When his ship docked, two telegrams were handed to Lord Severance. The first which he opened was from Mrs. Sorel, and he glanced through it eagerly.

"Everything going as well as could be expected, but your return and final completion of arrangement eagerly awaited.—Mary S."

This was not quite as reassuring, somehow, as the sender intended it to be. There seemed to be a hidden meaning behind the words, which twanged the wrong chords of Severance's emotions. Hastily he tore open the second envelope, hoping to find a message from Marise herself. But the signature was "Constantine Ionides." Then Severance read with horrified, incredulous eyes, "Œnone died suddenly last night of heart failure."

For a moment Tony did not understand all that the news would mean for him. Œnone dead! Well, he was free, at least! The hateful farce would not have to be gone through. He could sail for New York again in a few days.

But a shock of realisation broke the thought. Not to marry Œnone meant that he would not get his uncle's promised wedding gift. A fortune was lost!

The blow was a staggering one. He felt its full force, as if he had abruptly turned to face a gale from the east.

Wasn't it just his luck? Didn't everything always go like that for him in life? Almost to lay his hand on the things he wanted, to see them slip away from under his fingers!

The journey to London was interminable. He suffered so much during the miserable hours that it seemed as if he must have the consolation of some reward at the end—must learn that Œnone hadn't died after all, or that, better still, Uncle Constantine intended in any case to give him the money which should have been his.

But there was no brightening of the gloom for him. In fact, things were rather worse at the end of the journey, if possible, than he had expected. Uncle Constantine's heart was not softened by sorrow. On the contrary, he turned upon Severance in a rage and blamed him for Œnone's death.

The girl had faded visibly after her cousin left England. She knew one or two people who thought it for her good to be told that Tony's "mission" was to follow Marise Sorel. Œnone had subscribed for several American papers, in order to read of Lord Severance's doings on the other side. One was a weekly gossip rag, and she had been turning over a copy when she died. In fact, the thing was found in her hand, open at a page where Severance's name was coupled in a sneering way with that of Marise Sorel. The actress was said to have jilted him for a Major Garth, V.C., of his own regiment, and the rumour was reported that out of pique Severance would now marry his rich Greek cousin in London.

"It was enough to kill her—and it did!" said Ionides. "Damn you, Severance! I wish to Heaven you were dead instead of my poor girl who loved you. And I wish to hell I could upset her will in your favour. I can't do that. But not a shilling of my money will you ever get."

So Œnone had left him her own private fortune, as she had told him she meant to do if she died! That was something—probably the equivalent of the pledged million dollars—not allowing for the vile exchange. But of what use was one million dollars to him, in his present plight? The least he could do with was double that sum.

To carry out the bargain with Garth and free Marise he would have to hand over a cool million. But how was he going to pay even his most pressing debts and live—much less marry—if he cleaned himself out of his whole inheritance at one stroke?

On the other hand, if he kept the million doubtless coming to him by Œnone's will, he would have nothing to offer Garth. The whole plan would be a colossal failure: worse than a failure—a catastrophe. Garth would stick to Marise from motives of spite, if nothing worse. The girl's life would be ruined, and she would be lost to him unless he killed Garth, or unless the man laid himself open to divorce proceedings—which was the very thing he would be careful not to do—unless well paid.

Of course, a woman could divorce a man for incompatibility of temper and things of that sort in one or two states out West, in America, Severance had vaguely heard. But a hocus pocus affair of that sort wouldn't be considered legal in England, and Marise could never, in such circumstances, become the Countess of Severance, even if they had money to marry on—which they wouldn't have!

Severance had not known or guessed how the girl had said to herself that, if there were a question of jilting, she wished to be the jilter, not the jilted. Had he known, he would have felt even more bitter against Fate. As it was, he pitied Marise, although the disasters which had fallen on them both came through her impulsiveness. If only she hadn't rushed off and married John Garth on an hour's notice, that beastly paragraph would never have been printed, and Œnone would still be alive. It had been foolish, rash, passionately mistaken. Severance felt hotly. But there was little resentment in his pain. He blamed himself almost, if not quite, as much as Marise, and all that was Greek in him accepted, while it writhed at, the fatality.

When Œnone's funeral was over and the contents of her will known, the legacy reached the amount promised. But—the exchange, the awful exchange between England and America! And the equally appalling death duties! Even if Severance decided to plunge, and offer all to Garth, the sum would fall far short of a million dollars. Besides, he couldn't offer all, or nearly all. He was dunned on every side.

There were moments—moments when he was most Greek—when Tony said to himself that he would have to leave Marise to her fate. She had made her bed. She must lie on it. He would stay in England, pay his debts, and be extremely comfortable on what was left over out of Œnone's gift. But there were other moments, burning moments, fanned to molten fire by Mrs. Sorel's letters and telegrams. He couldn't give up Marise! Something must be done. And at last, through the red mists he saw a way to bluff himself out of the depths.

"Coming back at once," he cabled Mary Sorel at Bell Towers, and started the same day (the fourteenth day after Œnone's funeral) in a cabin given up at the eleventh hour by its purchaser.

The legacy was not yet in his hands, nor would it be for months to come, but Severance had been able to borrow a substantial sum on the certainty of his prospects. The voyage was stormy, and not being a good sailor, he arrived in New York a wreck. He had courage enough, however, to start at once for Los Angeles, where he meant to see his friend and well-wisher, Mrs. Sorel. With her counsel he would consolidate his plans, and start the campaign against Garth.