Herman took his wife's arm, and together they returned to the ballroom. Karl watched them disappear and turned on Millar as if to attack him. There was such menace in his manner, the frenzied appearance of his face, that Millar put his hand behind him quickly and half drew his revolver.

Before either spoke, however, Elsa entered from the ballroom. She was in her cloak, ready to leave, and said, holding out her hand to Karl:

"I wanted to say good-by."

Her voice seemed to awaken Karl as from a bad dream. He took her hand eagerly, stepped forward impulsively as if he would take her in his arms and kiss her, but Millar interposed himself between them, and a servant entered at the same moment. Checked in his advance, Karl said:"I shall take you to your carriage."

The servant announced that Elsa's aunt awaited her. She took Karl's arm, and Millar directed the servant to follow them.

"The sidewalk is very slippery," he said. "Take Miss Elsa's other arm."

He was determined not to give the beautiful girl a chance alone with Karl. In the young artist's present excited state almost anything might occur to wreck his plans.

As the two went out, followed by the servant, Olga came in excitedly. She looked around to see that Millar was alone and said:

"Your plan worked splendidly."

"What are you going to do now?" asked Millar anxiously, as Olga sat at a table and took out writing materials.

"I am going to write to him," she answered, addressing an envelope.

"But what will you say?"

"I shall tell him," Olga said wearily, with her hands clasped to her forehead, "never to speak to me again. I never want to see him. He must leave town immediately. To think he believed me capable of——"

"Of what?""Ah, it is all over," Olga cried, ignoring him. "I never want to see him again, because——"

"Because you love him?"

"Oh, no. After what has happened I hate him."

"I am very sorry, madam," Millar said contritely.

"You need not be," Olga assured him. "I am glad it happened. With all your cynicism you are clever and you have done me a great service. When I know that this letter is in his hands again I shall be perfectly happy," she went on, dipping her pen in the ink-well.

"You say I have helped you; let me render you one more service," Millar urged.

"What can that be?" Olga asked.

"I have begun this; let me finish it. Let me dictate this letter. You are excited. You cannot think of things to say. It must be firm, strong."

"I HAVE BEGUN THIS, LET ME FINISH IT. LET ME DICTATE THIS LETTER."—Page 136.

By Permission of Henry W. Savage.

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"Yes, firm, strong," Olga acquiesced.

"Undoubtedly," Millar went on. "Let me tell you what to say."

Wearily Olga yielded to his spell. She seemed under hypnotic influence as she replied:

"Very well, I shall write whatever you tell me to say."

Millar stood behind her chair, hovering over her like an evil spirit. His singular, expressive hands twitched.

"Good. I shall try to express your thoughts," he said. "Cold, formal?"

"Yes, it must be so," Olga said.

"It is finished forever?"

"Forever."

"Then write," he ordered.

She settled herself to her task. Leaning over her, Millar suggested a sinister hypnotist bending a helpless victim to his will. He dictated, while Olga wrote:

"I have found out what I dreaded to learn—that you love me. Your behavior to-night convinced me. I could not place any other interpretation on it, and my own heart answered, I cannot, dare not, see you again. God knows I want to; I long for the happiness that I might find with you, but I must not. Only the certainty that I am not to see you impels me to this confession. Good-by forever."

When this was finished Olga dropped her pen and stared at the letter. Before she could do anything, Millar had taken the sheet of paper, blotted it, folded it and placed it within the envelope, which he deposited in his pocket.

"What have I written?" Olga cried, bewildered.

"The last letter," Millar replied, with a smile of triumph. "I will deliver it to Karl," he said.

Olga passed her hands wearily over her eyes, and struggled to clear her mind of the strange, intricate network of intrigue, insinuation and suggestion which Millar had woven there. She thought she was rid of his sinister influence until her fingers wrote, in obedience to his will, the letter which she would have given anything to have left unwritten.

When she looked up, Millar was putting the letter in his pocket, and his face wore the evil, cynical smile.

"I wrote it, yet I am ashamed of what I have written," she faltered, speaking with difficulty. "I tried to resist—yes, I did—but my hands, my pen, followed your words. You are a very strange man."

