“And what have you accomplished?” flamed Ronador passionately.  “Granberry, for all your ciphered pledges, lives and mocks me as he did tonight, as he did months back.  I could kill him for the indignities he has heaped upon me, if for nothing else.  And he knows more than you think.  What did he mean to-night?”

“Circumstances,” said Tregar coldly, “have made you unduly sensitive and suspicious.  Granberry’s costume was planned maliciously as an impersonal affront to me.  He knew of my plans through a telegram of mine to Themar and made his own accordingly.  It was not your past to which he referred.  Surely it is not difficult to catch his meaning?”

“Blunders and blunders and quixotic scruples,” raved Ronador, “and now this crowning indignity to-night!  What has Themar been doing? . . .  What have you done? . . .  Why is Granberry still alive?  Hereafter, Tregar, Themar will report to me.  I personally will see that the thing is cleared up and silenced forever.  I may trust at least to your silence?”

“My word as a gentleman is sufficient?”

“It is.”

“Consider me pledged to silence as I have been for a quarter of a century.”

“Where is Themar?”

“He is here at my command to-night after an illness of weeks.  He has been Granberry’s prisoner.  His illness alone won his release for him through some inconsistent whim of sympathy on the part of Granberry.  He wears the garb of a gray monk.”

“Send him here.”

The Baron bowed and withdrew.  At the path he turned.

“Ronador,” he said quietly, “for the sake of the lifetime friendship I have borne your father, for the sake of the position of honor and trust I hold in your father’s court, for the sake of my great love for Houdania, let me say that when you find you are sinking deeper and deeper into a pitfall of errors and unhappiness and treachery, I shall be ready and willing to aid and advise you as best I may.  I think I know you better than you know yourself.  You have an inheritance of wild passion, a nature that swayed by irresistible and fiery impulse, will for the moment dare anything and regret it with terrible suffering ever after.  One such lesson you have had in early manhood.  I hope you may not rush on blindly to another.  Until you come to me, however,” he added with dignity, “I shall not meddle again.”

“I shall not come!” said Ronador imperiously.  But the Baron was gone.

Later, by the cypress pool, the gray monk and the minstrel talked long and earnestly of one who knew overmuch of the affairs of both.

“There is but one thing more,” faltered Themar at the end.  “I may speak with freedom?”

“Yes,” said Ronador impatiently, “what is it?”

“Miss Westfall—­I spied upon her camp in Connecticut—­”

“Yes?”

“It is well to know all.  For days she lived with Poynter in the forest—­”