The last words she whispered with infinite tenderness, and her head fell on his breast. Hysterically they clasped each other in their arms and, half laughing, half sobbing, looked into each other's eyes. Karl leaned over her, murmuring his love and kissing her eyes and hair.

"Be careful; he is in there," Olga warned him finally, again pointing at the door behind which their evil spirit lurked. Then she whispered shyly:

"Did my letter surprise you?"

"Letter?" Karl asked, astonished. "What letter, dear heart?"

"Karl, I understand you wish to be discreet," Olga said reproachfully, "but it is my first letter and I am not ashamed. Let us be honest; I am not afraid. I love you. When I wrote that letter I hardly knew what I was doing, and I must confess I felt ashamed at first. But I am no longer ashamed now; I am proud. Sometimes women do not write what they want, Karl, but they always want what they write. Karl, I would like to read that letter over again in your arms."

That letter meant much to Olga; it was her only love letter. She had never written to Karl before, except in the conventional boy and girl fashion, when she did not know how to express love. Her correspondence with Herman had always been of the most perfunctory sort. Never before had she poured out her soul as she did in this letter. Now she wanted to see what she had written; to read it over with the man for whom it was intended.

It was with a shock of pain that she beheld Karl's indifference, and she was amazed when he added:

"I received no letter from you, Olga."

"What! how can you say so? Was not a letter delivered to you this morning?"

"I assure you that I did not receive any letter from you," Karl said earnestly.

The realization of Millar's trick was like a blow in the face to Olga. She saw now how he had deliberately lied to her, in order that she would certainly repeat her confession of love to Karl. In what a bold, forward, disloyal attitude she had been placed! Her first impulse was of anger, and she ran toward the anteroom.

"Doctor! Dr. Millar!" she called wildly.

The door opened noiselessly and Millar stood bowing on the threshold.

"My—my letter!" Olga stammered.

"Madam, I beg a thousand pardons," Millar said suavely. "My only excuse is that some letters are better undelivered."

He drew from the inner pocket of his coat a letter, and with a smile and a sweeping bow handed it to Karl.

"However, I can now make reparation," he said.

Karl took the letter, looking wonderingly from Olga to Millar. He held it an instant in his hand and was about to open it, when Olga cried:

"Karl, tear the letter up."

Karl instantly obeyed her, tearing the envelope into small pieces."Now burn it," Olga said.

He stepped over to the fireplace and threw the bits of paper on the glowing coals. They started up in a little flame and were quickly reduced to ashes.

Olga was terrified at the trick Millar had played upon her and at its results. She looked in fear from him to Karl.

"Who is this man?" she asked.

Karl could not answer her. The same question was echoing in his heart.

Who was this man, this personification of evil? Ever there were his insidious wiles to compromise, cajole, trick and betray them. He could not tell. He only knew that he loathed him and that he would drive him out.

"Are you going now?" he demanded, as Millar stood looking at them with his evil smile.

Millar took the question in the most natural way, disregarding the purposely offensive tone in which Karl spoke.

"Yes, I am; I must," he said, half regretfully. "My train leaves in half an hour. Again permit me to beg a thousand pardons. Could I have foreseen the anguish that was to follow my failure to deliver madam's letter, nothing in the world could have——"

Karl interrupted him rudely, determined that he should not beguile them again and that he should not speak of Olga or the letter as a thing of importance.

"You should know that the letter contained only a conventional message," he said.

Millar looked at Olga, and his smile grew broad as she hung her head and blushed. Who should know better than he the confession which she had written and which was now destroyed?

"It was quite conventional, I am sure," he said cynically.

"You will miss your train," Karl said with studied insolence. "Heinrich, help the doctor on with his coat."

"A thousand thanks," the imperturbable Millar said. "Madam, good-by. And once more I beg a thousand pardons."

Neither Olga nor Karl spoke to him as he walked to the door, looked back at them, bowed low again and chuckled as the door closed after him.Olga turned quickly to Karl and held out her hands.

"He is gone. I am glad. But, Karl, I would have given a year of my life if he had delivered my letter to you."

"Why? Tell me what you wrote," he asked eagerly.

"I wrote all the things I told you a few moments ago, Karl. You know it all now."

She went over to the grate and looked sadly into the ashes.

"My first love letter," she said softly. "Oh, Karl, it was my confession of my love for you. I would like to read it over again with you, and then we might forget. I don't want to be afraid. I want to be strong, to be happy. If I only had that letter now."

Karl took her hands in his, and comforted her.

"Never mind it, Olga; it has served its purpose. It has taught us ourselves, our hearts."

"It has taught us that we must be strong, brave and loyal," Olga declared warmly.

They stood thus, looking into each other's eyes, sanely, clearly, each ready to renounce. The door of the studio opened and Millar stood before them again, holding in his extended hand a letter.

"I beg a thousand pardons again," he said. "I find I gave Karl an old tailor's bill instead of madam's letter."

Olga eagerly took the letter, opened it and recognized her own handwriting.

"My letter, Karl!" she exclaimed.

Both bent close over the letter, reading it eagerly, while Millar slipped quietly out of the studio—out of their lives. Olga looked up from their reading.

"I am glad that I wrote it, Karl," she said. "Now we will burn it."

Together they watched it glow brightly into flame and fall into gray ashes.

"That is our love begun and ended, Karl," Olga said quietly. "It was wrong, and now we realize it, don't we? And now, dear boy, you are coming with me."

"Where?" Karl asked.

"I am going to take you to Elsa," Olga answered.With a feeling of elation, Karl called Heinrich, and was helped into his overcoat. He bent respectfully and kissed Olga's hand as they walked out of the studio together.

THE END