"I will deliver the letter to Karl," Millar repeated slowly.

"You know I did not mean it; you know I did not want to write it," Olga said.

"A woman does not always write what she wants," Millar said lightly, "but she always wants what she writes."

"The letter was not for him; it was for me," Olga insisted.

She arose and her hand was extended imploringly, begging Millar to return the missive to her, when Herman entered. The house had grown still. The music was hushed, the guests were gone. Only Millar, spirit of evil, incarnation of the devil, remained.

"This is good of you, to stay behind and entertain the hostess," Herman said cordially.

"Madam Hofmann's conversation has been so entertaining that I quite forgot the time," Millar said, looking at his watch. "By Jove! it is late; I must go immediately."

"Won't you have some cognac before you go out? The night is cold," Herman urged.

"No, I thank you; I have an important engagement in the morning, and it is now too late. Madam, I must bid you good-night. I have really spent a very pleasant evening."

Millar started toward the door. Olga uttered a half-suppressed cry, and he turned inquiringly.

"I left a letter lying here on the table; did you, perhaps, pick it up?" she asked nervously.

She was almost weeping and spoke in a half-hysterical tone. Millar, without changing countenance, drew the letter from his pocket.

"Perhaps this is it," he said, holding it up. "If it is of interest to your husband——"

He made a movement as if to hand it to Herman. Fear clutched at Olga's heart and she cried quickly:"No, no, it was not that; it was nothing."

She forced herself to laugh. Millar bowed with impressive politeness and left the room. Herman bowed the strange guest out, and then noticed for the first time Olga's weariness and distress.

"You look tired, dear," he said tenderly. "It has been a long evening."

"Yes, I am tired," she said sadly.

Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. As she stood leaning against the table Herman thought her prettier than he had ever seen her before. He went up to her, took her hands in his and kissed her.

"You seem excited, too," he said. "It makes you prettier, and I like it, my dear, sweet, darling wife."

Olga shrank from his caress so obviously that Herman was hurt. She withdrew her hands.

"Please don't," she said. "I am awfully nervous."

"Your cheeks are burning, dear," he said, touching them.

"Don't, Herman; I wish to be alone for a few minutes; to rest all alone. Please leave me here."

"Very well, it shall be as you wish," Herman replied, adding as he left the room:

"But it would be better if you went to sleep."

A servant entered, and Olga signed to him to extinguish the lights. In a few moments she was alone, in semi-darkness, the room being partially lighted by the reflected light from the garden lamps. As she sat there, the tall, sinister figure of Millar, in his fur overcoat and his top hat, passed the window.

"It would be better if I went to sleep," Olga repeated to herself slowly.

Just then the shadow of Millar, as he passed in front of one of the garden lamps, was thrown against the white wall of the room, and she could hear distinctly his cynical chuckle. With a cry of horror she raised herself to her full height, put out her hands to ward off the evil spell, and shrieked:

"No! no! no!"

Then she sank fainting on the floor. For a moment the shadow lingered above her, and faded.When Karl left the home of Herman and Olga to conduct Elsa and her aunt to their carriage he did not return. He was deeply ashamed of the suspicion he had entertained, and humiliated at the trick played upon his overheated imagination by Millar. He could not bear to face Olga or his tormentor.

Sending the servant back for his overcoat and hat, he plunged along through the snow, walking briskly. Old Heinrich had gone to bed when he reached the studio. There remained but a few hours of the night, but Karl could not bring himself to sleep. He paced restlessly up and down the studio, his mind tortured by the thoughts so skilfully implanted there by Millar.

He was not surprised when the door bell rang and it was Millar whom he admitted. His strange visitor shook the snow from his great fur coat and laid it aside. Then he walked over to the grate where the fire burned cheerfully and stood in front of it, rubbing his hands as he held them out to the blaze.

Karl resumed his restless march up and down the room. Millar watched him cynically for a few moments.

"You seem nervous this morning, Karl," he said.

"I am nervous; I'm crazy," Karl answered.

"You ought to be very happy," Millar insinuated.

"Ought to be happy! I ought to be miserable—as I am, but it is all through your evil machinations. You have made me reveal all that is evil in me to the woman——"

"To the woman you love?"

