"Why are you here?"
"I--I came in a flash of panic. It seemed to me that after all I--I
could not trust to other hands when the dead thing stirred." Ronador's
face was white and haggard. In that instant his forty-four years lay
heavily upon his shoulders.
"Have I ever misplaced your trust?" reminded Tregar sombrely. "Have I
not even kept your secret from your father?"
"Yes."
"Then tell me," asked the Baron bluntly, "why you must come to America
and hysterically complicate this damnable mess by--a bullet!"
Greatly agitated, Ronador fell to pacing to and fro. Heavy cypress
shadows upon the water moved like pointing fingers.
"Is there nothing I may keep from you?" broke from him a little
bitterly.
"Why," insisted the older man, "have you seen fit to conduct yourself
with the irrationality of a madman by trundling a music-machine about
the country and making love to a girl you tried in a moment of fright
and frenzy--to kill?"
"I--I lost my head," said the Prince with an effort. "It--it seemed at
first that she must die. The other, I thought to myself, I will leave
to Themar and the Baron. This I must do for myself. They will spare
her and years hence the thing may stir again. I--I can not bear to
think of it even now, Tregar.
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