The shadow which had followed Captain Dove throughout his headlong flight from the hut on the cliffs had halted behind a bush at the edge of the wood while he lingered on the drawbridge to look back. As soon as he disappeared through the postern it flitted in the dusk across the gravel sweep in front of the castle, down into the dry moat and up again on the other side to a dark window: through which it gained easy ingress. And from that point, moving stealthily and with extreme precaution along the servants' passageways, it finally reached the housekeeper's quarters: where it stood listening intently for a few seconds before stepping in on Mrs. M'Kissock.

She was seated at her early supper, alone, and looked round in surprise, which quickly deepened into dire bewilderment and dread.

"Farish!" she whispered with pale lips, as he cast off the soiled and travel-worn white Arab cloak which had covered him, showing himself a big, bent, white-bearded, fierce-looking, haggard-faced fellow, barefooted, almost in rags. He was glancing about him with the expression of a wild beast in a cage while the old housekeeper gazed at him, breathing over-quickly, her hands at her heart.

"Ay, it's Farish, Janet," said he at length, in a very bitter voice, and threw himself wearily into a chair. "None other than your ne'er-do-well brother, Farish, come home to die on your hands. I've been hiding in the woods all day, waiting a chance to creep in. I'm starving, too."

She turned, trembling sickly, to a full cupboard and set more food on the table in haste. He fell upon it like a famished wolf, and while he was devouring it they talked, in broken sentences.

"Where have you come from—in such a state?" the old woman asked, watching him with woe in her face.

"From hell," he mumbled hoarsely, his mouth full, "to square accounts with another devil who seems to have made the Castle of Loquhariot his home too. What's Dove, as he calls himself, doing here, Janet?"

"He came with the Lady Josceline Justice," Mrs. M'Kissock made difficult answer.

"He came with the Lady Josceline Justice!" repeated her brother mechanically, and ceased eating for an instant to stare at her out of blank, disbelieving eyes. Then he went on with his ravenous feast and his questioning. "Who else is here?"

"Mr. Slyne," his sister told him meekly, "and Mr. Jobling, her ladyship's London lawyer. The Duchess of Dawn and Lord Ingoldsby came across the Pass to call on her ladyship this afternoon. And there's Mr. Herries, too, ill in bed, as he's been since the night of her ladyship's coming."

"I know the man Slyne," muttered Farish M'Kissock. "But—what's Lady Josceline Justice like?"

He listened attentively to his sister's brief, fond description, and then pushed the plates from before him.

"Can you give me something to drink now?" he asked, in a strained, unsteady voice. She brought him a bottle of wine from the cupboard and he swallowed some, very sparingly. It brought a little colour back into his ashen face.

"I'll eat some more in a minute or two," he muttered, and sank back into his chair, and sighed. And there he sat, still and silent, while the big grandfather's clock in its corner ticked away an eternity of suspense.

"And so it's—her!" he whispered to himself, and looked up at his sister again as if he had been unaware of her company.

"Listen, Janet," said he then, in a stronger voice, "and I'll tell you something of what I owe Dove.

"When I had to flee this country, at the time of Lord St. Just's death, I took to the sea for a while, and, knocking about the world, I chanced across Dove and his ship—the old Fer de Lance it was then. And I signed on with him—it was in San ThomÉ—for reasons that don't matter now. But he and I soon fell foul of each other—for reasons that don't matter either—and what d'ye think he did to get rid of me! He set me ashore, on the African coast, alone—to die in the desert there."

A dangerous light was beginning to burn in his sunken eyes. He had set his two twitching hands on the table, was leaning forward.

"But—I didn't die, after all, you see," he said. "I didn't die then, Janet. I'm not dead yet.

"It would only weary you to hear all that happened to me before I came into my kingdom. For I was as good as a king there, Janet, and—

"No, I'm not mad, though I might well be after all I've suffered through—him. It was a kingdom I'd made for myself before he came my way again. From Tripoli to the Susa, my word was all but law, and there was scarcely a tribe but paid me tribute. The Sultan of Morocco himself would send me presents when I passed by. I've fought and beaten the French, time and again, in country they claim for their own. They knew the Emir El Farish, Janet, although you think that it's raving I am.

