"It's because we have so much at stake, Beverly, dear," whispered

Dagmar. "Forgive me if I have hurt you."

Of course, Beverly sobbed a little in the effort to convince them that

she did not care whom they accused, if he proved to be the right man in

the end. They left her alone on the balcony. For an hour after midnight

she sat there and dreamed. Everyone was ready to turn against

Baldos. Even she had been harsh toward him, for had she not seen him

relegated to the most obnoxious of duties after promising him a far

different life? And now what was he thinking of her? His descent from

favor had followed upon the disclosures which made plain to each the

identity of the other. No doubt he was attributing his degradation, in a

sense, to the fact that she no longer relished his services, having seen

a romantic little ideal shattered by his firm assertions. Of course, she

knew that General Marlanx was alone instrumental in assigning him to the

unpleasant duty he now observed, but how was Baldos to know that she was

not the real power behind the Iron Count?

A light drizzle began to fall, cold and disagreeable. There were no

stars, no moon. The ground below was black with shadows, but shimmering

in spots touched by the feeble park lamps. She retreated through her

window, determined to go to bed. Her rebellious brain, however, refused

to banish him from her thoughts. She wondered if he were patroling the

castle grounds In the rain, in all that lonely darkness. Seized by a

sudden inspiration, she threw a gossamer about her, grasped an umbrella

and ventured out upon the balcony once more. Guiltily she searched the

night through the fine drizzling rain; her ears listened eagerly for the

tread which was so well known to her.

At last he strode beneath a lamp not far away. He looked up, but, of

course, could not see her against the dark wall. For a long time he

stood motionless beneath the light. She could not help seeing that he

was dejected, tired, unhappy. His shoulders drooped, and there as a

general air of listlessness about the figure which had once been so full

of courage and of hope. The post light fell directly upon his face. It

was somber, despondent, strained. He wore the air of a prisoner. Her

heart went out to him like a flash. The debonair knight of the black

patch was no more; in his place there stood a sullen slave to

discipline.

"Baldos!" she called softly, her voice penetrating the dripping air with

the clearness of a bell. He must have been longing for the sound of it,

for he started and looked eagerly in her direction. His tall form

straightened as he passed his hand over his brow. It was but a voice

from his dream, he thought. "Aren't you afraid you'll get wet?" asked

the same low, sweet voice, with the suggestion of a laugh behind

it. With long strides he crossed the pavement and stood almost directly

beneath her.




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