THE ODDS

 _And Other Stories_

 By ETHEL M. DELL

Author of "Rosa Mundi, " "The Bars of Iron, " "The Keeper of the Door, ""The Knave of Diamonds, " "The Obstacle Race, " "The Rocks of Valpré, ""The Way of an Eagle, " etc. 

 1922

CONTENTS

The OddsWithout PrejudiceHer Own Free WillThe Consolation PrizeHer FreedomDeath's PropertyThe Sacrifice

Other Books By Ethel M. Dell

 * * * * *

 The Odds

"If he comes my way, I'll shoot him!" said Dot Burton, her blue eyesgleaming in her boyish, tanned face. "I'm not such a bad shot, am I, Jack?"

"Not so bad, " said Jack, kindly. "But don't shoot at sight, or p'r'apsyou'll shoot a policeman--which might be awkward for us both!"

"As if I should be such an idiot as that!" protested Dot. "I wasn't bornyesterday, anyhow. "

"No?" said Jack. "Somehow you look as if you were. "

"Don't you be a donkey, Jack!" said his young sister, with an impudentsnap of the fingers under his nose. "Being ten years older than I amdoesn't qualify you for that superior pose. You're only a man, you know, after all. "

"Buckskin Bill is only a man, but he's a pretty tough proposition, " saidBurton, with a frown. 

She smoothed the frown away with caressing fingers. "I know. That's whyI'd like to shoot him. But he's sure to be caught now, isn't he? They'vegot him in a trap. He'll never wriggle through with Fletcher Hill tooutwit him. You said yourself that with him on the job the odds were deadagainst him. "

"Oh, I know. So they are. But he's such a wily devil. Well, I'd better begoing. " Jack Burton arose with the deliberate movements of a heavy man. "I'm sick of this business, Dot. If it weren't for you, I believe I'dchuck it all and go into business in a town. "

"Oh, darling! How silly!" protested Dot. "What a good thing I came outwhen I did! Things seem to be at a rather low ebb with you. But cheer up!What's a few head of cattle when all's said and done? When once thisrascal is laid by the heels, you'll make up quicker than you know. Ofcourse you will. Don't let yourself get downhearted! What is the good?"

He smiled a little. There was something heartening in the girl's slimactivity of pose apart from her words. She looked indomitable. He pulledher to him and kissed her. 

"Well, take care of yourself, Dot! You won't be frightened? You needn'tbe. He won't come your way. Hill has sworn solemnly to keep an extraguard in this direction. He may call around himself before the day isover. It wouldn't surprise me. Don't shoot him if he does! At least, give him a feed first!"

"Oh, really, Jack!" the girl protested. "I shall be cross with you beforelong. You'd better go quick before it comes on. "

She put her arms around his neck and gave him a tight hug. Her sunburntface was pressed to his. "Now, you won't do anything silly?" she urgedhim, softly. "I don't like parting with you in this mood. I wish I werecoming too. "

"Rubbish! Rubbish!" he said. "You stay at home, little shepherdess, andlook after the lambs! I won't be late back. Mind you are civil toFletcher Hill if he turns up! He'll be a magistrate one of these days ifhe plays his cards well. "

"If he catches the biggest cattle-thief in Australia?" suggested Dot, screwing her face into a very boyish grimace. "I wouldn't care to getpromotion for that job, if I were a man. But I'll be vastly polite to himif he turns up. You've never seen me doing the pretty, have you? But Ican--awfully well--when I try. "

Her brother laughed. "Oh, don't be too pretty, my child! It's a dangerousgame. Good-bye! Don't go far away!"

"My dear man! As if I should have time!" ejaculated Dot. 

She gave him another squeeze and let him go. 

There were a great many things to be done that day, things which a mereignorant male would never have dreamt of. There was bread to be baked, anevening meal to be prepared, countless household duties waiting to bedone, and work enough in Jack's wardrobe alone to keep an ordinary womanbusy for a week. Poor Jack! He was not a great hand at needlework. Shehad been shocked at the state in which she had found him. But she had notshirked her responsibilities. And more than ever was she glad now thatshe had come to him. For he needed her in a moral sense as well. She wastoo much of a "new chum" to help him in any very active sense outside thehomestead at present. But he needed a good deal of moral backing just atthat moment. She had come to him straight from England, and full ofenthusiasm. He had hewn his own way and begun to enjoy prosperity. Butshe had arrived to find that prosperity temporarily checked. A gang ofcattle-thieves were making serious depredations among his stock. 

The police were hot on the trail, and it was believed that the gang hadbeen split up, but so far no notable captures had been made. BuckskinBill, the leader, was still at large, and while this remained the casethere could be no security for any one. Every farmer in the district waskeen on the chase, expecting to fall a victim. 

And--there was no doubt about it--Buckskin Bill was in a very tightcorner. Inspector Hill had the matter in hand, and he was not a man tobe lightly baffled. Jack regarded him with wholehearted admiration. Butsomehow Dot, the new arrival, felt curiously prejudiced against him. Shewanted Buckskin Bill to be caught, but she could not help hoping thatthis astute Inspector of Police would not be his captor. She was surefrom Jack's description that she would not like the man, and as she wentabout her work she earnestly hoped that he would not come her way, atleast in her brother's absence. 

She was busy indoors during the whole of the morning. As middayapproached the heat became intense. Jack usually returned for a meal atnoon, but she was not expecting him that day. He had joined the chase, and had taken with him every available man. She might have felt lonelyif she had not been so engrossed. As it was, she hummed cheerily toherself as she went to and fro. There were so many things to think about, and it was such an interesting world in which she found herself. 

In the early afternoon she went out to feed a few motherless lambs thather brother had placed in her charge. She stood in the shelter of a greatbarn with the little things clustering around her, while Robin, the oldblack hound, lay watching and snapping at the flies. Miles and miles ofpasture stretched around her, broken here and there by thick scrub andoccasional groups of blue gum trees. 

The hot glare of the afternoon sun made the eyes ache, and she was gladwhen her task was over. When she stood up at length she was feeling alittle giddy, and she leaned for a moment against the barn wall to steadyherself. A rank growth of grass grew all about her feet, and as she stoodthere gazing rather dizzily downwards she saw a ripple pass along itclose to the building. 

Any but a "new chum" would have known the meaning of that smalldisturbance, for there was no breath of air to cause it. Any but a "newchum, " being quite defenceless, would have beaten instant and swiftretreat. 

But Dot Burton in her inexperience had no thought of evil. She was onlycurious. She forgot her weariness, and bent down to watch the movinggrass. 

At the same moment Robin suddenly raised his head and looked keenly inthe direction of the farm, with a growl. The girl barely heard him, sointerested was she. She even stooped and parted the tall grass with herhands when unexpectedly it ceased to move. 

The next instant she started back with a wild cry of horror. For it wasas if the grass itself had suddenly come to malignant life under herhands. A shape--long, thin, vividly green--rose up before her, and swayedwith an angry hiss. 

Her cry seemed to galvanize Robin into action, for he sprang up fiercelybarking, but his attention was not directed towards her. He leapt insteadtowards the house, yelling resentment as he went. And in a flash thegreen evil struck at the bare brown arm!

Dot shrieked again, shrieked like a demented creature, and in a moment, with hands flung wide, she was fleeing across the sun-baked yard. 

She reached the open door immediately behind Robin, and sprang inheadlong. Robin had ceased to bark, and was fawning at the feet of a manwho had evidently just entered. He was bent down over the dog, fondlinghim with one hand. In the other something bright gleamed, and as hestraightened himself the girl saw that it was a revolver; but she was tooagitated to take much note of the fact. 

She burst in upon him in breathless, horrified distress. "I've beenbitten!" she cried to him. "Bitten by a snake!"

"Where?" he said. 

He had her by the arm in a second and was pushing up the loose hollandsleeve. Later she marvelled at his promptitude, his instant intuition. At the moment she was too terrified, too near collapse, to notice any ofthese things. 

He pushed her down upon a chair and knelt beside her. She found herselfstaring down at a shock of straw-coloured hair, while the owner of itsucked and sucked with an almost brutal force at a place in the crook ofher arm that felt as if a red-hot needle had been plunged into it. Shecould feel the drawing of his teeth against her flesh. It was a sensationalmost more horrible than the actual snake-bite had been. 

Twice he turned his head and spat into the hearth, and she saw that hisface was smooth and young, the colour of sun-baked brick. 

At last he looked up at her with the most extraordinarily blue eyes shehad ever seen, and said, with a kindly twinkle in them, "I don't thinkyou'll die this time, missis. "

She looked from him to her arm. The bite showed no more than the sting ofa nettle, but around it was the deep impress of his teeth. Certainly hehad done his task thoroughly. 

The kettle was singing over the fire. He got to his feet and patted Robinon the head. "Let's wash it, " he said. "Is there a basin handy?"

Dot sat in her chair, feeling rather weak. He fetched a bowl and set iton a chair by her side. He poured water into it from the kettle. 

She looked up at him rather apprehensively. "I needn't scald it, need I?"

He smiled down at her in instant reassurance, a vivid smile that warmedher fear-chilled heart. His teeth were white and regular, like the teethof a young wild animal. 

"There's some cold water somewhere, isn't there?" he said. 

She told him where to find it, and he cooled the steaming water to atemperature that she could endure without flinching. Then he made herrest her arm in it. 

"That'll comfort it, " he said. "Now, have you got any spirits in thehouse?"

"I don't drink spirits, " she said quickly. 

He smiled again. "No? But you must this time--just to complete the cure. Tell me where to find them!"

His smile was certainly magnetic, for she told him without furtherprotest. 

When he brought the spirits, she looked at him for the first time withactive interest. 

"I suppose you are Inspector Hill, " she said. 

He was pouring whisky into a glass. He gave her a sidelong glance. "Nowthat's a very clever guess, " he said. "What put you on to that?"

She smiled, mainly because he had meant her to smile. "I've been halfexpecting you all day, " she said. 

He looked down at her more fully as he finished his task. "That's veryinteresting, " he said. "Who told you to expect me?"

"My brother--Jack Burton, " she explained. 

"Oh! Jack Burton is your brother, is he?" He contemplated herthoughtfully for a second or two. "Well, I seem to have turned upat the right moment, " he said. 

"Yes. " She leaned forward with flushed face upraised. "And I haven't said'Thank you' yet. I'm so grateful to you. I can't tell you how grateful. "

"Don't!" he said. "Don't! Drink this instead! Drink to the lucky chancethat sent me your way! I'm proud to have been of use to you. "

She took the glass unwillingly. "I'm sure I shall hate it. "

"It's the best antidote to snake-poison out, " he said. "I swear it won'tupset you. If it makes you sleepy, well, you're in the right place andsafe enough. "

She liked his utterance of the last words. They had a genuine ring. "But, if I drink, so must you!" she said. "And eat, too! Jack said I was togive you a meal if you came. "

He smiled again, a large, humorous smile. "That's the kindest thing JackBurton has ever done, " he said, with warm approval. "I'll join you withpleasure, missis. This man-trapping business is hungry work for all ofus. "

Dot frowned a little. It did not please her to be reminded of hismission. Her former prejudice began to revive within her, his kindnessnotwithstanding. 

"I don't like the thought of it myself, " she told him abruptly. "But, ofcourse, I'm only a 'new chum. '"

"What?" he said, pausing in the act of pouring himself out a drink. "Thatsounds as if you want that scoundrel Bill to get away. "

She coloured in some confusion under his look. How could she expect tomake a policeman understand? "No--no!" she said, with vehemence. "I'm notquite so soft as that. I'd shoot him myself if he came my way. But I hateto think of a dozen men all on the track of one. It really isn't fair. "

He laughed, but without superiority. "And yet you'd swell the odds? Doyou call that fair?"

Dot paused to collect her arguments. It seemed that possibly even thismachine of justice carried a small fragment of sympathy in his soul. Certainly he was not the judicial automaton she had expected him to be. 

"It's like this, " she said. "I'd shoot him if he came my way becausehe has done us a lot of mischief, and I want to stop it. But I'ddo it squarely. I wouldn't do it when he wasn't looking. And Iwouldn't--ever--make it my profession to hunt down criminals and evenemploy black men to help. I think that's hateful. I couldn't live thatway. I'd be above it. "

"I see. " He lifted his glass to her in a silent toast, and drank a deepdraught. "Then if you chanced to know where he was, I take it you'd justsettle him yourself, if you could. But you wouldn't in any case give himaway to the police. Is that your point of view?"

"It isn't unreasonable, is it?" she said, with a touch of eagerness. "Imean, if you weren't what you are, wouldn't you do the same?"

"I don't know, " he said, smiling at her whimsically. "You see, being whatI am handicaps me rather. I haven't much time for working out niceproblems. "

Dot leaned back again. He had disappointed her. But she could not neglecther duty on that account. She took her arm out of the water and dried it. Then she arose. 

"How does it feel?" he said. 

"Oh, only a little stiff, " she answered, turning away. "Now I am going toget you something to eat. Sit down, won't you?"

Her tone was distant, but he did not seem to notice any change. Hethanked her and sat down, facing the open door. Robin sat pressed againsthis knee. It was evident that the dog entertained no doubts regarding thevisitor. Having passed him as respectable, he accepted him withoutreserve. 

This fact presently occurred to Dot as she waited upon her visitor, and, since it was not her nature to prolong an uncomfortable situation, shebroke the silence to comment upon it. 

"He doesn't take to everyone at sight, " she said. 

"No?" She saw again that frank, disarming smile. "You see, missis, I knowthe ways of animals, and a very useful sort of knowledge I've found it. "

"I wonder why you call me missis, " she said. "I'm Jack's sister, not hiswife. "

He looked up at her. "But you're the boss of the establishment, I takeit?"

She smiled also half against her will. "I'm rather new at present. But nodoubt I shall learn. "

"And then you'll go and boss some one else?" he suggested. 

She coloured a little. "No. I shall stick to Jack, " she said, withdecision. 

"Lucky Jack!" he said. "But you're quite right. There's no one goodenough for you around here. We're a low breed mostly. "

"I didn't mean that!" she protested, in quick distress. "I never thoughtthat!"

"I know, " he said. "I know. But you've sort of felt it all the same. Me, for instance!" His intensely blue eyes challenged her suddenly. "Haven'tyou said to yourself, 'That man may be up to local standard, but he'smade of shocking crude material'? Straight now! Haven't you?"

She hesitated, her face burning under his direct look. "Do you--do youreally want to know what I think?" she said. 

"I do. " There was something uncompromising in the brief rejoinder, yetsomehow she did not find him formidable. 

She answered him without difficulty in spite of her embarrassment. "Ithink, then, that it isn't you yourself at all that I feel like thatabout. It's just your profession. "

"Ah!" He began to smile again. "Once live down that, and I might bepossible. Is that it?"

She nodded, still flushed, yet curiously not uneasy. "Something likethat. Why can't you be a farmer like Jack?"

"I wish I were, " he said, unexpectedly. 

"Why?" The word slipped out almost in spite of her, but she felt she musthave an answer. 

He answered her with his eyes full on her. "Because I'd like to lead thesort of life you would approve of, " he said. "I've a notion it would beworth while. "

She turned aside from his look. "It's only a matter of opinion, ofcourse, " she said. 

"Is it?" he said. He turned his attention to the meal before him, and aterapidly for a few moments while he considered the matter. At length:"Yes, " he said. "I suppose you're right. Anyhow, you don't feel drawnthat way. You won't feel a bit pleased if Buckskin Bill gets caught bythe police this journey after this?"

Dot shook her head. "I don't think a man ought to be tracked down like awild beast, " she said, resolutely. 

The blue eyes that watched her kindled a little. He finished what was onhis plate and pushed it from him. 

"I'm greatly obliged to you, " he said, "for your hospitality. I neededit--badly enough. You'll thank Jack for me, won't you? I must be goingnow. But there's just one thing I'd like to say to you first. "

He got up and stood before her. It was impossible not to admire hissplendid height and breadth of chest. He could have lifted her easilywith one hand. And yet, strangely, though she felt his power he did notmake her aware of her own weakness. 

She looked up at him. "Yes? What is it?"

"Just this, Miss Burton, " he said, and somehow he lingered over the namein a fashion that made it sound musical in her ears. "I'd like to strikea bargain with you--because you've made a sort of impression on me. I'mnot meaning any impertinence. You know that?"

"Go on!" she whispered, almost inaudibly. 

He went on, bending slightly towards her. "The odds are dead againstBuckskin Bill escaping, but--he may escape. If he does, will you--thenext time I come to see you--treat me--without prejudice?"

He also was almost whispering as he uttered the last words. 

She drew a sharp breath and looked at him. "You--you--are going to lethim go?" she said, incredulously. 

He did not answer. His eyes were drawing hers with a magnetism she couldnot resist. And they thrilled her--they thrilled her!

"The odds are dead against him, " he said again, after a moment. "Is it--abargain?"

