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 ess to her lair, delivered an oration on feminine weakness, folly, and venom, and departed only to place in the hands of his wronged angel the document wrung from her accuser.

But Victoria—alas, Victoria! His old friendship and loyalty pleaded for her. How could he have been so mistaken? To do him justice, had he not been love-mad he never would have owned a doubt of her. But so is man constituted that one touch of passion weakens his hold on his perceptions, even his certain knowledge. He would have fought to the last ditch for her against all odds, save yellow-haired Philippa with the violet eyes. But Fate had placed before him just that one antagonist, and his friendship failed,—not without pain, not without hurt to his whole nature. But he could not doubt his love.

Valdeck and his equivocal words rose before him—Valdeck, the criminal! But perhaps, after all, that charge was groundless; Philippa had declared that Victoria had a malicious vengeance to satisfy in her statement of the case.

At last, however, Morton's instincts refused to be longer suppressed. Whatever Valdeck's re- 238