I shall delve further into the old records, under pretense of following up the title to our purchase.

Perhaps we may even now unearth other unconveyed property." Randall Clayton, brave as he was, shuddered when Witherspoon solemnly said: "Remember! Your life is in your own hands.

For God's sake, be prudent! One little self-betrayal in sudden anger, and then either Worthington or Ferris would surely compass your death for this tempting million.

You will fight for your birthright, and I for the future happiness of darling Francine Delacroix." When they wrung each other's hands in the last good-bye, "each heart recalled a different name." For, burning on the altars of that lonely heart of Clayton's was the fierce fire which bound him now as the worshipper of the velvet-voiced Magyar witch.

He, too, had some one to fight for now, and his ardent fancy painted her in every glowing color of the passion of young manhood.
Left alone to his daily affairs, Randall Clayton now lived behind an impenetrable mask.