Her heart gave a queer little jerk within her. She stood motionless fora space. Then, with a little quivering smile, she very, very slowly gavehim her hand. 

He took it into his great brown one, and though his touch was whollygentle she felt the force of the man throbbing behind it, and it seemedto surge all around and within her. 

He stood for a second as if irresolute or uncertain how to treat her. Then, with a wordless sound that needed no interpretation, he pushedback the sleeve from the place whence he had sucked the poison. It showedonly a little red now. He bent very low until his lips pressed it again. Then for one burning moment they neither moved nor breathed. 

The next thing that Dot realized was the passing of his great figurethrough the doorway out of her sight. She saw him don his slouch hat ashe went. 

 * * * * *

She cleared the table again and sat down to her work. But somehow allenergy had gone from her. A great lassitude hung upon her. Perhaps it wascaused by the heat, or possibly by the whisky he had made her drink. There was no resisting it. It pressed her down like a physical weight. She gave herself up to it at last, and leaning back in her chair like atired child she slept. 

Robin lay at her feet. The afternoon crawled away. Like the enchantedprincess of old, she reclined in a slumber so deep that life itselfseemed to be suspended. 

The sun began to slant towards the west, and the pastures took on agolden look. The lambs gambolled together with shrill bleatings. ButDot Burton slept on in her chair, a faint smile on her face of innocence. Though she could not have been dreaming in so deep a repose, her lastthought ere she slept must have held happiness. Her serenity lay like atender veil upon her. 

It was drawing towards evening when Robin suddenly raised his head againwith a deep growl. There came the sound of footsteps through the opendoor. The girl stirred and slowly awoke. 

She stretched up her arms with a sleepy movement, and then, as voicesreached her, roused herself completely and got to her feet. 

Her brother and another man--a tall, lantern-jawed stranger--were on thepoint of entering. 

Jack led the way. "Halloa, Dot!" he said. "Have you seen anything of ourman? He's broken cover in this direction in spite of us. You haven't shothim by any chance, I suppose?"

Dot looked from him to the man behind him. 

"Inspector Hill, " said Jack. "Eh? What's the matter?"

"Nothing--nothing!" said Dot. Yet she had gone back a step as if she hadbeen struck. She held out her hand to the policeman. "How do you do?I--I--am very pleased to meet you. So you haven't caught him after all?"

Inspector Hill was looking at her keenly. He wore a sardonic expression, as of one who knows that he has been outwitted. "I have not, madam, "he said. "Neither, I presume, have you?"

She shook her head, looking him straight in the face. "No, I haven't. I am afraid I have been asleep. Are you sure he passed this way?"

Her eyes were clear and candid as the eyes of a boy. Inspector Hillturned his own away. 

"Yes. Quite sure, " he said, with brevity. 

"He's a slippery devil, " declared Jack Burton. "Sit down, man! My sisteris a 'new chum. ' She probably wouldn't have known him from a man on thefarm if she'd seen him. In fact, if you'd turned up here by yourself shemight have shot you--on suspicion. "

"I probably should, " said Dot, coldly. 

She did not like Inspector Hill, and her manner plainly said so. 

At her brother's behest she set food before them, for they were hot andjaded after their fruitless day; but she left the duties of host entirelyto him, and as soon as possible she went away with Robin to feed thelambs. 

A wonderful glow lay upon the grasslands. It was as if she moved througha magic atmosphere upon which some enchantment had been laid. Since thatwonderful sleep of hers all things seemed to have changed. Had it allbeen a dream? she asked herself. Then, shuddering, she turned up hersleeve to find that small red patch upon her arm. 

She found it. It tingled to her touch. Yet she continued to finger itwith a curious feeling that was almost awe. She thought it must be thememory of his kiss that made it throb so hard. 

Some one came softly up behind her. An arm encircled her. She turned withthe day-dream still in her eyes and saw her brother. 

She pulled down her sleeve quickly, for though his face was kind, heseemed to look at her oddly, almost with suspicion. 

"Had a quiet day?" he questioned, gently. 

She leaned against his shoulder, feeling small and rather uncomfortable. "I--I was very busy all the morning, " she said, evasively. 

"And in the afternoon?" he said. 

She nestled to him with a little coaxing movement. "In the afternoon, "she told him softly, "I went to sleep. "

"Yes?" he said. 

"That's all, " said Dot, lifting her face to kiss him. 

He took her chin and held it while he looked long and searchingly intoher eyes. 

"Dot!" he said. 

She made a little gesture of protest, but he held her still. 

"Dot, tell me what has been happening!" he said. 

She had begun to tremble. "I'll tell you, " she said, "when Inspector Hillhas gone. "

"Tell me now!" he said. 

But she shook her head with tightly compressed lips. 

"You have seen the man!" he said. 

Dot remained silent. 

His face grew grim. "Dot! Shall I tell you what Hill said to me justnow?"

"If you like, " whispered Dot. 

"He said, 'She has seen the man, and he has squared her. It's a way hehas with the women. You'll find she won't give him away. '"

That stung, as it was meant to sting. She flinched under it. "I hateInspector Hill!" she said, with vehemence. 

He smiled a little. "I don't suppose that fact would upset him much. Agood many people don't exactly love him. But look here, Dot! You're nota fool. At least, I hope not. You can't seriously wish to shield a thief. Only this morning you were going to shoot him!"

"Ah!" she said. And then suddenly she pulled up her sleeve and showed himthe mark upon her arm. "But he has saved my life since then, " she said. 

"What?" said Jack. He caught her arm and looked at it. "You've had asnake-bite!" he said. 

"Yes, Jack. "

His eyes went back to her face. "Why didn't you tell me before? What kindof snake was it?"

She told him, shuddering. "A horrible green thing--green as the grass. Ithink it had some black marking on its back. I'm not sure. I didn't stopto see. I--oh, Jack!" She broke off in swift consternation. "There is adead lamb!"

"Ah!" said Jack, and strode across to the barn where it lay, stark andlifeless in the shade in which it had taken refuge from the afternoonheat. 

"Oh, Jack!" cried Dot, in distress. "What can have happened to it?Not--not that hateful snake?"

"Not much doubt as to that, " said Jack, grimly. "No, don't look tooclose! It's not a pretty sight. And don't cry, child! What's the good?"

He drew her away, his arm around her, holding her closely, comfortingher. "It might have been you, " he said. 

She lifted her wet face from his shoulder. "It was--it would havebeen--but for--"

"All right, " he interrupted. "Don't say any more!"

 * * * * *

He left her to recover herself and went back to Fletcher Hill, sardonically awaiting him. 

"On a wrong scent this time, " he said. "She's lost one of the lambs fromsnake-bite, and it's upset her. She's a 'new chum, ' you know. "

"I know, " said Inspector Hill. 

Jack Burton leaned upon the table and looked him in the eyes. "My sisteris not a detective, " he said, warningly. "Buckskin Bill has been one toomany for us this time. The odds were dead against him, but he's slippedthrough. And I've a pretty firm notion he won't come back. "

"So have I, " said Inspector Hill, unmoved. 

"And a blasted good job too!" said Jack Burton, forcibly. 

A gleam of humour crossed the Inspector's face. He pulled out his pipewith a gesture that made for peace. 

"If I were in your place, " he said, "I daresay I'd say the same. "

 * * * * *

 Without Prejudice

CHAPTER I

SILLY SENTIMENT

"It's time I set about making my own living, " said Dot Burton. 

She spoke resolutely, and her face was resolute also; its young lineswere for the moment almost grim. She stood in the doorway of the stable, watching her brother rub down the animal he had just been riding. Behindher the rays of the Australian sun smote almost level, making of her fairhair a dazzling aureole of gold. The lashes of her blue eyes were tippedwith gold also, but the brows above them were delicately dark. They wereslightly drawn just then, as if she were considering a problem ofconsiderable difficulty. 

Jack Burton was frankly frowning over his task. It was quite evident thathis sister's announcement was not a welcome one. 

She continued after a moment, as he did not respond in words: "I am sureI could make a living, Jack. I'm not the 'new chum' I used to be, thanksto you. You've taught me a whole heap of things. "

Jack glanced up for a second. "Aren't you happy here?" he said. 

She eluded the question. "You've been awfully good to me, dear old boy. But really, you know, I think you've got burdens enough without me. Inany case, it isn't fair that I should add to them. "

Jack grunted. "It isn't fair that you should do more than half the workon the place and not be paid for it, you mean. You're quite right, itisn't. "

"No, I don't mean that, Jack. " Quite decidedly she contradicted him. "Idon't mind work. I like to have my time filled. I love being useful. Itisn't that at all. But all the same, you and Adela are quite completewithout me. Before you were married it was different. I was necessary toyou then. But I'm not now. And so--"

"Has Adela been saying that to you?"

Jack Burton straightened himself abruptly. His expression was almostfierce. 

Dot laughed at sight of it. "No, Jack, no! Don't be so jumpy! Of courseshe hasn't. As if she would! She hasn't said a thing. But I know how shefeels, and I should feel exactly the same in her place. Now do besensible! You must see my point. I'm getting on, you know, Jack. I'mtwenty-five. Just fancy! You've sheltered me quite long enough--too long, really. You must--you really must--let me go. "

He was looking at her squarely. "I can't prevent your going, " he said, gruffly. "But it won't be with my consent--ever--or my approval. You'llgo against my will--dead against it. "

"Jack--darling!" She went to him impulsively and took him by theshoulders. "Now that isn't reasonable of you. It really isn't. You'vegot to take that back. "

He looked at her moodily. "I shan't take it back. I can't. I am deadagainst your going. I know this country. It's not a place for lone women. And you're not much more than a child, whatever you may say. It's rough, I tell you. And you"--he looked down upon her slender fairness--"youweren't made for rough things. "

"Please don't be silly, Jack!" she broke in. "I'm quite as strong as theaverage woman and, I hope, as capable. I'm grown up, you silly man! I'mold--older than you are in some ways, even though you have been in theworld ten years longer. Can't you see I want to stretch my wings?"

"Want to leave me?" he said, and put his arms suddenly about her. Shenestled to him on the instant, lifting her face to kiss him. 

"No, darling, no! Never in life! But--you must see--you must see"--hereyes filled with tears unexpectedly, and she laid her head upon hisshoulder to hide them--"that I can't--live on you--for ever. It isn'tfair--to you--or to Adela--or to--to--anyone else who might turn up. "

"Ah!" he said. "Or to you either. We've no right to make a slave of you. I know that. Perhaps Adela hasn't altogether realized it. "

"I've nothing--whatever--against Adela, " Dot told him, rather shakily. "She has never been--other than kind. No, it is what I feel myself. Iam not necessary to you or to Adela, and--in a way--I'm glad of it. Ilike to know you two are happy. I'm not a bit jealous, Jack, not a bit. It's just as it should be. But you'll have to let me go, dear. It's timeI went. It's right that I should go. You mustn't try to hold me back. "

But Jack's arms had tightened about her. "I hate the thought of it, " hesaid. "Give it up! Give it up, old girl--for my sake!"

She shook her head silently in his embrace. 

He went on with less assurance. "If you wanted to get married it wouldbe a different thing. I would never stand in the way of your marrying adecent man. If you must go, why don't you do that?"

She laughed rather tremulously. "You think every good woman ought tomarry, don't you, Jack?"

"When there's a good man waiting for her, why not?" said Jack. 

She lifted her head and looked at him. "I'm not going to marry FletcherHill, Jack, " she said, with firmness. 

Jack made a slight movement of impatience. "I never could see yourobjection to the man, " he said. 

She laughed again, drawing herself back from him. "But, Jack darling, awoman doesn't marry a man just because he's not objectionable, does she?I always said I wouldn't marry him, didn't I?"

"You might do a lot worse, " said Jack. 

"Of course I might--heaps worse. But that isn't the point. I think he'squite a good sort--in his own sardonic way. And he is a great friend ofyours, too, isn't he? That fact would count vastly in his favour if Ithought of marrying at all. But, you see--I don't. "

"I call that uncommon hard on Fletcher, " observed Jack. 

She opened her blue eyes very wide. "My dear man, why?"

"After waiting for you all this time, " he explained, suffering his armsto fall away from her. 

She still gazed at him in astonishment. "Jack! But I never asked him towait!"

He turned from her with a shrug of the shoulders. "No, but I did. "

"You did? Jack, what can you mean?"

Jack stooped to feel one of his animal's hocks. He spoke without lookingat her. "It's been my great wish--all this time. I've been deuced anxiousabout you often. Australia isn't the place for unprotected girls--atleast, not out in the wilds. I've seen--more than enough of that. Andyou're no wiser than the rest. You lost your head once--over a rotter. You might again. Who knows?"

"Oh, really, Jack!" The girl's face flushed very deeply. She turned itaside instinctively, though he was not looking at her. But the colourdied as quickly as it came, leaving her white and quivering. 

She stood mutely struggling for self-control while Jack continued. "Iknow Fletcher. I know he's sound. He's a man who always gets what hewants. He wouldn't be a magistrate now if he didn't. And when I saw hewanted you, I made up my mind he should have you if I could possibly workit. I gave him my word I'd help him, and I begged him to wait a bit, togive you time to get over that other affair. He's been waiting--eversince. "

Dot's hands clenched slowly. She spoke with a great effort. "Then he'dbetter stop waiting--at once, Jack, and marry someone else. "

"He won't do that, " said Jack. He stood up again abruptly and faced roundupon her. "Look here, dear! Why can't you give in and marry him? He'ssuch a good sort if you only get to know him well. You've always kept himat arm's length, haven't you? Well, let him come a bit nearer! You'llsoon like him well enough to marry him. He'd make you happy, Dot. Take myword for it!"

She met his look bravely, though the distress still lingered in her eyes. "But, dear old Jack, " she said, "no woman can possibly love at will. "

"It would come afterwards, " Jack said, with conviction. "I know it would. He's such a good chap. You've never done him justice. See, Dot girl!You're not happy. I know that. You want to stretch your wings, you say. Well, there's only one way of doing it, for you can't go out into theworld--this world--alone. At least, you'll break my heart if you do. He'sthe only fellow anywhere near worthy of you. And he's been so awfullypatient. Do give him his chance!"

He put his arm round her shoulders again, holding her very tenderly. 

She yielded herself to him with a suppressed sob. "I'm sure it would bewrong, Jack, " she said. 

"Not a bit wrong!" Jack maintained, stoutly. "What have you been waitingfor all this time? A myth, an illusion, that can never come true! You'veno right to spoil your own life and someone else's as well for such areason as that. I call that wrong--if you like. "

She hid her face against him with a piteous gesture. "He--said he wouldcome back, Jack. "

Jack frowned over her bowed head even while he softly stroked it. "And ifhe had--do you think I would ever have let you go to him? A cattle thief, Dot! An outlaw!"

She clung to him trembling. "He saved my life--at the risk of his own, "she whispered, almost inarticulately. 

"Oh, I know--I know. He was that sort--brave enough, but a hopelessrotter. " Jack's voice held a curious mixture of tenderness and contempt. "Women always fall in love with that sort of fellow, " he said. "Heavenknows why. But you'd no right to lose your heart to him, little 'un. Youknew--you always knew--he wasn't the man for you. "

She clung to him in silence for a space, then lifted her face. "Allright, Jack, " she said. 

He looked at her closely for a moment. "Come! It's only silly sentiment, "he urged. "You can't feel bad about it after all this time. Why, child, it's five years!"

She laughed rather shakily. "I am a big fool, aren't I, Jack?Yet--somehow--do you know--I thought he meant to come back. "

"Not he!" declared Jack. "Catch Buckskin Bill putting his head back intothe noose when once he had got away! He's not quite so simple as that, mydear. He probably cleared out of Australia for good as soon as he got thechance. And a good thing, too!" he added, with emphasis. "He'd donemischief enough. "

She raised her lips to his. "Thank you for not laughing at me, Jack, " shesaid. "Don't--ever--tell Adela, will you? I'm sure she would. "

He smiled a little. "Yes, I think she would. She'd say you were oldenough to know better. "

Dot nodded. "And very sensible, too. I am. "

He patted her shoulder. "Good girl! Then that chapter is closed. And--you're going to give poor Fletcher his chance?"

She drew a sharp breath. "Oh, I don't know. I can't promise that. Don't--don't hustle me, Jack!"

He gave her a hard squeeze and let her go. "There, she shan't be teasedby her horrid bully of a brother! She's going to play the game off herown bat, and I wish her luck with all my heart. "

He turned to the job of feeding his horse, and Dot, after a fewinconsequent remarks, sauntered away in the direction of the barn, "to be alone with herself, " as she put it. 

CHAPTER II

NUMBER THREE

Adela Burton was laying the cloth for supper, and looking somewhatsevere over the process. She was usually cheerful at that hour of theday, for it brought her husband back from his work and, thanks to Dot'sministrations, the evening was free from toil. It was seldom, indeed, that Adela bestirred herself to lay the cloth for any meal, for shemaintained that it was better for a girl like Dot to have plenty to do atall times, and she herself preferred her needlework, at which she was anadept. 