"But never mind that. What you'll understand better is that I had come to be a very rich man there. I had horses and camels by hundreds, and gold and jewels almost more than I had time to count, and an army of fine fighting men to keep them all safe. I had wealth as well as power, all but as much as I wanted of both, when Dove came slinking into my camp on the coast one dark night, like some dirty jackal.

"His ship was lying in the bight, and—I had business on board with him. I went off in a boat, with no more than two of my men, blind fool that I was!

"I might have known better," he mused very bitterly, "but—

"He struck me down from behind. He turned me and my men adrift, insensible, in an open boat.

"It blew out to sea. I lived, without food or water, for nearly a week before I was picked up by a passing steamer that took me to Spain, but the other two died.

"I was as good as a king in Africa, and—Look at me now! I've lost all—all but these rags, and I'm spent, as the Spaniards say. I can't go back to reclaim what was mine. And what will have happened among my people without me, I can scarcely bear to think. For I was fond of them, Janet, in my own way.

"But, after all, it's enough for me now that I've found him again—and in time. I could scarcely believe that it was really him I saw by the hut."

He was speaking in a strange, far-away voice, almost contemplatively; and, while he spoke, he was fingering the hilt of the long sheath-knife at his frayed black belt.

"Would you do murder here again, Farish!" whispered his sister, her clasped hands still tight at her heart. She had heard him out in tense silence, without a word. "Was not once enough! Must I be the one to betray you now—lest you do murder here again!"

Her brother's gaunt features twisted slowly into a horrible grin, and relaxed again into an expression of some concern as he observed her evident stress of mind.

"It was no murder, but justice, that I did on Torquil St. Just," said he. "He would have killed me if he could. But I suppose they will always blame me for his death, Janet; and it would no doubt go hard with me, even after all these years, if any but you knew my whereabouts.

"But—I'm safe with you, Janet. And I'll do no murder, I give you my word. I have other means—

"I'm safe with you, Janet," he repeated, glancing about the quiet, lamp-lit room.

"None will enter without my leave," she hastened to reassure him. "You can stay safe here, Farish, till we can come at some plan to help each other, for I cannot bide in the castle for long either, now you've come back.

"But—you must work no more harm in the house whose bread I have eaten so long. Whatever hurt Torquil St. Just did you, he has long gone to his account, and you have surely no ill will to her ladyship. She has suffered sorely too, poor thing! in her time, or I'm much mistaken."

"When did she come to Loquhariot?" Farish demanded.

"Not much more than a fortnight ago—and just in time. For before her had come, from America, a far cousin, one Mr. Justin Carthew, to claim the rights that are hers, thinking, as I did indeed, that she must be dead."

"You can't mean yon whistling, limber fellow that walks with a limp? I saw him too at the hut," said the wreck in the chair at the table with a sudden, fierce, eager light in his lack-lustre eyes. "But—I took him for a ghost. How came he here? My men told me—"

His sister had nodded silently. She sat staring at him in abject suspense, hope and despair alternately flitting across her wrinkled face.

But he said nothing more for some time. That last unaccountable twist of fate had almost stupefied him.

A telephone bell rang behind his sister, and startled him out of his reverie.

"Mr. Slyne says her ladyship wishes rooms prepared for the duchess and Lord Ingoldsby," she told him as she turned back from the instrument. "And dinner's to be served in the banquet-hall. I must be off about my business now, Farish. Will you wait here till I come again—and promise to work no more harm?"

"I'll find a quieter corner to hide in," he answered indifferently. And, in response to her harassed glance, "You must just trust me to take care of myself and not trouble you more than need be," he told her. "I know this old vulture's-nest well enough not to be discovered in it. And—I'll do Dove no violence, Janet; you have my pledged word for that."

