would certainly repeat her confession of love to Karl. In what a bold, forward, disloyal attitude she had been placed! Her first impulse was of anger, and she ran toward the anteroom.

"Doctor! Dr. Millar!" she called wildly.

The door opened noiselessly and Millar stood bowing on the threshold.

"My—my letter!" Olga stammered.

"Madam, I beg a thousand pardons," Millar said suavely. "My only excuse is that some letters are better undelivered."

He drew from the inner pocket of his coat a letter, and with a smile and a sweeping bow handed it to Karl.

"However, I can now make reparation," he said.

Karl took the letter, looking wonderingly from Olga to Millar. He held it an instant in his hand and was about to open it, when Olga cried:

"Karl, tear the letter up."

Karl instantly obeyed her, tearing the envelope into small pieces.

"Now burn it," Olga said.

He stepped over to the fireplace and threw the bits of paper on the glowing coals. They started up in a little flame and were quickly reduced to ashes.

Olga was terrified at the trick Millar had played upon her and at its results. She looked in fear from him to Karl.

"Who is this man?" she asked.

Karl could not answer her. The same question was echoing in his heart.

Who was this man, this personification of evil? Ever there were his insidious wiles to compromise, cajole, trick and betray them. He could not tell. He only knew that he loathed him and that he would drive him out.

"Are you going now?" he demanded, as Millar stood looking at them with his evil smile.

Millar took the question in the most natural way, disregarding the purposely offensive tone in which Karl spoke.

"Yes, I am; I must," he said, half regretfully. "My train leaves in half an hour. Again permit me to beg a thousand pardons. Could I have foreseen the anguish that was to follow my failure to deliver madam's letter, nothing in the world could have——"

Karl interrupted him rudely, determined that he should not beguile them again and that he should not speak of Olga or the letter as a thing of importance.

"You should know that the letter contained only a conventional message," he said.

Millar looked at Olga, and his smile grew broad as she hung her head and blushed. Who should know better than he the confession which she had written and which was now destroyed?

"It was quite conventional, I am sure," he said cynically.

"You will miss your train," Karl said with studied insolence. "Heinrich, help the doctor on with his coat."

"A thousand thanks," the imperturbable Millar said. "Madam, good-by. And once more I beg a thousand pardons."

Neither Olga nor Karl spoke to him as he walked to the door, looked back at them, bowed low again and chuckled as the door closed after him.

Olga turned quickly to Karl and held out her hands.

"He is gone. I am glad. But, Karl, I would have given a year of my life if he had delivered my letter to you."

"Why? Tell me what you wrote," he asked eagerly.

"I wrote all the things I told you a few moments ago, Karl. You know it all now."

She went over to the grate and looked sadly into the ashes.

"My first love letter," she said softly. "Oh, Karl, it was my confession of my love for you. I would like to read it over again with you, and then we might forget. I don't want to be afraid. I want to be strong, to be happy. If I only had that letter now."

Karl took her hands in his, and comforted her.

"Never mind it, Olga; it has served its purpose. It has taught us ourselves, our hearts."

"It has taught us that we must be strong, brave and loyal," Olga declared warmly.

They stood thus, looking into each other's eyes, sanely, clearly, each ready to renounce. The door of the studio opened and Millar stood before them again, holding in his extended hand a letter.

"I beg a thousand pardons again," he said. "I find I gave Karl an old tailor's bill instead of madam's letter."

Olga eagerly took the letter, opened it and recognized her own handwriting.

"My letter, Karl!" she exclaimed.

Both bent close over the letter, reading it eagerly, while Millar slipped quietly out of the studio—out of their lives. Olga looked up from their reading.

"I am glad that I wrote it, Karl," she said. "Now we will burn it."

Together they watched it glow brightly into flame and fall into gray ashes.

"That is our love begun and ended, Karl," Olga said quietly. "It was wrong, and now we realize it, don't we? And now, dear boy, you are coming with me."

"Where?" Karl asked.

"I am going to take you to Elsa," Olga answered.

With a feeling of elation, Karl called Heinrich, and was helped into his overcoat. He bent respectfully and kissed Olga's hand as they walked out of the studio together.

THE END



THE MORAL OF "THE DEVIL"

BY ELLA WHEELER WILCOX

Copyright, 1908, by American Journal-Examiner.

In every human organization dwell the Twins—the Angel and the Demon.