No one could have called her an idle woman, but she was eminently aselfish one. She followed her own bent, quite regardless of the desiresand inclinations of anyone else. She was the hub of her world from herown point of view, and she was wholly incapable of recognizing any other. Most people realized this and, as is the way of humanity, took her at herown valuation, making allowances for her undoubted egotism. For she wascomely and had a taking manner, never troubling herself unless her ownpersonal convenience were threatened. She laughed a good deal, though hersense of humour was none of the finest, and she was far too practical topossess any imagination. In short, as she herself expressed it, she wassensible; and, being so, she had small sympathy with her sister-in-law'sfoolish sentimentalities, which she considered wholly out of place in theeveryday life at the farm. 

Not that Dot ever dreamed of confiding in her. She sheltered herselfinvariably behind a reserve so delicate as to be almost imperceptible tothe elder woman's blunter susceptibilities. But she could not always hidethe fineness of her inner feelings, and there were times when the twoclashed in consequence. The occasions were rare, but Adela had come toknow by experience that when they occurred, opposition on her part was ofno avail. Dot was bound to have her way when her soul was stirred tobattle for it, as on the day when she had refused to let Robin, the dog, be chained up when not on duty with the sheep. Adela had objected to hispresence in the house, and Dot had firmly insisted upon it on the scorethat Robin had always been an inmate as the companion and protector ofher lonely hours. 

Adela had disputed the point with some energy, but she had beenvanquished, and now, when Dot asserted herself, she seldom met withopposition from her sister-in-law. It was practically impossible thatthey should ever be fond of one another. They had nothing in common. Yetit was very seldom that Jack saw any signs of strain between them. Theydwelt together without antagonism and without intimacy. 

Nevertheless, Dot's announcement of her desire to go out into the worldand hew a way for herself came as no surprise to him. He knew that shewas restless and far from happy, knew that his marriage had unsettledher, albeit in a fashion he had not fathomed till their talk together. His young sister was very dear to him. She had been thrown upon his careyears before when the death of their parents had left her dependent uponhim. It had always been his wish to have her with him. His love for herwas of a deep, almost maternal nature, and he hated the thought ofparting with her. He had hoped that the companionship of Adela would havebeen a joy to her, and he was intensely disappointed that it had provedotherwise. His anxiety for her welfare had always been uppermost withhim, and it hurt him somewhat when Adela laughed at his hopes and fearsregarding the girl. It was the only point upon which his wife and helacked sympathy. 

Entering by way of the kitchen premises on that evening of his talkwith Dot, he was surprised to find Adela fulfilling what had come tobe regarded as Dot's duties. He looked around him questioningly as sheemerged from the larder carrying a dish in one hand and a jug of milkin the other. 

"Where's the little 'un?" he said. 

It was his recognized pet name for Dot, but for some reason Adela hadnever approved of it. She frowned now at its utterance. 

"Do you mean Dot? Oh, mooning about somewhere, I suppose. And leavingother people to do the work. "

Jack promptly relieved her of her burden and set himself to help her withher task. 

Adela was not ill-tempered as a rule. She smiled at him. "Good man, Jack!No one can say you're an idler, anyway. I've got rather a nice supper foryou. I shouldn't wonder if Fletcher Hill turns up to share it. I hear heis on circuit at Trelevan. "

"I heard it, too, " said Jack. "He's practically sure to come. "

"He's very persistent, " said Adela. "Do you think he will ever win out?"

Jack nodded slowly. "I've never known him fail yet in anything he set hismind to--at least, only once. And that was a fluke. "

"What sort of a fluke?" questioned Adela, who was frankly curious. 

"When Buckskin Bill slipped through his fingers. " Jack spokethoughtfully. "That's the only time I ever knew him fail, and I'm notsure that it wasn't intentional then. "

"Intentional!" Adela opened her eyes. 

Jack smiled a little. "I don't say it was so. I only say it waspossible. But never mind that! It's an old story, and the man got away, anyhow--disappeared, dropped out. Possibly he's dead. I hope he is. Hedid mischief enough in a short time. "

"He set the whole district humming, didn't he?" said Adela. "They say allthe women fell in love with him at sight. I wish I'd seen him. "

Jack broke into a laugh. "You'd certainly have fallen a victim!"

She tossed her head. "I'm sure I shouldn't. I prefer respectable men. Shall we lay an extra plate in case Mr. Hill turns up?"

"No, " said Jack. "Let him come unexpectedly!"

She gave him a shrewd look. "You think Dot will like that best?"

He nodded again. "Be careful! She's coming. Here's Robin!"

Robin came in, wagging his tail and smiling, and behind him came Dot. Shemoved slowly, as if dispirited. Jack's quick eyes instantly detected thefact that she had been shedding tears. 

"You're too late, little 'un, " he said, with kindly cheeriness. "The workis all done. "

She looked from him to Adela. "I'm sorry I'm late, " she said. "I'm afraidI forgot about supper. "

"Oh, you're in love!" joked Adela. "You'll forget to come in at all oneof these days. "

The girl gave her a swift look, but said nothing, passing through witha weary step on her way to her own room. 

Robin followed her closely, as one in her confidence; and Jack laid aquiet hand on his wife's arm. 

"Don't laugh at her!" he said. 

She stared at him. "Good gracious, Jack! What's the matter? I didn't meananything. "

"I know you didn't. But this thing is serious. If Fletcher Hill comesto-night, I believe she'll have him--that is, if she's let alone. But shewon't if you twit her with it. It's touch and go. "

Jack spoke with great earnestness. It was evident that the matter was oneupon which he felt very strongly, and Adela shrugged a tolerant shoulderand yielded to his persuasion. 

"I'll be as solemn as a judge, " she promised. "The affair certainly hashung fire considerably. It would be a good thing to get it settled. ButFletcher Hill! Well, he wouldn't be my choice!"

"He's a fine man, " asserted Jack. 

"Oh, I've no doubt. But he's an animal with a nasty bite, or I am muchmistaken. However, let Dot marry him by all means if she feels that way!It's certainly high time she married somebody. "

She turned aside to put the teapot on the hob, humming inconsequently, and the subject dropped. 

Jack went to his room to wash, and in a few minutes more they gatheredround the supper-table with careless talk of the doings of the day. 

It had always been Dot's favourite time, the supper-hour. In the old daysbefore Jack's marriage she had looked forward to it throughout the day. The companionship of this beloved brother of hers had been the chief joyof her life. 

But things were different now. It was her part to serve the meal, toclear the table, and to wash the dishes Jack and Adela were completewithout her. Though they always welcomed her when the work was done, sheknew that her society was wholly unessential, and she often prolonged herlabours in the scullery that she might not intrude too soon upon them. She was no longer necessary to anyone--except to Robin the faithful, who followed her as her shadow. She had become Number Three, and she waslonely--she was lonely!

CHAPTER III

FLETCHER HILL

There came a sound of hoofs thudding over the pastures. Robin lifted hiseyebrows and cocked his ears with a growl. 

Dot barely glanced up from the saucepan she was cleaning; her lipstightened a little, that was all. 

The hoofs drew rapidly nearer, dropping from a canter to a quick trotthat ended in a clattering walk on the stones of the yard. Through theopen window Dot heard the heavy thud of a man's feet as he jumped to theground. 

Then came Jack's voice upraised in greeting. "Hallo, Fletcher! Come in, man! Come in! Delighted to see you. "

The voice that spoke in answer was short and clipped. Somehow it had anofficial sound. "Hallo, Jack! Good evening, Mrs. Burton! What! Alone?"

Jack laughed. "Dot's in the kitchen. Hi! little 'un! Bring some drinks!"

Robin was on his feet, uttering low, jerky barks. Dot put aside hersaucepan and began to wash her hands. She did not hasten to obey Jack'scall, but when she turned to collect glasses on a tray she was tremblingand her breath came quickly, as if from violent exercise. 

Nevertheless she did not hesitate, but went straight through to thelittle parlour, carrying her tray with the jingling glasses upon it. 

Fletcher Hill was facing her as she entered, a tall man, tough andmuscular, with black hair that was tinged with grey, and a long stubbornjaw that gave him an indomitable look. His lips were thin and very firm, with a sardonic twist that imparted a faintly supercilious expression. His eyes were dark, deep-set, and shrewd. He was a magistrate of somerepute in the district, a position which he had attained by sheerunswerving hard work in the police force, in which for years he hadbeen known as "Bloodhound Hill. " A man of rigid ideas and stern justice, he had forced his way to the front, respected by all, but genuinely likedby only a very few. 

Jack Burton had regarded him as a friend for years, but even Jack couldnot claim a very close intimacy with him. He merely understood the man'ssilences better than most. His words were very rarely of a confidentialorder. 

He was emphatically not a man to attract any girl very readily, and Dot'sattitude towards him had always been of a strictly impersonal nature. Infact, Jack himself did not know whether she really liked him or not. Yethad he set his heart upon seeing her safely married to him. There was noother man of his acquaintance to whom he would willingly have entrustedher. For Dot was very precious in his eyes. But to his mind Fletcher Hillwas worthy of her, and he believed that she would be as safe in his careas in his own. 

That Fletcher Hill had long cherished the silent ambition of winning herwas a fact well known to him. Only once had they ever spoken on thesubject, and then the words had been few and briefly uttered. But toJack, who had taken the initiative in the matter, they had been more thansufficient to testify to the man's earnestness of purpose. From that dayhe had been heart and soul on Fletcher's side. 

He wished he could have given him a hint that evening as he looked up tosee the girl standing in the doorway; for Dot was so cold, so aloof inher welcome. He did not see what Hill saw at the first glance--that shewas quivering from head to foot with nervous agitation. 

She set down her tray and gave her hand to the visitor. "Doesn't Rupertwant a drink?" she said. 

Rupert was his horse, and his most dearly prized possession. Hill's raresmile showed for a moment at the question. 

"Let him cool down a bit first, " he said. "I am afraid I've ridden himrather hard. "

She gave him a fleeting glance. "You have come from Trelevan?"

"Yes. I got there this afternoon. We left Wallacetown early thismorning. "

"Rode all the way?" questioned Jack. 

"Yes, every inch. I wanted to see the Fortescue Gold Mine. "

"Ah! There's a rough crowd there, " said Jack. "They say all the uncaughtcriminals find their way to the Fortescue Gold Mine. "

"Yes, " said Hill. 

"Is it true?" asked Adela, curiously. 

"I am not in a position to say, madam. " Hill's voice sounded sardonic. 

"That means he doesn't know, " explained Jack. "Look here, man! If you'veridden all the way from Wallacetown to-day you can't go back to Trelevanto-night. Your animal must be absolutely used up--if you are not. "

"Oh, I think not. We are both tougher than that. " Hill turned towardshim. "Don't mix it too strong, Jack! I hardly ever touch it except underyour roof. "

"I am indeed honoured, " laughed Jack. "But if you're going to spend thenight you'll be able to sleep it off before you face your orderly in themorning. "

"Do stay!" said Adela, hastening to follow up her husband's suggestion. "We should all like it. I hope you will. "

Hill bowed towards her with stiff ceremony. "You are very kind, madam. But I don't like to give trouble, and I am expected back. "

"By whom?" questioned Jack. "No one that counts, I'll swear. Your orderlywon't break his heart if you take a night out. He'll probably do the samehimself. And no one else will know. We'll let you leave as early as youlike in the morning, but not before. Come, that's settled, isn't it? Goand get Rupert a shake-down, little 'un, and give him a decent feed withplenty of corn in it! No, let her, man; let her! She likes doing it, eh, Dot girl?"

"Yes, I like it, " Dot said, and hurriedly disappeared before Hill couldintervene. 

Jack turned to his wife. "Now, missis! Go and make ready upstairs! It'sonly a little room, Fletcher, but it's snug. That's the way, " as his wifefollowed Dot's example. "Now--quick, man! I want a word with you. "

"Obviously, " said the magistrate, dryly. "You needn't say it, thanks allthe same. I'll leave that drink till--afterwards. "

He straightened his tall figure with an instinctive bracing of theshoulders, and turned to the door. 

Jack watched him go with a smile that was not untinged with anxiety, andlifted his glass as the door closed. 

"You've got the cards, old feller, " he said. "May you play 'em well!"

Fletcher Hill stepped forth into the moonlit night and stood still. Ithad been a swift maneuvre on Jack's part, and it might have disconcerteda younger man and driven him into ill-considered action. But it was notthis man's nature to act upon impulse. His caution was well known. It hadbeen his safeguard in many a difficulty. It stood him in good stead now. 

So for a space he remained, looking out over the widespread grasslands, his grim face oddly softened and made human. He was no longer anofficial, but a man, with feelings rendered all the keener for thehabitual restraint with which he masked them. 

He moved forward at length through the magic moonlight, guided by thesound of trampling hoofs in the building where Jack's horse was stabled. He reached the doorway, treading softly, and looked in. 

Dot was in a stall with his mount Rupert--a powerful grey, beside whichshe looked even lighter and daintier than usual. The animal was nibblingcarelessly at her arm while she filled the manger with hay. She wastalking to him softly, and did not perceive Hill's presence. Robin, whosat waiting near the entrance, merely pricked his ears at his approach. 

Some minutes passed. Fletcher stood like a sentinel against the doorpost. He might have been part of it for his immobility. The girl withincontinued to talk to the horse while she provided for his comfort, lowwords unintelligible to the silent watcher, till, as she finished hertask, she suddenly threw her arms about the animal's neck and leaned herhead against it. 

"Oh, Rupert, " she said, and there was a throb of passion in her words, "Iwish--I wish you and I could go right away into the wilderness togetherand never--never come back!"

Rupert turned his head and actually licked her hair. He was a horse ofunderstanding. 

She uttered a little sobbing laugh and tenderly kissed his nose. "You'rea dear, sympathetic boy! Who taught you to be, I wonder? Not your master, I'm sure! He's nothing but a steel machine all through!"

And then she turned to leave the stable and came upon Fletcher Hill, mutely awaiting her. 

CHAPTER IV

THE COAT OF MAIL

She gave a great start at sight of him, then quickly drew herselftogether. 

"You have come to see if Rupert is all right for the night?" she said. "Go in and have a look at him. "

But Fletcher made no movement to enter. He faced her with a certainrigidity. "No. I came to see you--alone. "

She made a sharp movement that was almost a gesture of protest. Then sheturned and drew the door softly shut behind her. Robin came and pressedclose to her, as if he divined that she stood in need of some support. With her back to the closed door and the moonlight in her eyes, shestood before Fletcher Hill. 

"What do you want to say to me?" she said. 

He bent slightly towards her. "It is not a specially easy thing, MissBurton, " he said, "when I am more than half convinced that it issomething you would rather not hear. "

She met his look with unflinching steadiness. "I think life is made up ofthat sort of thing, " she said. "It's like a great puzzle that never fits. I've been saying--unwelcome things--to-day, too. "

She smiled, but her lips were quivering. The man's hands slowly clenched. 

"That means you're unhappy, " he said. 

She nodded. "I've been telling Jack that I must get away--go and earn myown living somewhere. He won't hear of it. "

"I can understand that, " said Fletcher Hill. "I wouldn't--in his place. "

She kept her eyes steadfastly raised to his. "Do you know what Jack wantsme to do?" she said. 

"Yes. " Hill spoke briefly, almost sternly. "He wants you to marry me. "

She nodded again. "Yes. "

He held out his hand to her abruptly. "I want it, too, " he said. 

She made no movement towards him. "That is what you came to say?" sheasked. 

"Yes, " said Hill. 

He waited a moment; then, as she did not take his hand, bent with acertain mastery and took one of hers. 

"I've wanted it for years, " he said. 

"Ah!" A little sound like a sob came with the words. She made as if shewould withdraw her hand, but in the end--because he held it closely--shesuffered him to keep it. She spoke with an effort. "I--think you ought tounderstand that--that--it is not my wish to marry at all. If--if Jack hadstayed single, I--should have been content to live on here for always. "

"Yes, I know, " said Hill. "I saw that. "

She went on tremulously. "I've always felt--that a woman ought to be ableto manage alone. It's very kind of you to want to marry me. But--butI--I think I'm getting too old. "

"Is that the only obstacle?" asked Hill. 

She tried to laugh, but it ended in a sound of tears. She turned her facequickly aside. "I can't tell you--of any other, " she said, withdifficulty, "except--except--"

"Except that you don't like me much?" he suggested dryly. "Well, thatdoesn't surprise me. "

"Oh, I didn't say that!" She choked back her tears and turned back tohim. "Let's walk a little way together, shall we? I--I'll try andexplain--just how I feel about things. "

He moved at once to comply. They walked side by side over theclose-cropped grass. Dot would have slipped her hand free, but stillhe kept it. 

They had traversed some yards before she spoke again, and then her voicewas low and studiously even. 