She lingered still, almost distracted, not knowing what to do for the best. But she did know, of old and sad experience, how little heed he was likely to pay to any advice or direction of hers, and at last had to hurry away to her duties leaving him, safe enough there, to his own devices till she could return.

As soon as she had gone, he swallowed a little more of the food and wine on the table, put on his dirty white robe again, pulling its baggy hood well over his features, and, having assured himself that the long passage down which she had disappeared was empty, set out with soundless but steadier steps to secrete himself in some more remote recess of the spacious castle.

He knew his way about every turn of the back-corridors intimately. He was passing the gun-room pantry when he heard from within a voice that he recognised at once, shouting, "Hold your row!" He paused. Distant footfalls in the passage prompted him to a swift decision. The pantry door was ajar. He pushed it a little further open, stepped inside, and closed it behind him.

The place was practically in darkness, but he soon found the service-wicket, and, having first made sure that he would not be intruded upon, slipped the blade of his knife under its wooden shutter, raised it, without sound, sufficiently to hear and see all that was going on in the gun-room.

His eyes began to gleam balefully as he looked through at its unsuspecting inmates. The old man Dove and the London lawyer were evidently at loggerheads, but presently calmed down again, and grew almost confidential together. And afterwards Slyne came in to them with his contemptuous story of the White Lady—at which the lurking listener frowned anxiously, since it went to show that he must have been seen notwithstanding all his precautions. And then the lawyer got up to go.

To Slyne's subsequent conversation with Captain Dove the ex-Emir listened no less greedily, licking his lips. And after that he pushed noiselessly past the swing-door of the pantry, into their company. He thought he could see his way quite clearly by then.

Slyne drew back in speechless alarm at sight of the gaunt, hooded figure coming forward on soundless feet. Captain Dove had made an attempt to rise, but apparently could not; he sat still, staring over one shoulder, aghast, at that grey ghost of a man he had never expected to see again.

Farish M'Kissock threw back his hood and mutely held out his two empty hands. Slyne let one of his own fall from a hip-pocket. Captain Dove was evidently striving to speak. The silent intruder stood waiting to hear whatever he might have to say.

"How can it be!" Captain Dove said at length, in the difficult voice of one amazed almost beyond words, and got to his feet with an effort, to scan the intruder still more searchingly, to stare transfixed at the tangled grey locks which had formerly been of a flaming red.

"It is—Farish!" he whispered fearfully, as if at last convinced in spite of himself. And the man before him nodded slowly, three times.

"None but me, Captain Brown—or Captain Dove—or whatever you care to call yourself," said Farish M'Kissock, and tried to moisten his dry lips with a dry tongue. "None but the man you have twice betrayed and turned adrift to die like a dog; once in the desert and yet again in a boat on the open sea."

"Didn't you get ashore?" Slyne asked softly, as if he thought that the mysterious new-comer must be mad, and did not desire to anger him.

"Sit down, both of you," said Farish M'Kissock, "and we'll talk together. 'Tis no more than meet that you should both know the why and the wherefore of what's to come. I will not seek to harm you," he said, and so sat down himself.

Slyne seated himself on the table and Captain Dove was content with an arm of the chair in which he had been ensconced; both were obviously prepared to spring up again instantly. And Farish M'Kissock looked at his leisure from one to the other of them before he said anything more. Captain Dove's unusual attire seemed to hold his attention.

"You've changed your coat since you saw me last," he at length remarked in an even, almost indifferent voice. "And you've come to a very snug anchorage. You're both going to settle down here and be gentlemen now, I suppose."

Captain Dove glared at him, but could not overmaster his steady glance and at last was compelled to seek shelter behind his smoked glasses, at which added disguise his enemy gazed with no less offensive interest.

"You have both done very well for yourselves," said Farish M'Kissock, and turned toward Slyne.

"You're going to marry the Lady Josceline Justice," said he. "And so—you'll be master here—of her and her millions. You'll be a rich man then—but not so rich, surely, as I'd have been if you two had kept your bargain with me; for I was not bankrupt when Captain Dove promised her to me—though I'm bankrupt now."