The Angel is the real self; the enduring, immortal self, which goes on from life to life, from planet to planet, until it has made the circuit and ended where it began—at the Source.

The Demon is man made; it belongs to the changing, perishable bodies which are created anew with each incarnation; and it goes down, and out, into nothingness, with the disintegration of the animal body.

But with each new body, the mortal being usually invents, or adopts, a new Devil.

A few great souls have passed along through earth without such demoniacal association; Christ, the latest and greatest of the Masters, held converse with the Devil once, on the mountain top, when He was tempted; but that was His only acquaintance with him, because He had finished His circuit, and was ready to become one with God.

A weak man or woman, with good intentions and desirous of leading a moral life, but lacking will power, and inclined to be timid, and fearful, and negative in thought, often adopts a Devil formed by some selfish and licentious person, who fashions Devils by the wholesale and sends them out to roam over the earth, seeking an open door in a weak mind.

When such occurrences are analyzed they are usually called hypnotism.

In every liquor saloon, in every gambling den, in every boldly vicious and immoral place, about every race track and pool room, Devils swarm. And the weak, the dissipated, the thoughtless and the irresponsible minds are the open doors for them to mass through, into dominion of the human citadel.

In many drawing-rooms of fashion, in brilliant restaurants and hotels, where the elite congregate; in sensuously decorated studios, Devils also wait day and night, knowing that they will be entertained, if not welcomed, by some of the self-indulgent frequenters of these places.

Many are the devices employed by the Devils of earth to bring about the desired results.

Drinks, drugs, avarice, money mania, jealousy, love of power, desire to outshine neighbors, lust, sensuality, gross appetites, gourmandism, love of praise, personal conceit and egotism, selfishness in every form—all these are webs which the Devils spin about humanity.

Even beautiful, romantic sentiment, memory and imagination, become aids of the Devil, at times, when coarser and more common methods fail in the snaring of a refined soul.

Many a good wife, who shrinks with horror at the thought of a vulgar amour, or of any act which could pain or anger her husband, has been led into the Devil's net by indulging in retrospective dreams of a vanished romance and through the stirring of old ashes to see if one little spark remained.

Letter writing is a favorite pastime of almost all Devils. Once they get a romantic man or woman, with a pen in hand and an unoccupied chamber in the heart, and the breed of Devils who hang about the domestic hearth, hoping to find rooms to let, chuckle in glee.

Wives who have believed themselves happy and satisfied, husbands who have been unconscious of any lack in their lives, have fallen by the wayside through an interesting correspondence with some sympathetic "affinity," who was Devil-instructed to lead them into trouble.

After a man or woman falls into the Devil's snare they both call it Fate, and proclaim their inability to combat the powerful influence of "destiny."

But destiny is man himself.

The Angel dwells always within him, ready to say, "Get thee behind me, Satan," if the man really wants it said.

The Angel and the Devil both are completely under man's control; the work of man, here in this sphere and in every other, is to develop the character which will enable him to get back to the Source.

Unless the man directs the Angel to take the ascendancy, there would be no growth in wisdom for him were the Angel to interpose. So he remains silent and lets the Devil do his work, in order that man may find out for himself the pain and folly of such dominion; and in order that when he again encounters the Devil, either in this plane of existence or some other, he may be able to say as Christ said, "Get thee behind me."

Always have there been Devils; always will there be Devils, while humanity is evolving from the lower to the higher states.

But always is there the Angel, ready to lead the soul to conquest and victory if the soul will call.



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[Transcriber's Note: A table of contents has been created for this electronic book. In addition, the following typographical errors from the original edition have been corrected.

In Chapter III, a triple quotation mark following "You were not here when I entered" and a single quotation mark preceding "Your future wife will swear" were changed to double quotation marks, and "sip the sweeest wine" was changed to "sip the sweetest wine".

In Chapter VI, a quotation mark was added following "a found treasure".

In Chapter VIII, "the fulfilment of her puropse" was changed to "the fulfilment of her purpose", and "every detal of his dress" was changed to "every detail of his dress".

In Chapter IX, quotation marks were removed in front of "Don't you want to speak to her?" and ""With a wild cry", "the indignation of the yiung artist" was changed to "the indignation of the young artist", and "He advanced determedly" was changed to "He advanced determinedly".

In the advertisements, a comma following "Boston Transcript" was changed to a period, "dominant personalties" was changed to "dominant personalties", and "Medalion in color" was changed to "Medallion in color".

No other corrections were made to the text.]

THE END