"I can't pretend to you that there has never been anyone else. Itwouldn't be right. You probably wouldn't believe me if I did. "

"Oh, I gathered that a long time ago, " Hill said. 

"Yes, of course you did. You always see everything, don't you? It's yourspecialty. "

"I don't go about with my eyes shut, certainly, " said Hill. 

"I'm glad of that, " Dot said. "I would rather you knew about it. Only"--her voice quivered again--"I don't know how to tell you. "

"You are sure you would rather I knew?" he said. 

"Yes. " She spoke with decision. "You've got to know if--if--" She brokeoff. 

"If we are going to be married?" he suggested. 

"Yes, " whispered Dot. 

Hill walked a few paces in silence. Then, unexpectedly, he drew thenervous little hand he held through his arm. "Well, you needn't tellme any more, " he said. "I know the rest. "

She started and stood still. There was quick fear in the look she threwhim. "You mean Jack told you--"

"No, I don't, " said Hill. "Jack has never yet told me anything I couldn'thave told him ages before. I knew from the beginning. It was the fellowthey called Buckskin Bill, wasn't it?"

She quivered from head to foot and was silent. 

Hill went on ruthlessly. "First, by a stroke of luck, he saved you fromdeath by snake-bite. He always had the luck on his side, that chap. Ishould have caught him but for that. I'd got him--I'd got him in thehollow of my hand. But you"--for the first time there was a streak oftenderness in his speech--"you were a new chum then--you held me up. Remember how you covered his retreat when we came up? Did you reallythink I didn't know?"

She uttered a sobbing laugh. "I was very frightened, too. I always wasscared at the law. "

Hill nodded. He also was grimly smiling. 

"But you dared it. You'd have dared anything for him that day. He alwaysgot the women on his side. "

She winced a little. 

"It's true, " he asserted. "I know what happened--as well as if I'd seenit. He made love to you in a very gallant, courteous fashion. I neversaw Buckskin Bill, but I believe he was always courteous when he hadtime. And he promised to come back, didn't he--when he'd given up beinga thief and a swindler and had turned his hand to an honest trade? Allthat--for your sake!... Yes, I thought so. But, my dear child, do youreally imagine he meant it--after all these years?"

She looked at him with a piteous little smile. "He--he'd be worthhaving--if he did, wouldn't he?" she said. 

"I wonder, " said Hill. 

He waited for a few moments, then laid his hand upon her shoulder witha touch that seemed to her as heavy as the hand of the law. 

"I can't help thinking, " he said, "that you'd find a plain man likemyself more satisfactory to live with. It's for you to decide. Only--itseems a pity to waste your life waiting for someone who will never come. "

She could not contradict him. The argument was too obvious. She longed toput that steady hand away from her, but she felt physically incapable ofdoing so. An odd powerlessness possessed her. She was as one caught in atrap. 

Yet after a second or two she mustered strength to ask a question towhich she had long desired an answer. "Did you ever hear any more ofhim?"

"Not for certain. I believe he left the country, but I don't know. Anyway, he found this district too hot to hold him, for he never brokecover in this direction again. I should have had him if he had. "

Fletcher Hill spoke with a grim assurance. He was holding her before him, one hand on her shoulder, the other grasping hers. Abruptly he benttowards her. 

"Come!" he said. "It's going to be 'Yes, ' isn't it?"

She looked up at him with troubled eyes. Suddenly she shivered asif an icy blast had caught her. "Oh, I'm frightened!" she said. "I'mfrightened!"

"Nonsense!" said Hill. 

He drew her gently to him and held her. She was shaking from head tofoot. She began to sob, hopelessly, like a lost child. 

"Don't!" he said. "Don't! It's all right. I'll take care of you. I'llmake you happy. I swear to God I'll make you happy!"

It was forcibly spoken, and it showed her more of the man's inner naturethan she had ever seen before. Almost in spite of herself she wastouched. She leaned against him, fighting her weakness. 

"It isn't--fair to you, " she murmured at last. 

"That's my affair, " said Hill. 

She kept her face hidden from him, and he did not seek to raise it; butthere was undoubted possession in the holding of his arms. 

After a moment or two she spoke again. "What will you do if--if you findyou're not--happy with me?"

"I'll take my chance of that, " said Fletcher Hill. He added, under hisbreath, "I'll be good to you--in any case. "

That moved her. She lifted her face impulsively. "You--you are much nicerthan I thought you were, " she said. 

He bent to her. "It isn't very difficult to be that, " he said, with asomewhat sardonic touch of humour. "I haven't a very high standard tobeat, have I?"

It was not very lover-like. Perhaps, he feared to show her too much ofhis soul just then, lest he seem to be claiming more than she wasprepared to offer. Perhaps that reserve of his which clothed him likea coat of mail was more than even he could break through. But so it wasthat then--just then, when the desire of his heart was actually withinhis grasp, he contented himself with taking a very little. He kissed her, indeed, though it was but a brief caress--over before her quivering lipscould make return; nor did he seek to deter her as she withdrew herselffrom his arms. 

She stood a moment, looking small and very forlorn. Then she turned toretrace her steps. 

"Shall we go back?" she said. 

He went back with her in silence till they reached the gate that led intothe yard. Then for a second he grasped her arm, detaining her. 

"It is--'Yes?'" he questioned. 

She bent her head in acquiescence, not looking at him. "Yes, " she said, in a whisper. 

And Fletcher let her go. 

CHAPTER V

THE LOST ROMANCE

Jack looked in vain for any sign of elation on his friend's face when heentered. He read nothing but grim determination. Dot's demeanour alsowas scarcely reassuring. She seemed afraid to lift her eyes. 

"Isn't it nearly bed-time?" she murmured to Adela as she passed. 

Adela looked at her with frank curiosity. There were no fine shades offeeling about Adela. She always went straight to the point--unlessrestrained by Jack. 

"Oh, it's quite early yet, " she said, wholly missing the appeal in thegirl's low-spoken words. "What have you two been doing? Moonshining?"

Fletcher looked as contemptuous as his immobile countenance would allow, and sat down by his untouched drink without a word. 

But it took more than a look to repress Adela. She laughed aloud. "Doesthat mean I am to draw my own conclusions, Mr. Hill? Would you like me totell you what they are?"

"Not for my amusement, " said Hill, dryly. "Where did you get this whiskyfrom, Jack? I hope it's a legal brand. "

"I hope it is, " agreed Jack. "I don't know its origin. I got it throughHarley. You know him? The manager of the Fortescue Gold Mine. "

"Yes, I know him, " said Hill. "He is retiring, and another fellow istaking his place. "

"Retiring, is he? I thought he was the only person who could manage thatcrowd. " Jack spoke with surprise. 

Hill took out his pipe and began to fill it. "He's got beyond it. Toomuch running with the hare and hunting with the hounds. They need ayounger man with more decision and resource--someone who can handle themwithout being afraid. "

"Have they got such a man?" questioned Jack. 

"They believe they have. " Hill spoke thoughtfully. "He's a man from theWest, who has done some tough work in the desert, but brought back morein the way of experience than gold. He's been working in the FortescueMine now for six months, a foreman for the past three. Harley tells methe men will follow him like sheep. But for myself, I'm not so sure ofhim. "

"Not sure of him? What are you afraid of? Whisky-running?" asked Jack, with a twinkle. 

There was no answering gleam of humour on Hill's face. "I never trustany man until I know him, " he said. "He may be sound, or he may be ascoundrel. He's got to prove himself. "

"You take a fatherly interest in that mine, " observed Jack. 

"I have a reason, " said Fletcher Hill, briefly. 

"Ah! Ever met Fortescue himself?"

"Once or twice, " said Hill. 

"Pretty badly hated, isn't he?" said Jack. 

"By the blackguards, yes. " Hill spoke with characteristic grimness. "He'snone the worse for that. "

"All the better, I should say, " remarked Adela. "But what is he like? Ishe an old man?"

"About my age, " said Hill. 

"I wish you'd give us an introduction to him, " she said, with animation. "I've always wanted to see that mine. You'd like to, too, wouldn't you, Dot?"

Dot started a little. She had been sitting quite silent in thebackground. 

"I expect it would be quite interesting, " she said, as Hill lookedtowards her. "But perhaps it wouldn't be very easy to manage it. "

"I could arrange it if you cared to go, " said Hill. 

"Could you? How kind of you! But it would mean spending the night atTrelevan, wouldn't it? I--I think we are too busy for that. " Dot glancedat her brother in some uncertainty. 

"Oh, it could be managed, " said Jack, kindly. "Why not? You don't getmuch fun in life. If you want to see the mine, and Hill can arrange it, it shall be done. "

"Thank you, " said Dot. 

Adela turned towards her. "My dear, do work up a little enthusiasm!You've sat like a mute ever since you came in. What's the matter?"

Dot was on her feet in a moment. This sort of baiting, good-naturedthough it was, was more than she could bear. "I've one or two jobs leftin the kitchen, " she said. "I'll go and attend to them--if no one minds. "

She was gone with the words, Adela's ringing laugh pursuing her as sheclosed the door. She barely paused in the kitchen, but fled to her ownroom. She could not--no, she could not--face the laughter andcongratulations that night. 

She flung herself down upon her bed and lay there trembling like aterrified creature caught in a trap. Her brain was a whirl of bewilderingemotions. She knew not which way to turn to escape the turmoil, or evenif she were glad or sorry for the step she had taken. She wondered ifHill would tell Jack and Adela the moment her back was turned, anddreaded to hear the sound of her sister-in-law's footsteps outside herdoor. 

But no one came, and after a time she grew calmer. After all, though inthe end she had made her decision somewhat suddenly, it had not been anunconsidered one. Though she could not pretend to love Fletcher Hill, shehad a sincere respect for him. He was solid, and she knew that her futurewould be safe in his hands. The past was past, and every day took herfarther from it. Yet very deep down in her soul there still lurked thememory of that past. In the daytime she could put it from her, stifleit, crowd it out with a multitude of tasks; but at night in her dreamsthat memory would not always be denied. In her dreams the old visionreturned--tender, mocking, elusive--a sunburnt face with eyes of vividblue that looked into hers, smiling and confident with that confidencethat is only possible between spirits that are akin. She would feel againthe pressure of a man's lips on the hollow of her arm--that spot whichstill bore the tiny mark which once had been a snake-bite. He had come toher in her hour of need, and though he was a fugitive from justice, shewould never forget his goodness, his readiness to serve her, hischivalry. And while in her waking hours she chid herself for hersentimentality, yet even so, she had not been able to force herself tocast her brief romance away. 

Ah, well, she had done it now. The way was closed behind her. There couldbe no return. It was all so long ago. She had been little more than achild then, and now she was growing old. The time had come to face therealities of life, to put away the dreams. She believed that FletcherHill was a good man, and he had been very patient. She quivered a littleat the thought of that patience of his. There was a cast-iron qualityabout it, a forcefulness, that made her wonder. Had she ever really metthe man who dwelt within that coat of mail? Could there be some terriblerevelation in store for her? Would she some day find that she had givenherself to a being utterly alien to her in thought and impulse? He hadshown her so little--so very little--of his soul. 

Did he really love her, she wondered? Or had he merely determined to winher because it had been so hard a task? He was a man who revelled inovercoming difficulties, in asserting his grim mastery in the face ofheavy odds. He was never deterred by circumstances, never turned backfrom any purpose upon the accomplishment of which he had set his mind. His subordinates were afraid to tell him of failure. She had heard itsaid that Bloodhound Hill could be a savage animal when roused. 

There came a low sound at her door, the soft turning of the handle, Jack's voice whispered through the gloom. 

"Are you asleep, little 'un?"

She started up on the bed. "Oh, Jack, come in, dear! Come in!"

He came to her, put his arms about her, and held her close. "Fletcher'sbeen telling me, " he whispered into her ear. "Adela's gone to bed. It'squite all right, little 'un, is it? You're not--sorry?"

She caught the anxiety in the words as she clung to him. "I--don't thinkso, " she whispered back. "Only I--I'm rather frightened, Jack. "

"There's no need, darling, " said Jack, and kissed her very tenderly. "He's a good fellow--the best of fellows. He's sworn to me to make youhappy. "

She was trembling a little in his hold. "He--doesn't want to marry meyet, does he?" she asked, nervously. 

He put a very gentle hand upon her head. "Don't funk the last fence, oldgirl!" he said, softly. "You'll like being married. "

"Ah!" She was breathing quickly. "I am not so sure. And there's nogetting back, is there, Jack? Oh, please, do ask him to wait a littlewhile! I'm sure he will. He is very kind. "

"He has waited five years already, " Jack pointed out. "Don't you thinkthat's almost long enough, dear?"

She put a hand to her throat, feeling as if there were some constrictionthere. "He has been speaking to you about it! He wants you to--topersuade me--to--to make me--"

"No, dear, no!" Jack spoke very gravely. "He wants you to pleaseyourself. It is I who think that a long delay would be a mistake. Can'tyou be brave, Dot? Take what the gods send--and be thankful?"

She tried to laugh. "I'm an awful idiot, Jack. Yes, I will--I will bebrave. After all, it isn't as if--as if I were really sacrificinganything, is it? And you're sure he's a good man, aren't you? You aresure he will never let me down?"

"I am quite sure, " Jack said, firmly. "He is a fine man, Dot, and he willalways set your happiness before his own. "

She breathed a short sigh. "Thank you, Jack, I feel better. You'rewonderfully good to me, dear old boy. Tell him--tell him I'll marry himas soon as ever I can get ready! I must get a few things together first, mustn't I?"

Jack laughed a little. "You look very nice in what you've got. "

"Oh, don't be silly!" she said. "If I'm going to live atWallacetown--Wallacetown, mind you, the smartest place this side ofSydney--I must be respectably clothed. I shall have to go to Trelevan, and see what I can find. "

"You and Adela had better have a week off, " said Jack, "and go whileFletcher is busy there. You'll see something of him in the eveningsthen. "

"What about you?" she said, squeezing his arm. 

"Oh, I shall be all right. I'm expecting Lawley in from the ranges. He'llhelp me. I've got to learn to do without you, eh, little 'un?" He heldher to him again. 

She clasped his neck. "It's your own doing, Jack; but I know it's for mygood. You must let me come and help you sometimes--just for a holiday. "Her voice trembled. 

He kissed her again with great tenderness. "You'll come just whenever youfeel like it, my dear, " he said. "And God bless you!"

CHAPTER VI

THE WAY TO HAPPINESS

On account of its comparative proximity to the gold mine, Trelevan, though of no great size, was a busy place. Dot had stayed at the hotelthere with her brother on one or two occasions, but it was usually noisyand crowded, and, unlike Adela, she found little to amuse her in the typeof men who thronged it. Fletcher Hill always stayed there when he came toTrelevan. The police court was close by, and it suited his purpose; buthe mixed very little with his fellow-guests and was generally regarded asunapproachable--a mere judicial machine with whom very few troubled tomake acquaintance. 

Fletcher Hill in the rôle of a squire of dames was a situation thatvastly tickled Adela's sense of humour. As she told Jack, it was going tobe the funniest joke of her life. 

Neither Hill nor his grave young fiancée seemed aware of any cause formirth, but with Adela that was neither here nor there. She and Dot neverhad anything in common, and as for Fletcher Hill, he was the driest stickof a man she had ever met. But she was not going to be bored on thataccount. To give Adela her due, boredom was a malady from which she veryrarely suffered. 

She was in the best of spirits on the evening of their arrival atTrelevan. The rooms that Fletcher Hill had managed to secure for them ledout of each other, and the smaller of them, Dot's looked out over thebusiest part of the town. As Adela pointed out, this was an advantage oflittle value at night, and it could be shared in the daytime. 

Dot said nothing. She was used to her sister-in-law's cheerful egotism, and Adela had never hesitated to invade her privacy if she felt soinclined. Her chief consolation was that Adela was a very sound sleeper, so that there was small chance of having her solitude disturbed at night. 

She herself was not sleeping so well as usual just then. A greatrestlessness was upon her, and often she would pace to and fro like acaged thing for half the night. She was not actively unhappy, but a greatweight seemed to oppress her--a sense of foreboding that was sometimesmore than she could bear. 

Fletcher Hill's calm countenance as he welcomed them upon their arrivalreassured her somewhat. He was so perfectly self-controlled and steady inhis demeanour. The very grasp of his hand conveyed confidence. She feltas if he did her good. 

They dined together in the common dining-room, but at a separate tablein a corner. There were many coming and going, and Adela was franklyinterested in them all. As she said, it was so seldom that she had thechance of studying the human species in such variety. When the meal wasover she good-naturedly settled herself in a secluded corner andcommanded them to leave her. 

