The Mathison estate was in the foothills of the Adirondacks. There were farmlands, pulp-mills, forests, and streams. At the northern extremity of the estate there was a small lake. The manor proper stood on the south shore of this lake, four miles from the village and the railway station. It was a lonely habitation in the winter.

The house was of limestone, beautifully weathered, and was dated 1812. Here Mathison had been born; here he had spent his early youth. With the father almost constantly at sea, the mother had preferred the quiet of the woods to the noise and bluster of New York.

Hilda went into ecstasies over chairs and sofas that had become antique in these very rooms. She saw the mother\'s hand everywhere, the quiet artistry of a hand guided by a noble mind. Hilda romped about the[Pg 276] rooms with the eager curiosity of a child; and it might be truthfully added that Mathison romped with her. They were so completely in love that they saw beauty in everything, in the hard, brilliant sunsets, in the Northern Lights, in the yellow dawns. Every day they skated or snow-shoed; and there was always a roaring chestnut fire to greet them.

And yet there were shadows, deep and somber shadows, that fell across the sunshine of their happiness. They never said anything about these shadows to each other; but always during the hour that comes before candles the shadows pressed in and down. Hilda could not shut out the thought of Berta. Where was she, what was she doing? Berta might deny the blood, but Hilda could not. Berta was her twin. During this twilight hour she saw this beautiful counterpart of herself moving furtively, flying by night, hiding by day, alone, alone; perhaps penniless and hungry. When the thought of the wayward one became too strong Hilda sought the piano, which she played exquisitely.

Mathison\'s shadow lay upon him perpetually, but more keenly when he and[Pg 277] Hilda sat before the fire, waiting for the lights. The man Lysgaard had escaped. Free! Beaten and to all appearances broken, he had escaped on the way to the Tombs. A forced pause before a fire in a chemical establishment had opened the way for him. The crowd, the noise and confusion, and the insatiable curiosity and over-confidence of his captors had given him his chance. The strength of the rogue, after that beating! They had left one man in the patrol with him, and Lysgaard had suddenly dashed his manacled hands into the man\'s face and then choked him into insensibility. He had coolly taken the operative\'s hat and overcoat. The latter he had wrapped across his shoulders, holding it together from the inside. He had then stepped into the seething crowd and vanished completely. Search for him had been in vain. He had probably known where to find a haven. The real menace in his being at large lay in the fact that undoubtedly he did not know that Berta was a twin. He would have means of finding what had become of John Mathison. He would learn that a woman had accompanied his enemy. A trifling description of that woman would be enough.[Pg 278] Being a Prussian, there would be only one idea in Lysgaard\'s head—Berta had run away with the man who had beaten him. Vengeance, before they found him and dropped the noose over his head.

There was a third shadow and they shared this mutually if silently—Mathison\'s inevitable departure for English waters.

"John," she said, one afternoon, "I\'m so happy that it hurts."

He laughed and swung her into his arms, which never ceased to be hungry for her; and there was always a sharp little stab when he let her go. The hour was fast approaching when he would have to let her go, perhaps forever....

"Glorious up here, isn\'t it?"

"But why do you bar the windows and doors so carefully at night? There can\'t be any burglars in this wilderness, at least not in the winter."

"You never can tell. Sometimes there are mighty high winds around these diggings. You heard how the windows rattled last night." Mathison reached for his cup of tea. So she had noticed?

"How your mother must have loved this place!"

[Pg 279]

"What makes you think that?"

"Why, it fairly breathes of love; the beauty of all the furnishings and the way they are arranged. What fun it must have been—and you toddling around after her! Come; I want to show you something." She led over to a corner, and there in a heap were rows of battered leaden soldiers, twisted leaden swords, and forts of wood. "War, battle," went on Hilda, soberly; "even as little children. What has happened to the souls of men, that from generation to generation the male child\'s toys must be these? Must women always suffer to see these things about? I found them in the garret."

"Instinct, little old lady. From the day one man has had to protect himself and his woman, bloodily. We are still doing it, on a more terrible scale than ever. Odd, I haven\'t laid eyes on these in twenty years."

"How often your mother must have watched you there on the floor before the fire, playing at war, and your father facing death at sea. But oh, lover, lover!" She caught him fiercely to her. "In so short a time! I haven\'t said anything, for I did[Pg 280] not want to mar your happiness. But it is hurting so! Dear God, bring him back to me!"

"Honey, I\'ll come back. There isn\'t a shell or a U-boat in the world with my name on it. I know it. I hate to have you return to the stage, and yet it will be the best thing. You\'ll be busy. Idleness never bucks up a person\'s courage."

"Hark!" She stepped back from him swiftly. "I hear sleigh-bells." She stiffened. Sleigh-bells and yellow envelopes, for she knew that Mathison had left orders at the station to send out telegrams immediately they were received. There was no telephone.