"Yes, to the woman I love and have no right to love; to the woman whose honor I have held sacred for six years; to the woman I must never see again."

"You will see her again," Millar asserted quietly.

"How base she must think me," Karl went on wildly. "I did not know myself; I did not dream that I could be so rotten."

"You will see her again," Millar repeated. "She will come to you of her own free will here, in this very studio, to-day, and she will tell you with her lips on yours that she loves you."

"Stop! I won't listen to your infernal insinuations. You have ruined my happiness; you shall not ruin hers. I want you to keep out of her way. Do you understand? I give you fair warning."

"My dear Karl, you don't know what you are saying. I shall not mar her happiness or yours."

"Why did you play that evil trick on me to-night?"

"Why, you dull, young artist? Because I wanted to show her that you loved her; that you cared not two straws for that little slip of a girl to whom you were trying to play devoted. Because I wanted to show her that her great love is not wasted on an empty-pated ass."

"Her love!"

"Of course. Her love. She loves you, and has loved you for six years, and you were blind and did not know it."

"It is not true. It must not be so. She is a true, loyal wife to my friend."

"Bah! Do you want her to be loyal to that big boor of a husband when she loves you?"

"I refuse to listen to you any further. Now, let me tell you this. I am going away. I shall not see Olga again. I shall close my studio and return to Paris. And I wish not to see you again. Do you understand? I am going to bed now. When I awake I want you to be gone. Don't let me find you here."

"You are not hospitable, my dear young friend," Millar said, smiling and bowing. He seemed genuinely amused at the passionate outburst of the young artist.

"I believe you are the devil!" Karl cried.

"And you don't find the devil a pleasing personage to look upon, except when he is decked out by poets in the disguise of Cupid," Millar sneered.

Karl abruptly left the room, going into his own room and locking the door. He threw himself upon the bed and tried to sleep, but for hours he lay awake, haunted by the sinister shadow of his temptation.

Left alone, Millar sank comfortably back in the big, Gothic arm-chair before the fire. The red glow of the flames seemed to absorb him. He was merged in the shadows—light and shadow, as they played around the big chair, from whence there came his devilish chuckle.

Olga's maid, alarmed at the prolonged absence of her mistress, found her moaning on the floor, where she had fallen in a swoon after Millar's departure. The maid helped her mistress to her room and to bed.

"As soon as it is daylight go to Monsieur Karl's studio and find out at what time he will arise. Let no one else know that you go there. And awaken me as soon as it is possible for me to see him."

"Yes, madam."

Olga meant to get to Karl to intercept the letter which Millar had tricked her into writing. She meant to tell him to go away; to end everything between them. But, although she did not know it, she was blindly obeying the evil will of Millar.

Broad, glaring daylight had come when Heinrich entered the reception-room of the studio. He divined no presence. There were no conflicting passions in his old heart. He pottered about, humming an old song to himself, dusting the vases and paintings, stirring the slumbering fire, until the door bell rang.

He admitted to the anteroom a beautiful young woman whom he had never seen before. When he returned to the reception-room to ruminate on the situation he was confronted by the figure of Millar—the figure of the devil.

"I—I beg your pardon; I did not know you were here," he said.

"I am here," Millar responded cheerfully. "Who rang?"

"A lady, sir."

"A real lady?"

"Oh, yes, sir."

"That's odd. What does she want?"

"She wants to see my master, sir, Mr. Karl."

Heinrich hurried out and ushered in Elsa. The poor little girl had lost her bravado of the night before. She was ready to humble herself. She was stricken with the terrible malady. She was in love; she acknowledged it to herself, and she knew that the man she loved had his heart elsewhere. But she had resolved to make a fight—to win him if she could, and she had taken this desperate move.

She was startled, though, when she was ushered into the reception-room and saw Millar there, his hands on his breast, bowing profoundly.

"You seem to be everywhere," she exclaimed. "What are you doing here? Are you Karl's secretary?"

Millar was transformed back into his frock coat, his immaculate trousers, his wine-colored waistcoat. He was again the polished, suave, affable gentleman of the afternoon, with ingratiating manner, cynical smile and insinuating words.