"There's something in the shape of a glass-house at the back, " she said. "I don't know if it can be called a conservatory. But anyhow I shouldthink you might find a seat and solitude there, and that, I conclude, iswhat you most want. Anyhow, don't bother about me! I can amuse myselfhere for any length of time. "

They took her at her word, though neither of them seemed in any hurry todepart. Dot lingered because the prospect of a _tête-à-tête_ in a strangeplace, where she could not easily make her escape if she desired to doso, embarrassed her. And Hill waited, as his custom was, with a grimpatience that somehow only served to increase her reluctance to be alonewith him. 

"Run along! It's getting late, " Adela said at last. "Carry her off, Mr. Hill! You'll never get her to make the first move. "

There was some significance in words and smile. Dot stiffened and turnedsharply away. 

Hill followed her, and outside the room she waited for him. 

"Do you know the way?" she asked, without looking at him. 

He took her by the arm, and again she had a wayward thought of thehand of the law. She knew now what it felt like to be marshalled bya policeman. She almost uttered a remark to that effect, but, glancingup at him, decided that it would be out of place. For the man's harshfeatures were so sternly set that she wondered if Adela's careless talkhad aroused his anger. 

She said nothing, therefore, and he led her to the retreat hersister-in-law had mentioned in unbroken silence. It was certainly not avery artistic corner. A few straggling plants in pots decorated it, butthey looked neglected and shabby. Yet the thought went through her, itmight have been a bower of delight had they been in the closer accord oflovers who desire naught but each other. 

The place was deserted, lighted only by a high window that looked into abilliard-room. The window was closed, but the rattle of the balls andcareless voices of the players came through the silence. A dusty benchwas let into the wall below it. 

"Do you like this place?" asked Fletcher Hill. 

She glanced around her with a little nervous laugh. "It's as good as anyother, isn't it?"

His hand still held her arm. He bent slightly, looking into her face. "I've been wanting to talk to you, " he said. 

"Have you?" She tried to meet his look, but failed. "What about?" shesaid, almost in a whisper. 

He bent lower. "Dot, are you afraid of me?" he said. 

That brought her eyes to his face with a jerk. "I--I--no--of course not!"she stammered, in confusion. 

"Quite sure?" he said. 

She collected herself with an effort. "Quite, " she told him withdecision, and met his gaze with something of a challenge in her own. 

But he disconcerted her the next moment. She felt again the man's grimmastery behind the iron of his patience. "I want to talk to you, " hesaid, "about our marriage. "

"Ah!" It was scarcely more than a sharp intake of the breath, and as itescaped again Dot turned white to the lips. His close scrutiny becamesuddenly more than she could bear, and she turned sharply from him. 

He kept his hand upon her arm, but he made no further effort to restrainher, merely waiting mutely for her to speak. 

In the room behind them there came the smart knocking of the balls, anda voice cried, "By Jove, he's fluked again! It's the devil's own luck!"

Dot flinched a little. The careless voice jarred upon her. Her nerveswere all on edge. Fletcher Hill's hand was like a steel trap, cold andfirm and merciless. She longed to wrench herself free from it, yet felttoo paralysed to move. 

And still he waited, not urging her, yet by his very silence making heraware of a compulsion she could not hope to resist for long. 

She turned to him at last in desperation. "What--have you to suggest?"she asked. 

"I?" he said. "I shall be ready at the end of the week--if that will suityou. "

She gazed at him blankly. "The end of the week! But of course not--ofcourse not! You are joking!"

"No, I am serious, " Fletcher said. "Sit down a minute and let meexplain!"

Then, as she hesitated, he very gently put her down upon the seat underthe closed window, and stood before her, blocking her in. 

"I have been wanting this opportunity of talking to you, " he said, "without Jack chipping in. He's a good fellow, and I know he is on myside. But I have a fancy for scoring off my own bat. Listen, Dot! I amnot suggesting anything very preposterous. You have promised to marry me. Haven't you?"

"Yes, " she whispered, breathlessly. "Yes. "

"Yes, " he repeated. "And the longer you have to think about it, the morescared you will get. My dear child, what is the point of spinning it outin this fashion? You are going through agonies of mind--for nothing. IfI gave you back your freedom, you wouldn't be any happier, would you?"

She was silent. 

"Would you?" he said again, and laid his hand upon her shoulder. 

"I--don't think so, " she said, faintly. 

He took up her words again with magisterial emphasis. "You don't thinkso. Well, there is every reason to suppose you wouldn't. You weren'thappy before, were you?"

She gripped her courage with immense effort. "I haven't beenhappy--since, " she said. 

He accepted the statement without an instant's discomfiture. "I know youhaven't. I realized that the moment I saw you. You have been sufferingthe tortures of the damned because you're in a positive hell ofindecision. Oh, I know all about it. " His hand moved a little upon hershoulder; it almost seemed to caress her. "I haven't studied human natureall these years for nothing. I know you're in a perfect fever of doubt, and it'll go on till you're married. What's the good of it? Why tortureyourself like this when the way to happiness lies straight before you?Are you hoping against hope that something may yet turn up to prevent ourmarriage? Would you be happy if it did? Answer me!"

But she shrank from answering, sitting with her hands clasped tightlybefore her and her eyes downcast like a prisoner awaiting sentence. "I don't know--what I want, " she told him, miserably. "I feel--asif--whatever I do--will be wrong. "

"That's just it, " said Fletcher Hill, as if that were the very admissionhe had been waiting for. And then he did what for him was a very curiousthing. He went down upon one knee on the dusty floor, bringing his faceon a level with hers, clasping her tense hands between his own. "Youdon't trust yourself, and you won't trust me, " he said. "Isn't that it?Or something like it?"

The official air had dropped from him like a garment. She looked at himdoubtfully, almost as if she suspected him of trying to trick her. Then, reassured by something in the harsh countenance which his voice and wordsutterly failed to express, she leaned impulsively forward with a swiftmovement of surrender and laid her head against his shoulder. 

"I'll do--whatever you wish, " she said, in muffled tones. "I will trustyou! I do trust you!"

He put his arm around her, for she was trembling, and held her so for aspace in silence. 

The voice in the billiard-room took up the tale. "That fellow's luck ispositively prodigious. He can't help scoring--whatever he does. He'd diggold out of an ash heap. "

Someone laughed, and there came again the clash of the billiard-balls, followed in a second by a shout of applause. 

The noise subsided, and Fletcher spoke. "My job here will be over in aweek. Jack can manage to join us at the end of it. Your sister-in-law isalready here. Why not finish up by getting married and returning toWallacetown with me?"

"I should have to go back to the farm and get the rest of my things, "said Dot. 

"You could do that afterwards, " he said, "when I am away on business. Ishan't be able to take you with me everywhere. Some of the places I haveto go to would be too rough for you. But I shall be at Wallacetown forsome weeks after this job. You have never seen my house there. I took itover from the last Superintendent. I think you'll like it. I got it forthat reason. "

She started a little. "But you didn't know then--How long ago was it?"

"Three years, " said Fletcher Hill. "I've been getting it ready for youever since. "

She looked up at him. "You--took a good deal for granted, didn't you?"she said. 

Fletcher was smiling, dryly humorous. "I knew my own mind, anyway, " hesaid. 

"And you've never had--any doubts?" questioned Dot. 

"Not one, " said Fletcher Hill. 

She laid her hand on his arm with a shy gesture. "I hope you won't bedreadfully disappointed in me, " she said. 

He bent towards her, and for a moment she felt as if his keen eyespierced her. "I don't think that is very likely, " he said, and kissed herwith the words. 

She did not shrink from his kiss, but she did not return it; nor did helinger as if expecting any return. 

He was on his feet the next moment, and she wondered with a little senseof chill if he were really satisfied. 

CHAPTER VII

THE CONQUEROR

They found Adela awaiting them in her corner, but chafing for a change. 

"I want you to take us to the billiard-room, " she said to Fletcher. "There's a great match on. I've heard a lot of men talking about it. And I adore watching billiards. I'm sure we shan't be in the way. I'llpromise not to talk, and Dot is as quiet as a mouse. "

Fletcher considered the point. "I believe it's a fairly respectablecrowd, " he said, looking at Dot. "But you're tired. "

"Oh, no, " she said at once. "I don't feel a bit sleepy. Let us go in byall means if you think no one will mind! I like watching billiards, too. "

"It's a man called Warden, " said Adela. "That's the new manager of theFortescue Gold Mine, isn't it? They say he has the most marvelous luck. He is playing the old manager--Harley, and giving him fifty points. There's some pretty warm betting going on, I can tell you. Do let us goand have a look at them! They've got the girl from the bar to mark forthem, so we shan't be the only women there. "

She was evidently on fire for this new excitement, and Fletcher Hill, seeing that Dot meant what she said, led the way without furtherdiscussion. He paused outside the billiard-room door, which stood ajar;for a tense silence reigned. But it was broken in a moment by the sharpclash of the balls and a perfect howl of enthusiasm from the spectators. 

"Oh, it's over!" exclaimed Adela. "What a pity! Never mind! Let's go in!Perhaps they'll play again. "

The barmaid came flying out to fetch drinks as they entered. Theatmosphere of the room was thick with smoke. A babel of voices filled it. Men who had been sitting round the walls were grouped about the table. Inthe midst of them stood the victor in his shirt-sleeves, conspicuous inthe crowd by reason of his great height--a splendid figure of manhoodwith a careless freedom of bearing that was in its way superb. 

He was turned away from the door at their entrance, and Dot saw onlya massive head of straw-coloured hair above a neck that was burntbrick-red. Then, laughing at some joke, he wheeled round again to thetable; and she saw his face.... 

It was the face of a Viking, deeply sunburnt, vividly alive. A fairmoustache covered his upper lip, and below it the teeth gleamed, whiteand regular like the teeth of an animal in the wilderness. He had thatindescribable look of morning-time, of youth at its best, which onlysprings in the wild. His eyes were intensely blue. They gazed straightacross at her with startling directness. 

And suddenly Dot's heart gave a great jerk, and stood still. It was notthe first time that those eyes had looked into hers. 

The moment passed. He bent himself over the table, poised for a stroke, which she saw him execute a second later with a delicacy that thrilledher strangely. Full well did she remember the deftness and the steadinessof those brown hands. Had they not held her up, sustained her, in thegreatest crisis of her life?

Her heart throbbed on again with hard, uneven strokes. She was strainingher ears for the sound of his voice--that voice that had once spoken toher quivering soul, pleading with her that she would at their nextmeeting treat him--without prejudice. The memory thrilled through her. This was the man for whose coming she had waited so long!

He had straightened himself again, and was coming round the table tofollow up his stroke. Fletcher Hill spoke at her shoulder. 

"Sit down!" he said. "There is room here. "

There was a small space on the corner of the raised settee that ran alongthe side of the room. Dot and Adela sat down together. Hill stood besidethem, looking over the faces of the men present, with keen eyes thatmissed nothing. 

Dot sat palpitating, her hands clasped before her, seeing only the greatfigure that leaned over the table for another stroke. Would he look ather again? Would he remember her? Would he speak?

Fascinated, she watched him. He executed his stroke, again with thatsteady confidence, that self-detachment, that seemed to set him apartfrom all other men. He was standing close to her now, and the nearness ofhis presence thrilled her. She tingled from head to foot, as if under thepower of an electric battery. 

His late opponent stood facing her on the other side of the table, agrey-haired man with crafty eyes that seemed to look in all directions atthe same time. She took an instinctive dislike to him. He wore a furtiveair. 

Warden stood up again, moving with that free swing of his as of one bornto conquer. He turned deliberately and faced them. 

"Good evening, Mr. Hill!" he said. "I'm standing drinks all round. I hopeyou will join us. "

It was frankly spoken, and Hill's instant refusal sounded unnecessarilycurt in Dot's ears. 

"No, thanks. I am with ladies, " he said. "I suppose the play is over?"

Warden glanced across the table. "Unless Harley wants his revenge, " hesaid. 

The grey-haired man uttered a laugh that was like the bark of a viciousdog. "I'll have that another day, " he said. "It won't spoil by keeping. You are a player yourself, Mr. Hill. Why don't you take him on?"

"Oh, do!" burst forth Adela. "I should love to see a good game. You askhim to, Dot! He'll do it for you. "

But Dot sat silent, her fingers straining against each other, her eyesfixed straight before her, seeing yet unseeing, as one beneath a spell. 

There was a momentary pause. The room was full of the harsh babel ofmen's voices. The drinks were being distributed. 

Suddenly a voice spoke out above the rest. "Here's to the new manager!Good luck to him! Bill Warden, here's to you! Success and plenty of it!"

Instantly the hubbub increased a hundredfold. Bill Warden swung roundlaughing to face the clamour, and the tension went out of Dot. Shedrooped forward with a weary gesture. As in a dream she heard thelaughter and the shouting. It seemed to sweep around her in great billowsof sound. But she was too tired to notice, too tired to care. He did notknow her. She was sure of that now. He had forgotten. The memory thathad affected her so poignantly had slipped like a dim cloud below hishorizon. The glory had departed, and life was grey and cold. 

"You are tired, " said Fletcher's voice beside her. "Would you like togo?"

She looked up at him. His eyes were searching hers, and swiftly sherealized that this discovery that she had made must be kept a secret. IfHill began to suspect, he would very quickly ferret out the truth, andthe man would be ruined. She knew Hill's stern justice. He would actinstantly and without mercy if he knew the truth. 

She braced herself with a great effort to baffle him. "No, oh, no!" shesaid. "I am really not tired. Do play! I should love to see you play. "

He looked sardonic. "Love to see me beaten!" he said. 

She put out a quick hand. "Of course not! You will beat him easily. Youare always on the top. Do try!"

He smiled a little, and turned from her. She saw him approach Warden andtap him on the shoulder. 

Warden wheeled sharply, so sharply that the drink he held splashed overthe edge of the glass. The excitement in the room was dying down. Shewatched the two men with an odd breathlessness, and in a moment sherealized that everyone else present was watching them also. 

Then they both turned towards her, and through a great singing thatsuddenly arose in her ears she heard Adela whisper excitedly, "My dear, he is actually going to introduce that amazing person to us!"

She sat up with a stiff movement, feeling cold, inanimate, strangelyimpotent, and in a moment he was standing before her with Fletcher, andshe heard the latter introduce her as his "affianced wife. "

Mutely she gave him her hand. It was Adela who filled in the gap, eagerfor entertainment, and the next moment Warden had turned to her, and wastalking in his careless, leisurely fashion. The ordeal was past, herpulses quieted down again. Yet she realized that he had not addressed asingle word to her, and the conviction came upon her that not thus wouldhe have treated one who was a total stranger to him. 

Because of Fletcher, who remained beside her, she forced herself to joinin the conversation, seconding Adela's urgent request that the two menwould play. 

Warden laughed and looked at Fletcher. "Do you care to take me on, sir?"he said. 

From the other side of the table, Harley uttered his barking laugh. "Nowis your chance, Mr. Hill! Down him once and for all, and give us thepleasure of seeing how it's done!"

There was venom in the words. They were a revelation to Dot, the almostsilent looker-on. It was as if a flashlight had given her a suddenglimpse of this man's soul, showing her bitter enmity--a black and cruelhatred--an implacable yearning for revenge. She felt as if she had lookeddown into the seething heart of a volcano. 

Then she heard Hill's voice. "I am quite willing to play, " he said. 

A buzz of interest went through the room. The prospective match plainlyexcited Warden's many admirers. They drew together, and she heard somelow-voiced betting begin. 

But this was instantly checked by Fletcher. "I'm not doing it for agamble, " he said, curtly. "Please keep your money in your pockets, orthe match is off!"

They looked at him with lowering glances, but they submitted. It wasevident to Dot that they all stood in considerable awe of him--all saveWarden, who chalked Hill's cue with supreme self-assurance, and thenlighted a cigarette without the smallest hint of embarrassment. 

The match began, and though the gambling had been checked a breathlessinterest prevailed. Fletcher Hill's play was not well known at Trelevan, but at the very outset it was evident to the most casual observer that hewas a skilled player. He spoke scarcely at all, and his face was masklikein its composure, but Dot, watching, knew with that intuition which oflate had begun to grow upon her that he was grimly set upon obtainingthe victory. The knowledge thrilled her with a strange excitement. Sheknew that he was in a fashion desirous of proving himself in her eyes, that he had entered into the contest solely for her. 

As for Warden, she believed he was playing entirely to please himself. He took an artistic interest in every stroke, but the ultimate issue ofthe game did not seem to enter into his calculation. He played like asportsman, sometimes rashly, often brilliantly, but never selfishly. Itwas impossible to watch him with indifference. Even his failures weresensational. As Adela had said of him, he was amazing. 

Hill's play was absolutely steady. It lacked the vitality of the youngerman's, but it had about it a clockwork species of regularity that Dotfound curiously pleasing to watch. She had not thought that her interestcould be so deeply aroused; before the game was half through she was asdeeply absorbed as anyone present. 

It did not take her long to realize that public sympathy was entirely onWarden's side, and it was that fact more than any other that disposed herin Fletcher's favour. She saw that he had a hard fight before him, forWarden led almost from the beginning, though with all his brilliancy henever drew very far ahead. Fletcher kept a steady pace behind him, andshe knew he would not be easily beaten. 