"The village grocer, maybe," suggested Mathison, himself receiving a shock at the sound of the bells.

"No; he always drives out before noon."

Hilda ran to the window to peer out, but it was too dark for her to see anything distinctly.

As for Mathison, he shifted his automatic to the right side-pocket of his jacket. Merely precautionary; for the man he was expecting would not approach the front door with such boldness. Yet the man was[Pg 281] infernally clever in some ways. He was likely to do the unexpected. Of course, there was always a chance that Lysgaard might try to put to sea and put over his hour of vengeance until later. There was an odd trait in Mathison\'s character. He was always suspicious when events ran along too smoothly. His very happiness was almost a warning. He had often thought of having a Secret Service man come up and watch the four trains that passed daily; but, being a man of red blood, he hated the idea. If Lysgaard succeeded in getting through the cordon, he would try to find John Mathison. Backed as he was by a powerful secret organization, and no doubt having John Mathison\'s dossier in his pocket or in his memory, he would not have much difficulty in locating the dove-cote.

"Why, it\'s a woman!" cried Hilda.

"A woman? All right. You stay here and I\'ll go to the door."

He reached the door just as the bell rang. The visitor entered without a word and raised a thick veil.

"Well, brother-in-law!" mockingly.

"Berta?" came a startled voice from the doorway leading to the living-room.

[Pg 282]

"Yes, dear sister, Berta—the ghost who wants to return to her tomb and can\'t find the way. I smell tea. I\'d like a cup."

Berta passed into the living-room and stopped before the burning logs, stretching out her hands. The sable coat, once so magnificent, was matted and torn, the hat bedraggled, the shoes water-soaked and cracked; but the fire in Berta\'s eyes and the beauty of her face were still undimmed. What a woman! thought Mathison, thrilled in spite of his vague terror.

Hilda, however, saw only the hunted woman, the desperation, the cold, the hunger. A sign, and she would have opened her arms. But Berta was still The Yellow Typhoon, harassed but unconquered. She tossed her hat and coat upon a chair and helped herself to a cup of tea. There was evil mischief in her smile. After she had drunk the tea, she selected a cigarette and lighted it.

"Ah, that is good! I haven\'t had a decent cigarette in four days. The driver thought I was you, Hilda. What a Godforsaken hole! But it was not so hard to find. In your dossier—I read it while we were entering New York—it was recorded[Pg 283] that you were born here, that it was the only home you had. Where would two sentimental fools like you two come for their honeymoon? The North is in the blood of both of you. A ghost, Hilda; and with a wave of your hand—my evanishment. I want a passport to Denmark. It will not be wise to refuse me. I haven\'t tried to see the mother. We are dead to each other; let it be so. But there are other ways by which I can twist your heart, my beautiful Norma."

"Don\'t mind about me, John. You cannot hurt me, Berta."

"I can try. Arrest me and see what will come of it. You two have sent to his death the only man I ever cared for."

"He was a murderer!" cried Hilda.

"No; it was war. What he did was in the interest of Germany, and that absolves him."

"You are not a Prussian; you are a Dane."

"My sympathies are with Prussia; and that is enough for me. I am the daughter of a noble. I did not come here to discuss the war. I came to demand help."

Mathison sighed with relief. The woman did not know that her man was at large. He played a card in the dark.

[Pg 284]

"I purpose to give you up to the authorities at once," he said, coldly.

Berta laughed. "Try it. Do you think me such a fool as to come unarmed?"

"And how might you be armed?"

"Ask my sister."

"She is right, John. This would kill my mother. But if we secure a passport, what is your bond?"

"The word of Berta Nordstrom. I never broke that when once I gave it. Back there in New York you spoke of the tomb. All I want is to return to it. Let me get to Denmark, and I shall never bother either of you again."

Mathison began pacing, his hands behind his back, his chin down. Berta eyed him with cynical amusement, letting the cigarette smoke drift up her nostrils. By and by she tossed the cigarette into the fire.

"If I make threats, it is because I have to. I am tired. Wait!" She made a passionate gesture. "This is no sign of weakness. I shall hate you both as long as I live. You have forced me to walk alone. I don\'t want to go on fighting any more. I want peace and quiet. I shall find it where I was born. Get me a [Pg 285]passport and I shall vanish. I have plenty of money. Much of it is in the banks in Copenhagen. I had always planned to return there some day. I can establish proofs of my identity and my right to the inheritance our mother denied us. Until the passport arrives I must abide here, however distasteful it may be to you. Do you believe it will be pleasant for me? Your food will be wormwood, your water lees, and your bed will burn me. Odd that I should wish to go on, that I should care to live. I sha\'n\'t distu............