"No, I am not Karl's servant; only his friend," he said. "How are you feeling to-day?"

"Oh, very well, thank you. I did not know there was any one in here or I should have waited outside. But as it is only you I do not mind."She resented the presence of this man in the place, and she took a seat, turning her back to him. Millar, not in the least disturbed, said:

"Karl got in very late this morning."

"I assume that he did; it was very late when the ball ended."

"Still, I think he would be very much pleased to know that you are here. Will you permit me to acquaint him of the pleasure that awaits him?"

"Thank you, no; I will wait for him here. This is an interesting room. I have never been here before."

"I know that," Millar said.

"How do you know it?" Elsa demanded with spirit.

"Oh, Heinrich told me. A lady may come here secretly every day, but when she comes the first time it cannot be secret, even to Heinrich."

"I wish I had not come alone," Elsa declared.

"I know that also," said the imperturbable Millar.

"How do you know that?""Oh, Heinrich told me there was a real lady waiting."

"I am glad at least that Heinrich recognized me as such," Elsa declared indignantly. "He is the only one who has spoken to me as if he realized that."

"Then he must have thought you the other kind," Millar said cynically. "Heinrich made a mistake."

"I think Heinrich is the better judge," Elsa said.

"An excellent judge, I grant you," Millar said, laughing. "He is the one man who should have brought you here. You know only two men have the right to open the door of a bachelor apartment to a young lady. They are his valet and the clergyman. You may choose which of the two you would prefer."

Elsa turned on him with eyes that flashed indignation.

"I was once left alone with a man who kissed me, and I insulted him," she said.

"I was once alone with a lady who insulted me and I kissed her," the cynical person replied."You are horrible!" Elsa exclaimed.

Millar saw her distress and rang the bell. When Heinrich entered he said:

"Get a little red leather pocketbook out of my overcoat."

"Oh, you need not fear; I shall not cry this morning," Elsa said.

"I am not apprehensive, but I thought you were laughing," Millar said. "When girls laugh I fear they are going to cry. Why did you come here?"

"I want to have my portrait painted, and I shall come every day," Elsa replied.

"You mean you want to come every day, and therefore you will have to have your portrait painted," said the cynic.

"You are an expert word juggler," said Elsa.

"Do you know that another lady comes here to have her portrait painted?"

"Yes; that is why I am coming," Elsa declared boldly. "I want to see whose portrait will be better."

"That is a bold challenge, my little girl; you were not so brave yesterday.""Yesterday I was undecided. To-day I have made up my mind to fight. You gave me good advice."

"I have some more advice to give you to-day; we did not finish last night."

"What is it?"

"It is this. Do not fight. You were not made to fight."

"Why not? I am courageous."

"Yes, you are courageous, but you are not strong. Don't fight, because you will batter yourself against an impenetrable wall and suffer defeat. Do you know where Karl's heart is?"

"No."

"Then let me tell you. He loves Olga. He cannot love any one else. He has no room in his heart for any other image. Do not make sorrow for yourself, my child. Forget. Go away. Karl is the man for another woman."

Elsa was courageous. She had set aside her conventional training and ideas when she came to the studio to see Karl—to fight for him. Now she resolved that Millar should not defeat her again. She looked at him squarely and said:

"In spite of all that you tell me, I shall not give up."

In spite of her resolve to fight she was on the verge of tears. She sat at a table, shrinking from the sinister figure before her. Millar inspired her with a nameless terror, and it was almost against her will that she listened.

"Let me tell you what you must do," he said, sitting down in front of her. "Do you know what you should do?"

"I don't like to have you sit in judgment on me this way," she protested. "You question me as if you were a judge."

"No, it is not that, but you answer as if you were a prisoner. Now, little Elsa, stand up and listen. You know that Karl is in love with Olga."

"Yes, I know it; it is the only thing I do know."

"Then you should give Karl up."

"I can't give him up."

"You must learn."

"How? From whom shall I learn?""Let me see; I think I have here the very person," Millar said.

He walked over and opened the hall door.

"Mimi, come in here and wait; it is warmer," he called.