Once he came and stood beside her after a very creditable break, and sheslipped a shy hand into his for a few seconds. His fingers closed upon itin that slow, inevitable way of his, but he neither spoke nor looked ather, and she had a feeling that his attention never for an instantwandered from the job in hand. She admired him for his concentration, yet would she have been less than woman had she not felt slighted by it. He might have given her one look!

Adela was full of enthusiasm for his opponent, and that also caused hera vague sense of irritation. She was beginning to feel as if the eveningwould never come to an end. 

The scoring was by no means slow, however, and the general interestincreased almost to fever pitch as the finish came in sight. Hill'ssteady progress in the wake of his opponent seemed at length todisconcert the latter. He began to play wildly, to attempt impossiblethings. His supporters remonstrated without result. He seemed to haveflung away his judgment. 

Hill's score mounted till it reached and passed his. They were withintwenty points of the end when Warden suddenly missed an easy stroke. Anoisy groan broke from the onlookers, at which he shrugged his shouldersand laughed. But Hill turned upon him with a stern reproof. 

"You're playing the fool, Warden, " he said. "Pull up!"

He spoke with curt command, and the man he addressed looked at him for asecond with raised brows, as if he would take offence. But in a moment helaughed again. 

"You haven't beaten me yet, sir, " he said. 

"No, " said Hill. "And I don't value--an easy victory. "

There followed a tense silence while he resumed his play. Steadily hisscore mounted, and it seemed to Dot that there was hostility in the veryatmosphere. She wondered what would happen if he scored the hundredbefore his opponent had another chance. She hoped he would not do so, and yet she did not want to see him beaten. 

He did not, but he left off with only three points to make. Then Wardenbegan to score. Stroke after stroke he executed with flawless accuracyand with scarcely a pause, moving to and fro about the table withoutlifting his eyes from the balls. His play was swift and unswerving, hisscore mounted rapidly. 

Dot watched him spellbound, not breathing. Hill stood near her, alsoclosely watching, with brows slightly drawn. Suddenly something impelledher to look beyond the man at the table, and in the shadow on the fartherside of the room she again saw Harley's face, grey, withered-looking, with sunken eyes that glared forth wolfishly. He was glancing ceaselesslyfrom Hill to Warden and from Warden to Hill, and the malice of his glanceshocked her inexpressibly. She had never before seen murderous hate sostamped upon any countenance. 

Instinctively she shrank from the sight, and in that moment Warden's eyeswere lifted for a second from the table. Magnetically hers flashed tomeet them. It was instantaneous, inevitable as the sudden flare oflightning across a dark sky. 

He stooped again to play, but in that moment something had gone out ofhim. The stroke he attempted was an easy one; but he missed ithopelessly. 

He straightened himself up with a sharp gesture and looked at Hill. "I amsorry, " he said. 

Hill said nothing whatever. Their scores were exactly even. Withmachine-like precision he took his turn, utterly ignoring the grumblingcriticisms of his adversary's play that were being freely expressedaround the room. With the utmost steadiness he made his stroke, scoringtwo points. Then there fell a tremendous silence. The choice of twostrokes now lay before him. One was to pocket his adversary's ball; theother a long shot which required considerable skill. He chose the secondwithout hesitation, hung a moment or two, made his stroke--and failed. 

A howl of delight went up from the watchers, their hot partisanship ofWarden amounting almost to open animosity against his opponent. In themidst of the noise Hill, perfectly calm, contemptuously indifferent, touched Warden again upon the shoulder, and spoke to him. 

Warden said nothing in reply, but he went to his ball with a hint ofsavagery, bent, and almost without aiming sent it at terrific speed upthe table. It struck first the red, then the white, pocketed the former, and whizzed therefrom into the opposite pocket. 

A yell of delight went up. It was a brilliant stroke of which any playermight have been proud. But Warden flung down his cue with a gesture ofdisgust. 

"Damnation!" he said, and turned to put on his coat. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE MEETING

The two girls left the billiard-room, shepherded by Fletcher, almostbefore the tumult had subsided. It seemed to Dot that he was anxiousabout something and desirous to get them away. But Adela was full ofexcited comments and refused to be hurried, stopping outside to questionHill upon a dozen points regarding the game while he stood stifflyresponding, waiting to say good-night. 

Dot leaned upon the stair-rail, waiting for her, and eventually Fletcherdrew Adela's attention to the fact. 

Adela laughed. "Oh, that's just her way, my dear Fletcher. Some womenwere born to wait. Dot does it better than anyone I know. "

It was at that moment that Warden came quietly up the passage from thebilliard-room, moving with the lightness of well-knit muscles, andchecked himself at sight of Fletcher. 

"I should like a word with you--when you have time, " he said. 

Adela swooped upon him with effusion. "Mr. Warden! Your play is simplyastounding. Allow me to congratulate you!"

"Please don't!" said Warden. "I played atrociously. "

She laughed at him archly. "That's just your modesty. You're plainly achampion. Now, when are you going to let Mr. Hill show us that wonderfulmine? We are dying to see it, aren't we, Dot?"

"The mine!" Warden turned sharply to Hill. "You're not going to takeanyone over that--surely! Not in person--anyhow! What, sir?" He lookedhard at Hill, who said nothing. "Then you must be mad!"

"He isn't obliged to go in person, " smiled Adela. "I am sure you are bigenough to take care of us single-handed. Dot and I are not in the leastnervous. Will you take us alone if we promise not to tease the animals?"

Warden's eyes flashed a sudden glance upwards to the girl who still stoodsilently leaning upon the rail. It was almost like an appeal. 

As if involuntarily she spoke. "What is the danger?"

Hill turned to her. "There is no danger, " he said, curtly. "If you wishto go, I will take you to-morrow. "

Warden made a brief gesture as of one who submits to the inevitable, andturned away. 

Fletcher held out his hand to Adela with finality. "Good-night, " he said. 

"Are you really going to take us to-morrow?" she said. 

"Yes, " said Fletcher. 

She beamed upon him. "What time shall we be ready?"

He did not refer to Dot. "At five o'clock, " he said. "I shall be busy atthe court all day. I will come and fetch you. "

He shook hands with Dot, and his face softened. "Good-night, " he said. "Go to bed quickly! You're very tired. "

She gave him a fleeting smile, and turned to go. She was tired to thesoul. 

Adela caught her by the arm as they ascended the stairs. "You littlequiet mouse, what's the matter? Aren't you enjoying the adventure?"

Dot's face was sombre. "I think I am too tired to enjoy anythingto-night, " she said. 

"Tired! And no work to do! Why, what has come to you?" Adela surveyed herwith laughing criticism. 

"Let's go to bed!" said Dot. "I'll tell you when we get there. "

Something in tone or words stirred Adela. She refrained from furtherbantering and gave her mind to speedy preparations for bed. 

Then, as at last they were about to separate, she put a warm arm aboutthe girl and held her close. "What is it? Aren't you happy?" she said. 

A great sob went through Dot. Her trouble was more than she could bear. She clung to Adela with unaccustomed closeness. 

"I've promised to marry Fletcher at the end of the week--instead of goingback with you to the farm. "

"I thought that was what he was after, " said Adela. "But--don't you wantto?"

"No, " whispered Dot, trembling. 

"Well, why don't you tell him so--tell him he's got to wait? Shall Itell him for you, you poor little thing?" Adela's voice was full ofcompassion. 

But Dot was instant in her refusal. "No, oh, no! Don't tell him! I--Icouldn't give him--any particular reason for waiting. I shall feelbetter--I'm sure I shall feel better--when it's over. "

"I expect you will, " said Adela. "But I don't like your being miserable. I say, Dot--" she clasped the quivering form closer, with a sudden rareflash of intuition--"there isn't--anyone else you like better, is there?"

But at that Dot started as if she had been stung, and drew herselfswiftly away. "Oh, no!" she said, vehemently. "No--no--no!"

"Then I shouldn't worry, " said Adela, sensibly. "It's nothing butnerves. "

She kissed her and went to her own room, where she speedily slept. ButDot lay wide-eyed, unresting, while the hours crawled by, seeing onlythe vivid blue eyes that had looked into hers, and thrilled her--andthrilled her with their magic. 

In the morning she arose early, urged by a fevered restlessness thatdrove her with relentless force. Dressing, she discovered the loss of alittle heart-shaped brooch, Jack's gift, which she always wore. 

Adela, still lying in bed, assured her that she had seen it in her dressthe previous evening while at dinner. "It probably came out in thatlittle conservatory place when Fletcher was embracing you, " she said. 

"Not very likely, I think, " said Dot, flushing. 

Nevertheless, since she valued it, she finished dressing in haste anddeparted to search for it. 

There was no one about with the exception of a man who was cleaning upthe billiard-room and assured her that her property was not there. Soshe passed on along the passage to the shabby little glass-house whithershe and Fletcher had retreated on the previous evening. 

She expected to find the place deserted, and was surprised by a whiff oftobacco-smoke as she entered. The next moment sharply she drew back; fora man's figure rose up from the seat under the billiard-room window onwhich she had rested the previous evening. His great frame seemed to fillthe place. Dot turned to flee. 

But on the instant he spoke, checking her. "Don't go for a moment! I knowwhat you're looking for. It's that little heart of yours. I've got ithere. "

She paused almost in spite of herself. His voice was pitched very low. Hespoke to her as if he were speaking to a frightened child. And he smiledat her with the words--a frank and kindly smile. 

"You--you found it!" she stammered. 

"Yes, I found it, Miss Burton. " He lingered over the name halfunconsciously, and a poignant stab of memory went through her. So had heuttered it on that day so long, so long ago! "I knew it was yours. I wastrying to bring myself to give it to Mr. Hill. "

"How did you know it was mine?" She almost whispered the words, yet shedrew nearer to him, drawn irresistibly--drawn as a needle to the magnet. 

He answered her also under his breath. "I--remembered. "

She felt as if a wave of fire had swept over her. She swayed a little, throbbing from head to foot. 

"I have rather a good memory, " he said, as she found no words. "You'renot--vexed with me on that account, I hope?"

An odd touch of wistfulness in his voice brought her eyes up to his face. She fought for speech and answered him. 

"Of course not! Why should I? It--is a very long time ago, isn't it?"

"Centuries, " said Warden, and smiled again upon her reassuringly. "But Inever forgot you and your little farm and the old dog. Have you still gothim?"

She nodded, her eyes lowered, a choked feeling as of tears in her throat. 

"He'd remember me, " said Warden, with confidence. "He was a friend. Doyou know that was one of the most hairbreadth escapes of my life? IfFletcher Hill had caught me, he wouldn't have shown much mercy--any morethan he would now, " he added, with a half-laugh. "He's a terrific man forjustice. "

"Surely you're safe--now!" Dot said, quickly. 

"If you don't give me away, " said Warden. 

"I!" She started, almost winced. "There's no danger of that, " she said, in a low voice. 

"Thank you, " he said. "I've gone fairly straight ever since. It hasn'tbeen a very paying game. I tried my luck in the West, but it was rightout. So I thought I'd come back here, and that was the turning-point. They took me on at the Fortescue Mine. It's a fiendish place, but Irather like it. I'm sub-manager there at present--till Harley goes. "

"Ah!" She looked up at him again. "He is a dangerous man. He hates you, doesn't he?"

"Quite possibly, " said Warden, with a smile. "That mine is rather anabode of hate all round. But we'll clean it out one of these days, andmake a decent place of it. "

"I hope you will succeed, " she said, very earnestly. 

"Thank you, " he said again. 

He was looking at her speculatively, as if there were something about herthat he found hard to understand. Her agitation had subsided, leaving herwith a piteous, forlorn look--the look of the wayfarer who is almost tootired to go any farther. 

There fell a brief silence between them, then with a little smile shespoke. 

"Are you going to give me back my brooch?"

He put his hand in his pocket. "I was nearly keeping it for good andall, " he said, as he brought it out. 

She took it from him and pinned it in her dress without words. Then, shyly, she proffered her hand. "Thank you. Good-bye!"

He drew a short hard breath as he took it into his own. For a second ortwo he stood so, absolutely motionless, his great hand grasping hers. Then, very suddenly, he stooped to her, looking into her eyes. 

"Good-bye, little new chum!" he said, softly. "It was--decent of you totreat me--without prejudice. "

The words pierced her. A great tremor went through her. For an instantthe pain was almost intolerable. 

"Oh, spare me that!" she said, quickly and passionately, and drew herhand away. 

The next moment she was running blindly through the passage, scarcelyknowing which way she went, intent only upon escape. 

A man at the foot of the stairs stood aside for her, and she fled pasthim without a glance. He turned and watched her with keen, alert eyestill she was out of sight. Then, without haste, he took his way in thedirection whence she had come. 

But he did not go beyond the threshold of the little dusty conservatory, for something he saw within made him draw swiftly back. 

When Fletcher Hill went to the court that day, he was grimmer, colder, more unapproachable even than was his wont. He had to deal with one ortwo minor cases from the gold mine, and the treatment he meted out wasof as severe an order as circumstances would permit. 

CHAPTER IX

THE MINE

The Fortescue Gold Mine was five miles away from Trelevan, in the heartof wild, barren country, through which the sound of its great crushingmachines whirred perpetually like the droning of an immense beehive. 

The place was strewn with scattered huts belonging to such of the workersas did not live at Trelevan, and a yellow stream ran foaming through thevalley, crossed here and there by primitive wooden bridges. 

The desolation of the whole scene, save for that running stream, producedthe effect of a world burnt out. The hills of shale might have been vastheaps of ashes. It was a waste place of terrible unfruitfulness. And yet, not very far below the surface, the precious metal lay buried in therock--the secret of the centuries which man at last had wrenched from itshiding-place. 

The story went that Fortescue, the owner of the mine, had made hisdiscovery by a mere accident in this place known as the Barren Valley, and had kept it to himself for years thereafter because he lacked themeans to exploit it. But later he had returned with the necessary capitalat his back, had staked his claim, and turned the place of desolationinto an abode of roaring activity. The men he employed were for the mostpart drawn from the dregs--sheep-stealers, cattle-thieves, smugglers, many of them ex-convicts--a fierce, unruly lot, hating all law and order, yet submitting for the sake of that same precious yellow dust that theyground from the foundation stones of the world. 

Personally, Fortescue was known but to the very few, but his methods wereknown to all. He paid them generously, but he ruled them with a rigiddiscipline that knew no relaxation. It was murmured that FletcherHill--the hated police-magistrate--was at his back, for he never failedto visit the mine when his duty took him in that direction, and there wassomething of military precision in its management which was stronglyreminiscent of his forbidding personality. It was Fletcher Hill who metedout punishment to the transgressors who were brought before him at thepolice-court at Trelevan, and his treatment was usually swift andunsparing. No prisoner ever expected mercy from him. 

He was hated at the mine with a fierce hatred, in which Fortescue hadbut a very minor share. It was recognized that Fortescue's methods wereof a decent order, though his lack of personal interest was resented, and also his friendship with Fletcher Hill, which some even declared tobe a partnership. The only point in his favour was the fact that BillWarden knew the man and never failed to stand up for him. For some reasonWarden possessed an enormous influence over the men. His elevationto the sub-managership had been highly popular, and his projectedpromotion to the post of manager, now filled by Harley, gave them immensesatisfaction. He had the instincts of a sportsman and knew how to handlethem, and a personality, that was certainly magnetic, did the rest. 

Harley had a certain following, but the general feeling towards himwas one of contempt. Most men recognized that he was nothing but aself-seeker, and there were few who trusted him. He did his best toachieve popularity, but his efforts were too obvious. Bill Warden'sbreezy indifference held an infinitely greater appeal in the eyesof the crowd. 

Harley's resignation was of his own choosing. He declared himself in needof a rest, and no one attempted to persuade him otherwise. His day wasover, and Warden's succession to the post seemed an inevitable sequence. As Hill sardonically remarked, there was no other competitor for thechieftainship of that band of cutthroats. 

For some reason he had postponed his departure till after Hill's officialvisit to Trelevan. He and Warden shared the largest house in the miners'colony in Barren Valley. It was close to the mine at the end of thevalley, and part of it was used as the manager's office. It overlookedthe yellow torrent and the black wall of mountain beyond--a savageprospect that might have been hewn from the crater of a dead volcano. 

A rough track led to it, winding some twenty feet above the stream, andup this track Fletcher Hill drove the two visitors on the evening of theday succeeding their arrival at Trelevan. 

There was a deadness of atmosphere between those rocky walls that struckchill even to Adela's inconsequent soul. "What a ghastly place!" shecommented. "I should think Ezekiel's valley of dry bones must have beensomething like this. "

Harley met them at the door of his office with a smile in his craftyeyes. "Warden is waiting for you in the mine, " he said to Fletcher. "Hislambs have been a bit restless this afternoon. He has set his heart on afull-dress parade, but I don't know if it will come off. "

Fletcher's black brows drew together. "What do you mean by that?" hedemanded. 

