"He loved another," the Duchess murmured.

"Whatever the reason, Mr. Holmes left St. Petersburg," the lawyer went on. "He proceeded to Rome, where he was accused of heresy and expelled from the city. He had always been a devout Roman Catholic, and he was palpably distressed at learning that his religious superiors frowned on his activities. He lost his powers altogether. He announced to the world that his spiritual guides had departed for a period of one year. He was received sympathetically by his friends in England…"

Here the lawyer shot a glance at his patroness, but she appeared not to notice. Her face had a rapt, dreaming expression.

"The year was almost over," Carlton said, "when Mr. Holmes went for a walk one winter night. He was never seen again. His cloak – have I mentioned that he habitually wore a long black cloak rather than an overcoat? – this garment was found next day entangled in the roots of a tree that hung over a rapidly rushing river near the spot where he had last been seen. Though inquiries were prosecuted with the greatest vigor, no other trace of him was ever discovered, and it was concluded that he must be presumed drowned. Since he left no heirs and no property, there were no legal complications. The coroner's jury agreed on a verdict of misadventure; but there were those who hinted that he had taken his own life, in despair over the failure of his spiritual powers."

"Never!" The Duchess had been listening after all. Her cheeks flushed with indignation. "Those were vile rumors, Roger. David's faith forbade suicide."

A violent creak of the doctor's chair preceded his comment. "My dear, many of his own friends felt he had killed himself. They accused the Church of hounding him to death."

"Equally absurd!" the Duchess cried. "These so-called friends were jealous of me, because I had his company and his confidence. He had been in cheerful spirits and was eagerly anticipating the return of his powers. Why, that very evening, he told me we would have a confidential chat about it after he returned from his walk."

"He was staying with you?" Marianne exclaimed. "Here?"

"No. Devenbrook Castle, in Scotland, was the scene of David's last days on this plane." She took the girl's hand in both of hers. "My dear, I hope this sad tale has not distressed you. Death, as David taught me, is only a doorway into a better world."

Marianne was not at all distressed – at least, not in the way the Duchess meant. It was difficult for her to feel any emotion over a father she had never known, particularly when she very much doubted that the relationship had existed. However, she squeezed the hand that clasped hers so kindly and tried to assume an expression of appropriate melancholy.

"Your Grace," she began timidly.

"You must not be so formal. My darling David called me by my name."

"I could not possibly do that!"

"Perhaps not. But something warmer, something closer. Aunt Honoria? Or…"

Marianne was overcome with a sudden shocking desire to giggle, as other alternatives popped into her mind. Grannie Honoria? Mother Honoria? Horrified at herself, she bit her lip. She had never been encouraged to indulge in fits of temperament and did not recognize incipient hysteria resulting from a series of stupefying shocks. She was, however, aware of the meaningful glances exchanged by the two men. It was clear to her now that not only did they doubt the Duchess's belief in her parentage, but that they suspected her of being an adventuress – quick to take advantage of an elderly lady's sad obsession. She resolved to do nothing to confirm such unworthy suspicions.

"Please," she murmured. "With respect – I don't feel just now that I can…"

"I quite understand." The Duchess squeezed her hand. "Time will solve that problem, as it will solve so many others."

Again the doctor and the young lawyer looked significantly at one another. As if that look had communicated their silent agreement, the lawyer said firmly, "Duchess, far be it from me to mar your happiness at this moment, but it is my professional duty to be practical. You are prepared to accept this young – er – lady as David Holmes's daughter, without proof, without the slightest evidence -"

"Only look at her!" the Duchess exclaimed.

Carlton shook his head. "You forget, I never knew Mr. Holmes. In my opinion the photographs of him show no striking resemblance to Miss Ransom. And even if they did -"

"Horace." The Duchess turned impetuously to her old friend. "You knew David, knew him well."

The doctor's chair had been emitting a series of alarming creaks – evidence, Marianne suspected, of mental perturbation displaying itself in physical discomfort.

"The only resemblance I can see is in her coloring," he growled.

"Precisely." The Duchess's hand brushed Marianne's hair. "That rare, unmistakable shade of pale gold. David was the only other person I have known who had hair of that color."

"No evidence." Again the lawyer shook his head. "Now, Your Grace, pray let me proceed without interruption. I admit that Doctor Gruffstone was struck, when he first saw Miss Ransom, by the resemblance you insist upon. This carries some weight, in view of his – er – personal feelings about the matter; he was the first to declare that such a fancied resemblance was not enough in itself. Therefore, I took it upon myself to make certain inquiries – or rather, since the doctor was then at liberty, he was good enough to make them for me. He has just returned from Yorkshire."

"You dared!" The Duchess half rose. There had been a certain regality even in her ordinary manner, but now Marianne saw the true nature of the result of centuries of noble ancestry. "Roger, you are my trusted adviser and the son of my old friend, but you have gone too far. How dare you act without my knowledge!"

"I dare because it is my duty. Will you wait to hear what I have to say? After that you may dismiss me. That is your privilege. But I request – nay, I insist – upon being allowed to carry out my responsibility toward you so long as I am in your service."

Marianne held her breath as the two confronted one another, the current of antagonism between them almost visible. Carlton's rocklike imperturbability was as impressive in its way as the flaming anger of the lady. And, as flame may touch a rock and then retreat, leaving it unscratched, the Duchess's anger subsided.

"You are correct, Roger. Proceed."

The lawyer's face relaxed into its habitual expression of bored amusement. He seemed almost embarrassed at his display of genuine feeling.

"I have not heard Dr. Gruffstone's report myself. I had hoped that we could wait to hear it before communicating with Miss Ransom -"

"You mean," the Duchess interrupted, with a note of humor, "you hoped you would not be required to communicate with her after you had heard it."

"Quite right." Carlton returned her smile. "As it turned out, I was forced to precipitate action. Learning that Miss Ransom had disappeared without warning or explanation from – er – her place of employment, I felt I ought to find out what had become of her. One of the persons at – er – that place was acquainted with her address -"

"Maggie!" Marianne exclaimed. "Was it Maggie? Did you see her? Is she safe?"

"I am not familiar with the person to whom you refer," the lawyer replied, looking at her in surprise.

"She helped me to escape. I have been so worried about her! If he learned that she had actually attacked him, struck him down, to defend me…"

"Attacked Bagshot?" The lawyer forgot his professional reserve and grinned broadly. Then, remembering himself, he covered his face with his hand and smoothed out the smile. "Never mind, we are wandering off the subject."

"But Maggie," Marianne insisted. "I must find out where she is and make sure she is safe."