Virginia to marry me.” 

 There had been no indication in von Horn’s attitude toward the girl that he loved her. That she was beautiful and intelligent could not be denied, and so it was small wonder that she might appeal strongly to any man, but von Horn was quite evidently not of the marrying type. For years he had roved the world in search of adventure and excitement. Just why he had left America and his high place in the navy he never had divulged; nor why it was that for seven years he had not set his foot upon ground which lay beneath the authority of Uncle Sam. 

 Sing Lee who stood just without the trap door through which he was about to pass Professor Maxon’s evening meal to him could not be blamed for overhearing the conversation, though it may have been culpable in him in making no effort to divulge his presence, and possibly equally unpraiseworthy, as well as lacking in romance, to attribute the doctor’s avowal to his knowledge of the heavy chest. 

 As Professor Maxon eyed the man before replying to his abrupt request, von Horn noted a strange and sudden light in the older man’s eyes—a something which he never before had seen there and which caused an uncomfortable sensation to creep over him—a manner of bristling that was akin either to fear or horror, von Horn could not tell which. 

 Then the professor arose from his seat and came very close to the younger man, until his face was only a few inches from von Horn’s. 

 “Doctor,” he whispered in a strange, tense voice, “you are mad. You do not know what you ask. Virginia is not for such as you. Tell me that she does not know of your feelings toward her. Tell me that she does not reciprocate your love. Tell me the truth, man.” Professor Maxon seized von Horn roughly by both shoulders, his glittering eyes glaring terribly into the other’s. 

 “I have never spoken to her of love, Professor,” replied von Horn quietly, “nor do I know what her sentiments toward me may be. Nor do I understand, sir, what objections you may have to me—I am of a very old and noble family.” His tone was haughty but respectful. 

 Professor Maxon released his hold upon his assistant, breathing a sigh of relief. 

 “I am glad,” he said, “that it has gone no further, for it must not be. I have other, nobler aspirations for my daughter. She must wed a perfect man—none such now exists. It remains for me to bring forth the ideal mate for her—nor is the time far 

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