Harley shrugged his shoulders with a laugh. "You wait and see!"

The entrance to the mine yawned like an immense cavern in the rock. Theroaring screech of the machines issuing from it made an inferno of soundfrom which, involuntarily, Dot shrank. 

She looked at Hill appealingly as they drew near. He turned instantly toHarley. 

"Go ahead, will you, and tell them to stop work? We can't hear ourselvesspeak in this. "

"I'll come with you, Mr. Harley, " said Adela, promptly. "I want to seethe machines going. "

Harley paused for a moment. "You know your way, Mr. Hill?" he said. 

Hill nodded with a hint of impatience. "Yes, yes. I was here only theother day. "

"Very good, " said Harley. "But don't forget to turn to the right when youget down the steps. The other way is too steep for ladies. "

He was gone with the words and Adela with him, openly delighted to haveescaped from her solemn escort, and ready for any adventure that mightpresent itself. 

Dot looked after her for a moment, and then back at Hill. "She'll be allright, won't she?" she asked. 

"Of course she will!" said Hill. 

"Then shall we wait a minute till the noise stops?" she suggested. 

Hill paused, though not very willingly. "There is nothing to be nervousabout, " he said. 

She glanced at the cavernous opening with a little shudder. "I think itis a dreadful place, " she said. 

She saw him faintly smile. "I thought it didn't appeal much to you, " hesaid. 

She shivered. "Do you like it? But of course you do. You are interestedin it. Isn't that grinding noise terrible? It makes me want to run awayand hide. "

Hill drew her to a large flat rock on the edge of the path. "Sit down, "he said. 

She did so, and he took up his stand beside her, one foot lodged upon thestone. In the silence that followed she was aware of his eyes upon her, intently watching her face. She gripped her hands hard around her knees, enduring his scrutiny with a fast-throbbing heart. She expected somecurt, soul-searching question at the end of it. But none came. Instead, the noise that reverberated through the valley suddenly ceased, and therefell an intense stillness. 

That racked her beyond bearing. She looked up at him at last with adesperate courage and met his eyes. "What is it?" she questioned. "Whydo you--why do you look at me--like that?"

He made a brief gesture, as if refusing a challenge, and stood up. "Shallwe go?" he said. 

She got up also, but her knees were trembling, and in a moment his handcame out and closed with that official grip upon her elbow. He led herto the mine entrance guiding her over the rough ground in utter silence. 

They left the daylight behind them, passing almost immediately intosemi-darkness. Some rough steps hewn in the rock led down into a blackvoid before them. 

"Are there no lights anywhere?" said Dot. 

"Yes. There'll be a lamp round the corner. Straight on down!" saidFletcher. 

But for his presence she would hardly have dared it, so great was thehorror that this place had inspired within her. But to wait alone withhim in that terrible empty valley was even less endurable. She went downthe long, steep stair without further protest. 

They reached the foot at length, and a dim light shone ahead of them. Theatmosphere was vault-like and penetratingly damp. The passage dividedalmost immediately, and a narrow track led off between black walls ofstone to the right, where in the distance another lamp shone. 

Fletcher turned towards this, but very suddenly Dot clasped his arm. "Oh, don't let us go that way!" she begged. "Please don't let us go that way!"

Hill paused in response to her urgent insistence. "What's the matter withyou, Dot?" he said. 

She clung to him desperately, still holding him back. "I don't know--Idon't know! But don't go that way! I have a horrible feeling--Ah!" Thedeafening report of a revolver-shot rang out suddenly close to them. 

Hill turned with a sound in his throat like the growl of an angry animal, and in a moment he had thrust Dot back against the protecting corner ofthe wall. 

"You are not hurt?" she gasped. 

"No; I am not. " His words fell clipped and stern, though spoken scarcelyabove a whisper. "Don't speak! Get back up the steps--as quickly as youcan!"

The command was so definite, so peremptory, that she had no thought ofdisobeying. But as she moved there came to her the sound of running feet. Hill stayed her with a gesture. She saw something gleam in his hand as hedid so, and realized that he was not defenceless. 

Her heart seemed to spring into her throat. She stood tense. 

Nearer came the feet and nearer. The suspense of waiting was torture. Shethought it would never end. Then suddenly, just as she looked to see aman spring from the opening of that narrow passage, they stopped. 

A voice spoke. "All right! Don't shoot!" it said, and a greatthrob of amazement went through her. That voice--careless, debonair, half-laughing--awoke deep echoes in her heart. 

A moment later Warden came calmly round the corner, his great figurelooming gigantic in that confined space. 

He held out his hand. "I'm sorry you've had a fright. I fired that shot. It was a signal to the men to line up for inspection. "

He spoke with the utmost frankness, yet it came to Dot with an intuitionshe could not doubt that Hill did not believe him. He returned therevolver to his pocket, but he kept a hold upon it, and he made nomovement to take the hand Warden offered. 

"We came to inspect the mine, not the men, " he said, shortly. "Go backand tell them to clear out!"

Dot, mutely watching, saw Warden's brows go up. He had barely glanced ather. "Oh, all right, sir, " he said, easily. "They've hardly left off workyet. I'll let 'em know in good time. But first I've got something to showyou. Come this way!"

He turned towards the main passage, but in a second, sharp and short, Fletcher's voice arrested him. 

"Warden!"

He swung on his heel. "Well, sir?"

"You will do as I said--immediately!" The words might have been utteredby a machine, so precise, so cold, so metallic were they. 

Warden stood quite motionless, facing him, and it seemed to Dot thathis eyes had become two blue flames, giving out light. The pause thatfollowed was so instinct with conflict that she thought it must end insome terrible outburst of violence. 

Then, to her amazement, Warden smiled--his candid, pleasant smile. "Certainly, if you make a point of it, " he said. "Perhaps you will walkup with me. The strong-room is on our way, and while you are looking atthe latest specimens I will carry out your orders. "

He turned back with the words, and led the way towards the distant lampthat glimmered in the wall. 

Stiffly Hill turned to the girl beside him. "Would you rather go back andwait for me?" he said. 

"Oh, no!" she said, instantly. "No; I am coming too. "

He said no more, but grimly stalked in the wake of Warden. 

The latter moved quickly till he reached the place where the lamp waslodged in a niche in the wall. Here he stopped, stooped, and fitted a keyinto a narrow door that had been let into the stone. It opened outwards, and he drew aside, waiting for Hill. 

"I will go and dismiss the men, " he said. "May I leave you in charge tillI come back? They will not come this way. "

Hill paused on the threshold. The lamp cast a dim light into the place, which was close and gloomy as a prison. 

"There are two steps down, " said Warden. "One of them is badly broken, but it's worth your while to go in and have a look at our latest finds. You had better go first, sir. Be careful!"

He turned to depart with the words, still ignoring Dot. She was close toHill, and something impelled her to lay a restraining hand on hisshoulder as he took the first step down. 

What followed happened with such stunning swiftness that her memory ofit ever afterwards was a confused jumble of impressions, like the wildcourse of a nightmare. 

She heard Warden swing round again in his tracks, but before she couldturn he had caught her and flung her backwards over his arm. With hisother hand simultaneously he dealt Hill a blow in the back that sent himblundering down into the darkness, and then, with lightning rapidity, hebanged the door upon his captive. The lock sprang with the impact, but hewas not content with this. Still holding her, he dragged at a roughhandle above his head and by main strength forced down an iron shutterover the locked door. 

Then, breathing hard and speaking no word, he lifted her till she hungacross his shoulder, and started to run. She had not uttered a sound, sostunned with amazement was she, so bereft of even the power to think. Herposition was one of utter helplessness. He held her with one arm aseasily as if she had been a baby. And she knew that in his free hand hecarried his revolver. 

In her bewilderment she had not the faintest idea as to the direction hetook. She only knew that he ran like a hunted rat down many passages, turning now this way, now that, till at last he plunged down an unseenstairway and the sound of gurgling water reached her ears. 

He slackened his pace then, and at last stood still. He did not alter hishold upon her, however, but stood listening intently for many seconds. She hung impotent across his shoulder, feeling still too paralyzed tomove. 

He turned his head at last and spoke to her. "Have I terrified the sensesout of you, little new chum?" he whispered, softly. 

That awoke her from her passivity. She made her first effort for freedom. 

He drew her down into his arms and held her close. 

"Right down, " she said, insistently. 

But he held her still. "If I let you go, you'll wander maybe, and getlost, " he said. 

His action surprised her, but yet that instinctive trust with which hehad inspired her long ago remained, refusing to be shaken. 

"Put me right down!" she said again. "And tell me why you did it!"

He set her on her feet, but he still held her. "Can't you guess?" hesaid. 

"No!" she said. "No!"

She spoke a little wildly. Was it the first doubt that ran shadow--likeacross her brain, leaving her so strangely cold? She wished it had notbeen so dark, that she might see his face. "Tell me!" she said again. 

But he did not tell her. "Don't be afraid!" was all he said in answer. "You are--safe enough. "

"But--but--Fletcher?" she questioned, desperately. "What of him?"

"He's safe too--for the present. " There was something of grimness in hisreply. "He doesn't matter so much. He's been asking for trouble allalong--but he had no right--no right whatever--to bring you into it. It's you that matters. "

A curious, vibrant quality had crept into his voice, and an answeringtremor went through her; but she controlled it swiftly. 

"And Adela, " she said. "She was with Mr. Harley. What has become of her?"

"He will take care of her for his own sake. Leave her to him!" Wardenspoke with a hint of disdain. "She'll get nothing worse than a fright, "he said, "possibly not even that--if he gets her to the manager's housein time. "

"In time!" she echoed. "In time for what? What is going to happen? Whatdo you mean?"

His hold tightened upon her. "Well, " he said, "there's going to be a row. But I'm boss of this show, and I reckon I can deal with it. Only--I'llhave you safe first, little new chum. I'm not taking any chances whereyou are concerned. "

She gasped a little. The steady assurance of his voice stirred herstrangely. 

She tried to release herself from his hold. "I don't like this place, "she said. "Let me go back to Mr. Hill. "

"That's just what I can't do. " He bent suddenly down to her. "Won't youtrust me?" he said. "I didn't fail you last time, did I?"

She thrilled in answer to those words. It was as if thereby he had flungdown all barriers between them. She stood for a moment in indecision, then impulsively she turned and grasped his arms. 

"I trust you--absolutely, " she told him, tremulously. "But--but--thoughI know you don't like him--promise me--you won't let--Fletcher be hurt!"

He, too, was silent for a moment before responding. She fancied that heflinched a little at her words. Then: "All right, I promise, " he said. 

"Then I will go--wherever you like, " she said, bravely, and put her handinto his. 

He took it into a strong grasp. "That's like you, " he said, withsimplicity. 

CHAPTER X

THE GREATER LOVE

Through a labyrinth of many passages he led her, over ground that wasoften rough and slimy with that sound of running water in their ears, sometimes near, sometimes distant, but never wholly absent. Now and thena gleam of light would come from some distant crevice, and Dot wouldcatch a glimpse of the rocky corridor through which they moved--catch aglimpse also of her companion walking with his free stride beside her, though occasionally he had to stoop when the roof was low. He did notlook at her, seldom spoke to her, but the grasp of his hand held her upand kept all fear at bay. Somehow fear in this man's presence seemedimpossible. 

A long time passed, and she was sure that they had traversed aconsiderable distance before, very far ahead of them at the endof a steep upward slope, she discerned a patch of sky. 

"Is that where we are going?" she asked. 

"Yes, " he said. 

She gazed before her, puzzled. "But where are we? Are we still in themine?"

"No. This is the smugglers' warren. " She caught a hint of humour in hisvoice. "The stream flows underground all through here--and very useful wehave found it. "

She gave a great start at his words. "You--you are not a smuggler!" shesaid. 

He drew her on. "I am a good many things, " he said, easily, "and the kingof this rat-run amongst them. There's no one knows it as well as I do. "

Her heart sank. "You said--you said yesterday--you had lived straight!"she said, in a low voice. 

"Did I? But what does it matter to you how I live?" With a touch ofrecklessness he put the question. "If Fletcher Hill managed to put theofficial seal on me, what would it matter to you--now?"

There was almost a note of anger in his voice, yet his hand still heldhers in the same close, reassuring grasp. She could not be afraid. 

"It would matter, " she said at last. 

"I wonder why?" said Bill Warden. 

"Because--we are friends, " she said. 

He made a sharp sound as of dissent, but he did not openly contradicther. They were nearing the opening, and the ground was rough and broken. She stumbled once or twice, and each time he held her up. Finally theycame to a flight of steps that were little more than notches cut steeplyin the rock. 

"I shall have to carry you here, " he said. 

Dot looked upwards with sharp dismay. The rocky wall rose twenty feetabove her, the rough-hewn steps slanting along its face. For the firsttime her heart misgave her. 

"What a dreadful place!" she said. 

"It's the only way out, " said Warden, "unless we tramp underground nearlyhalf-way to Wallacetown!"

"Can't we go back?" she said, nervously. 

"What! Afraid?" He gave her hand a sudden squeeze. 

She looked at him and caught the blue fire of his eyes as he bent towardsher. Something moved her, she knew not what. She surrendered herself tohim without a word. 

Once more she hung upon his shoulder, clinging desperately, while he madethat perilous ascent. He went up with amazing agility, as if he wereentirely unencumbered. She felt the strength of his great frame beneathher, and marvelled. Again the magnetic force of the man possessed her, stilling all fear. She shut her eyes dizzily, but she was not afraid. 

When she looked up again they were in the open. He had set her on herfeet, and she stood on the rugged side of a mountain where no vestige ofa path or any habitation showed in any direction. For the first time hehad relinquished all hold upon her, and stood apart, almost as if hewould turn and leave her. 

The brief twilight was upon them. It was as if dark wings were foldingthem round. A small chill wind was wandering to and fro. She shiveredinvoluntarily. It sounded like the whispering of an evil spirit. The fearshe had kept at bay for so long laid clammy hands upon her. 

Instinctively she turned to the man for protection. "How shall we getaway?" she said. 

He moved sharply, so sharply that for a single moment she thought thatsomething had angered him. And then--all in one single blindinginstant--she realized that which no words could utter. For he caught herswiftly to him, lifting her off her feet, and very suddenly he coveredher face and neck and throat with hot, devouring kisses--kisses thatelectrified her--kisses that seemed to scorch and blister--yet to fillher with a pulsing rapture that was almost too great to endure. 

She tried to hide her face from him, but she could not; to protest, buthis lips stopped the words upon her own. She was powerless--and verydeep down within her there leaped a wild thing that rejoiced--thatexulted--in her powerlessness. 

The fierce storm spent itself. There came a pause during which shelay palpitating against his breast while his cheek pressed hers in astillness that was in a fashion more compelling than even those burningkisses had been. 

He spoke to her at last, and his voice was deep and tender, throbbingwith that which was beyond utterance. 

"You love me, little new chum, " he said. 

There was no question in his words. She quivered, and made no answer. That headlong outburst of passion had overwhelmed her utterly. She wasas drift upon the tide. 

He drew a great heaving breath, and clasped her closer. His words fellhot upon her face. "You are mine! Why shouldn't I keep you? Fate hasgiven you to me. I'd be a fool to let you go again. "

But something--some inner impulse that had been stunned to impotence byhis violence--stirred within her at his words and awoke. Yet it wasscarcely of her own volition that she answered him. "I am--not--yours. "

Very faintly the words came from her trembling lips, but the utterance ofthem gave her new strength. She moved at last in his hold. She turned herface away from him. 

"What do you mean?" He spoke in a fierce whisper, but--she felt itinstinctively--there was less of assurance in his hold. It was that thatadded to her strength, but she offered no active resistance, realizingwherein lay his weakness--and her own. 

"I mean, " she said, and though it still trembled beyond her control, hervoice gathered confidence with the words, "that by taking me--by keepingme--you are taking--keeping--what is not your own. "

"Love gives me the right, " he asserted, swiftly--"your love--and mine. "

But the clearer vision had come to her. She shook her head against hisshoulder. "No--no! That is wrong. That is not--the greater love. "

"What do you mean by--the greater love?" He was holding her stillclosely, but no longer with that fierce possession. 

She answered him with a steadiness that surprised herself: "I mean theonly love that is worth having--the love that lasts. "

He caught up the words passionately. "And hasn't my love lasted? Have Iever thought of any other woman since the day I met you? Haven't I beenfighting against odds ever since to be able to come to you an honestman--and worthy of your love?"

"Oh, I know--I know!" she said, and there was a sound of heartbreak inher voice. "But--the odds have been too heavy. I thought you hadforgotten--long ago. "

"Forgotten!" he said. 