His slow speech stung, but they both heard him out in hang-dog silence.

"I'm bankrupt now," he repeated, looking over at Captain Dove. "All I won for myself in this world I've lost, thanks to you. And so—I've made my way home, to die. They told me in the hospital that I hadn't long to live then, and I reckon my tramp across the mountains will help to finish me. But—first, there's our account to be squared; all I have lost."

"I'll make that up to you, Farish," said Captain Dove, finding his tongue again, and evidently anxious to be very diplomatic since he could by no means outface his former accomplice. "I'll do the right thing by you now. I hadn't any idea, you know, but that you'd get safely ashore and back to your camp—"

"It was a long chance you took, with the wind offshore," the other broke in, without raising his voice, in the same implacable monotone. "It was almost too long. But the boat you set me adrift in was picked up far out at sea, with two dead men in it, and one who was minded to live long enough to repay what he owes you.

"What has happened among my folks there, God alone knows. But they would fare ill without me, I fear, and—I had some liking for them."

"You've always been far too soft-hearted, Farish. That's your only fault," said Captain Dove encouragingly. "Forget them—and I'll make all the rest up to you."

"But how did you come here?" Slyne demanded with more spirit than he had at first shown.

He had to wait some time for an answer, but Captain Dove did not interrupt again, and presently the other proceeded to make that also more clear.

"You don't know yet who I am now," he muttered. "I had forgotten—

"I'm Farish M'Kissock, own brother to old Janet, the housekeeper here. And I was born at Loquhariot, after my father came from Kilmarnock to be head-keeper to the old earl. That's why I call it home, though it's no home of mine.

"I left the last half of my name behind me when I fled the country, long years ago, at the time of Lord St. Just's death. I had a hand in that, although I did not murder him as some said. He had done me a foul wrong, the foulest one man may do another. It cost him his life, but—I did not murder him. That would have been but a poor revenge in my eyes. I would fain he had lived till this day."

"And what do you propose to do now?" Slyne asked, somewhat impatiently. He had evidently got over his first confusion.

The ex-Emir regarded him meditatively for a moment or two, and then broke into a low, mirthless laugh.

"You're going to marry the Lady Josceline Justice," said he, "and you're in a hurry. You've no time to waste on me—or on my memories of old wrongs. Well, I don't blame you. I once had a fancy for her myself, and—I was in just such a hurry; when my wife died in my arms as we carried her out from my camp, to suit your convenience, Captain Dove, and I hadn't even the time to bury my own dead wife decently before I put off to your ship in search of—the other. If I had been in less haste about it, I'd maybe have made better speed.

"But you've managed very well for yourself, so far, Mr. Slyne. Though you've robbed me of one who should have been mine, just as did Torquil St. Just.

"And now—if you'll wait for a minute more—I'll even matters among us; and you'll understand the drift of my story better. You've managed very well for yourself, so far, and you've very nearly won all you wanted. But—here I am, just in time.

"Did it ever come out how the Countess of Jura, the dancer that was, met her death?"

Slyne, listening with strained attention now, nodded swift assent. Captain Dove, crouched low on his perch, was gazing at Farish M'Kissock as if fascinated.

"She shot herself," said the ex-Emir, with the calm certainty of one who can vouch for his facts, "rather than fall into the hands of my men. We had raided a camp of fool tourists who had come too far afield, to find out what the real desert was like, and she was among them. She saw me before she pulled trigger, and knew me, and cried on me to save her child.

"All the rest were—wiped out. But—I spared the child, because—it had the Jura blood in its veins. It was the Lady Josceline Justice, and she grew up among our tents until she died in my arms the same night I made my unlucky bargain with you, Captain Dove; and I hadn't even the time to bury her ladyship, my dead wife, decently before I put off to your ship!"

He drew a skeleton-like hand across his sunken eyes and blinked at the blazing logs on the hearth before him.

"And now you know where the real Lady Josceline Justice is," said he.