"
"Having murdered Miss Westfall!" completed the Baron quietly.
Ronador's face was ashen.
"Excellency," he choked suddenly, "my little son--"
"Yes," said Tregar with sudden kindness, "I know. Your great love and
ambition for the boy drove you to madness." He paused. "You are fully
decided to break faith with Phaedra, knowing what may come of it?"
"Yes. Even if my great love for Miss Westfall did not drive me on--"
"To indiscretion!" supplied the Baron dryly.
"As you will. Even then, to me it is now the one way out. With
Granberry dead, with the treacherous paper in my possession--"
"It has been burned."
Ronador did not hear.
"With Miss Westfall my wife," he finished, "even if the dead thing
stirs again, it can make no difference."
"Then," said the Baron formally, "I am through with it all, quite
through. The task was never of my choosing, as you know. When the
dead hand reached forth from the grave to taunt you, Ronador, I was
willing at first to stoop to unutterable things to save you--and
Houdania--from dishonor, but more and more there has been distaste in
my heart for the blackness of the thing. Days back I warned you by
letter that I would not see Miss Westfall coldly sacrificed for a
muddle of which she knew absolutely nothing.
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