"Yes. " With a sob she answered him. "Men do forget--nearly all of them. Fletcher Hill didn't. He kept on waiting, and--and--they said it wasn'tfair--to spoil a man's life for a dream--that could never come true. So--I gave in at last. I am--promised to him. "

"Against your will?" His arms tightened upon her again. "Tell me, littlenew chum! Was it against your will?"

"No! Oh, no!" She whispered the words through tears. "I gavein--willingly. I thought it was better than--an empty life. "

"Ah!" The word fell like a groan. "And that's what you're going tocondemn me to, is it?"

She turned in his arms, summoning her strength. "We've got to play thegame, " she said. "I've got to keep my word--whatever it costs. Andyou--you are going to keep yours. "

"My word?" he questioned, swiftly. 

"Yes. " She lifted her head. "If--if you really care about beinghonest--if your love is worth--anything at all--that is the only way. You promised--you promised--to save him. "

"Save him for you?" he said. 

"Yes--save him for me. " She did not know how she uttered the words, butsomehow they were spoken. 

They went into a silence that wrung her soul, and it cost her every atomof her strength not to recall them. 

Bill Warden stood quite motionless for many pulsing seconds, then--very, very slowly--at length his hold began to slacken. 

In the end he set her on her feet--and she was free. "All right, littlenew chum!" he said, and she heard a new note in his voice--a note thatwaked in her a wild impulse to spring back into his arms and cling tohim--and cling to him. "I'll do it--for you--if it kills me--just to showyou--little girl--just to show you--what my love for you is reallyworth. "

He stood a moment, facing her; then his hands clenched and he turnedaway. 

"Let's go down the hill!" he said. "I'll see you in safety first. "

CHAPTER XI

WITHOUT CONDITIONS

In the midst of a darkness that could be felt Fletcher Hill stood, grimly motionless, waiting. He knew that strong-room, had likened itto a condemned cell every time he had entered it, and with bitter humourhe told himself that he had put his own neck into the noose with avengeance this time. 

Not often--if ever--before had he made the fatal mistake of trusting onewho was untrustworthy. He would not have dreamed of trusting Harley, forinstance. But for some reason he had chosen to repose his confidence inWarden, and now it seemed that he was to pay the price of his rashness. It was that fact that galled him far more than the danger with which hewas confronted. That he, Fletcher Hill--the Bloodhound--ever wary andkeen of scent, should have failed to detect a _ruse_ so transparent--thisinflicted a wound that his pride found it hard to sustain. Through hislack of caution he had forfeited his own freedom, if not his life, andexposed Dot to a risk from the thought of which even his iron nerveshrank. He told himself repeatedly, with almost fierce emphasis, that Dotwould be safe, that Warden could not be such a hound as to fail her; butdeep within him there lurked a doubt which he would have given all he hadto be able to silence. The fact remained that through his negligence shehad been left unprotected in an hour of great danger. 

Within the narrow walls of his prison there was no sound save theoccasional drip of water that oozed through the damp rock. He might havebeen penned in a vault, and the darkness that pressed upon him seemed tocrush the senses, making difficult coherent thought. There was nothingto be done but to wait, and that waiting was the worst ordeal thatFletcher Hill had ever been called upon to face. 

A long time passed--how long he had no means of gauging. He stood likea sentinel, weapon in hand, staring into the awful darkness, strugglingagainst its oppression, fighting to keep his brain alert and ready forany emergency. He thought he was prepared for anything, but that timeof waiting tried his endurance to the utmost, and when at length a soundother than that irregular drip of water came through the deathlystillness he started with a violence that sent a smile of self-contemptto his lips. 

It was a wholly unexpected sound--just the ordinary tones of a man'svoice speaking to him through the darkness where he had believed thatthere was nothing but a blank wall. 

"Mr. Hill, where are you?" it said. "I have come to get you out. "

Hill's hand tightened upon his revolver. He was not to be taken unawaresa second time. He stood in absolute silence, waiting. 

There was a brief pause, then again came the voice. "There's not muchpoint in shooting me. You'll probably starve if you do. So watch out!I'm going to show a light. "

Hill still stood without stirring a muscle. His back was to the door. Hefaced the direction of the voice. 

Suddenly, like the glare from an explosion, a light flashed in his eyes, blinding him after the utter dark. He flinched from it in spite ofhimself, but the next moment he was his own master again, erect andstern, contemptuously unafraid. 

"Don't shoot!" said Bill Warden, with a gleam of his teeth, "or maybeyou'll shoot a friend!"

He was standing empty-handed save for the torch he carried, his greatfigure upright against the wall, facing Hill with speculation in hiseyes. 

Hill lowered his revolver. "I doubt it, " he said, grimly. 

"Ah! You don't know me yet, do you?" said Warden, a faintly jeering notein his voice. 

"Yes, " said Hill, deliberately. "I think I know you--pretty well--now. "

"I wonder, " said Warden. 

He moved slowly forward, throwing the light before him as he did so. Theplace had been blasted out of the rock, and here and there the stoneshone smooth as marble where the charge had gone. Rough shelves had beenhewn in the walls, leaving divisions between, and on some of these werestored bags of the precious metal that had been ground out of the ore. There was no sign anywhere of any entrance save the iron-bound doorbehind Hill. 

Straight in front of him Warden stopped. They stood face to face. 

"Well?" Warden said. "What do you know of me?"

Hill's eyes were as steel. He stood stiff as a soldier on parade. Heanswered curtly, without a hint of emotion. "I know enough to get youarrested when this--farce--is over. "

"Oh, you call this a farce, do you?" Bill Warden's words came slowly fromlips that strangely smiled. "And when does--the fun begin?"

Hill's harsh face was thrown into strong relief by the flare of thetorch. It was as flint confronting the other man. "Do you really imaginethat I regard this sort of Forty Thieves business seriously?" he said. 

"I imagine it is pretty serious so far as you are concerned, " saidWarden. "You're in about the tightest hole you've ever been in in yourlife. And it's up to me to get you out--or to leave you. Do youunderstand that?"

"Oh, quite, " said Fletcher Hill, sardonically. "But--let me tell youat the outset--you won't find me specially easy to bargain with on thatcount--Mr. Buckskin Bill. "

Bill Warden threw up his head with a gesture of open defiance. "I'm notdoing any--bargaining, " he said. "And as to arresting me--afterwards--youcan do as you please. But now--just now--you are in my power, and you'regoing to play my game. Got that?"

"I can see myself doing it, " said Fletcher Hill. 

"Yes, you will do it. " A sudden deep note of savagery sounded in Warden'svoice. "Not to save your own skin, Mr. Fletcher Hill, but for the sakeof--something more valuable than that--something more precious even thanyour cussed pride. You'll do it for the sake of the girl you're going tomarry. And you'll do it--now. "

"Shall I?" said Fletcher Hill. 

Bill Warden's hand suddenly came forth and gripped him by the shoulder. "Damn you!" he said. "Do you think I want to save your life?"

The words were low, spoken with a concentrated passion more terrible thanopen violence. He looked closely into Hill's eyes, and his own wereflaming like the eyes of a baited animal. 

Hill looked straight back at him without the stirring of an eyelid. "Takeyour hand off me!" he said. 

It was the word of the superior officer. Warden's hand fell as it weremechanically. There followed a tense silence. 

Warden made a sharp movement. "I did it to save your life, " he said. "You'd have died like a dog within ten seconds if I hadn't turned youback. "

A curious expression crossed Hill's strong countenance. It was almost asmile of understanding. "I am--indebted to you--boss, " he said, and withthe words very calmly he took his revolver by the muzzle and held it out. "I surrender to you--without conditions. "

Bill Warden gave a sharp start of surprise. For an instant he hesitated, then in silence he took the weapon and dropped it into his pocket. Amoment longer he looked Fletcher Hill straight in the eyes, then swungupon his heel. 

"We'll get out of this infernal hole straight away, " he said, and, stooping, gripped his fingers upon a ridge of stone that ran close to thefloor. The stone swung inward under his grasp, leaving a dark aperturegaping at his feet. Bill glanced backwards at his prisoner. 

The smile still hovered in the latter's eye. "After you, Mr. BuckskinBill!" he said, ceremoniously. 

And in silence Bill led the way. 

CHAPTER XII

THE BOSS OF BARREN VALLEY

"Oh, my dear!" gasped Adela. "I've had the most terrifying adventure. I thought I should never see you again. The men are all on strike, andthey've sworn to kill Fletcher Hill, only no one knows where he is. Whatbecame of him? Has he got away?"

"I don't know, " Dot said. 

She sank into the nearest chair in the ill-lighted manager's office, andleaned her white face in her hand. 

"Perhaps he has been murdered already, " said Adela. "Mr. Harley isvery anxious about him. He can't hold them. And--Dot--just think ofit!--Warden--the man we saw yesterday, the sub-manager--is at their head. I saw him myself. He had a revolver in his hand. You were with FletcherHill. You must know what became of him!"

"No, I don't know, " said Dot. "We--parted--a long time ago. "

"How odd you are!" said Adela. "Why, what is the matter? Are you going tofaint?" She went to the girl and bent over her, frightened by her look. "What is the matter, Dot? What has happened to you? You haven't beenhurt?"

"I am--all right, " Dot said, with an effort. "Did Mr. Harley bring youhere?"

"Yes. And you? How did you get here?"

"He--brought me most of the way--Mr. Warden, " Dot said. "He has gone nowto save--Fletcher Hill. "

"To shoot him, more likely, " said Adela. "He has posted sentinels allround the mine to catch him. I wonder if we are safe here! Mr. Harleysaid it was a safe place. But I wonder. Shall we make a bolt for it, Dot?Shall we? Shall we?"

"I shall stay here, " Dot answered. 

Adela was not even listening. "We are only two defenceless women, andthere isn't a man to look after us. What shall we do if--Ah! Heavens!What is that?"

A fearful sound had cut short her speculations--a fiendish yelling as ofa pack of wolves leaping upon their prey. Dot sat up swiftly. Adelacowered in a corner. 

The terrible noise continued, appalling in its violence. It swept likea wave towards the building, drowning the roar of the stream below. Thegirl at the table rose and went to the closed door. She gripped arevolver in her right hand. With her left she reached for the latch. 

"Don't open it!" gasped Adela. 

But Dot paid no heed. She lifted the latch and flung wide the door. Herslim figure stood outlined against the lamp-light behind her. Before herin a white glare of moonlight lay the vault-like entrance of the mine atthe head of Barren Valley, and surging along the black, scarred side ofthe hill there came a yelling crowd of miners. They were making straightfor the open door, but at the sight of the girl standing there theychecked momentarily and the shouting died down. 

She faced the foremost of them without a tremor. "What is it?" shedemanded, in a clear, ringing voice. "What are you wanting?"

A man with the shaggy face of a baboon answered her. "You've got thatblasted policeman in there. You stick up that gun of yours and let uspass! We've got guns of our own, so that won't help. "

She confronted him with scorn. "Do you imagine I'm afraid of you and yourguns? There's no one here except another woman. Are you out to fightwomen to-night?"

"That's a lie!" he made prompt response. "You've got Fletcher Hill inthere, or I'm a nigger. You let us pass!"

But still she blocked the way, her revolver pointing straight at him. "Fletcher Hill is not here. And you won't come in unless Mr. Warden saysso. He is not here either at present. But he is coming. And I will shootany man who tries to force his way in first. "

"Damnation!" growled the shaggy-faced one and wheeled upon his comrades. "What do you say to that, boys? Going to let a woman run this show?"

A chorus of curses answered him, but still no one raised a revolveragainst the slender figure that opposed them. Only, after a moment, a curin the background picked up a stone and flung it. It struck the doorpost, narrowly missing her shoulder. Dot did not flinch, but immediately, withtightened lips, she raised the revolver and fired over their heads. 

A furious outburst followed the explosion, and in an instant a dozenrevolvers were levelled at her. But in that same instant there came asound like the roar of a lion from behind the building, and with itWarden's great figure leapt out into the moonlight. 

"You damned ruffians!" he yelled. "You devils! What are you doing?"

His anger was in a fashion superb. It dwarfed the anger of the crowd. They gave way before him like a herd of beasts. He sprang in front ofthe girl, raging like a man possessed. 

"You gang of murderers! You hounds! You dirty swine! Get back, do youhear? I'm the boss of this show, and what I say goes, or, if it doesn't, I'll know the reason why. Benson--you dog! What's the meaning of this? Doyou think I'll have under me any coward that will badger a woman?"

The man he addressed looked at him with a cowed expression on his hairyface. "I never wanted to interfere with her, " he growled. "But she'sprotecting that damned policeman. It's her own fault for getting in ourway. "

"You're wrong then!" flashed back Warden. "Fletcher Hill is under myprotection, not hers. He has surrendered to me as my prisoner. "

"You've, got him?" shouted a score of voices. 

"Yes, I've got him. " Rapidly Warden made answer. "But I'm not going tohand him over to you to be murdered out of hand. If I'm boss of BarrenValley, I'll be boss. So if any of you are dissatisfied you'll have toreckon with me first. Fletcher Hill is my prisoner, and I'll see to itthat he has a fair trial. Got that?"

A low murmur went round. The magnetism of the man was making itself felt. He had that electric force which sways the multitude against all reason. Single-handed, he gripped them with colossal assurance. They shrank fromthe flame of his wrath like beaten dogs. 

"And before we deal with him, " he went on, "there's someone else to bereckoned with. And that's Harley. Does anyone know where Harley is?"

"What do you want with Harley?" asked Benson, glad of this diversion. 

"Oh, just to tell him what I think of him, and then--to kick him out!"With curt contempt Warden threw his answer. "He's a traitor and askunk--smuggles spirits one minute and goes to the police to sell hischums the next; then back to his chums again to sell the police. I know. I've been watching him for some time, the cur. He'd shoot me if hedared. "

"He'd better!" yelled a huge miner in the middle of the crowd. 

Warden laughed. "That you, Nixon? Come over here! I've got something totell you--and the other boys. It's the story of this blasted mine. " Heturned suddenly to the girl who still stood behind him in the lighteddoorway. "Miss Burton, I'd like you to hear it too. Shut the door andstand by me!"

Her shining eyes were on his face. She obeyed him mutely, with asubmission as unquestioning as that of the rough crowd in front of them. 

Very gently he took the revolver from her, drew one out of his own pocketalso, and handed both to the big man called Nixon who had come to hisside. 

"You look after these!" he said. 

"One is my property. The other belongs to Fletcher Hill--who is myprisoner. Now, boys, you're armed. I'm not. You won't shoot the lady, Iknow. And for myself I'll take my chance. "

"Guess you won't be any the worse for that, " grinned Nixon, at his elbow. 

Warden's smile gleamed for an instant in answer, but he passed swiftlyon. "Did you ever hear of a cattle-thief called Buckskin Bill? Heflourished in these parts some five years ago. There was no mine inBarren Valley then. It was just--a smugglers' stronghold. "

Some of the men in front of him stirred uneasily. "What's this to do withFletcher Hill?" asked one. 

"I'll tell you, " said Warden. "Buckskin Bill, the cattle-thief, was in atight corner, and he took refuge in Barren Valley. He found thesmugglers' _cache_--and he found something else that the smugglers didn'tknow of. He found--gold. It's a queer thing, boys, but he'd decided--forprivate reasons--to give up the cattle-lifting just two days before. Thepolice were hot after him, but they didn't catch him and the smugglersdidn't catch him either. He dodged 'em all, and when he left he said tohimself, 'I'll be the boss of Barren Valley when I come back. ' After thathe went West and starved a bit in the Australian desert till the cattleepisode had had time to blow over. Then--it's nearly two years agonow--he came back. The first person he ran into was--Fletcher Hill, the policeman. "

He paused with that dramatic instinct which was surely part-secret of hisfascination. He had caught the full attention of the crowd, and held themspellbound. 

In a moment he went on. "That gave him an idea. Hill, of course, wasafter other game by that time and didn't spot him. Hill was a magistrateand a civil power at Wallacetown. So Bill went to him, knowing he wasstraight, anyway, and told him about the gold in Barren Valley, explaining, bold as brass, that he couldn't run the show himself for lackof money. Boys, it was a rank speculation, but Hill was a sport. Hecaught on. He came to Barren Valley, and they tinkered round together, and they found gold. That same night they came upon the smugglers, too--only escaped running into them by a miracle. Hill didn't say much. He's not a talker. But after they got back to Wallacetown he made anoffer to Buckskin Bill which struck him as being a very sportingproposition for a policeman. He said, 'If you care to take on BarrenValley and make an honest concern of it, I'll get the grant and do thebacking. The labour is there, ' he said, 'but it's got to be honest labouror I won't touch it. ' It was a sporting offer, boys, and, of course, Billjumped. And so a contract was drawn up which had to be signed. And'What's your name?' said Fletcher Hill. " Warden suddenly began to laugh. "On my oath, he didn't know what to say, so he just caught at the firsthonest-sounding name he could think of. 'Fortescue, ' he said. Hill didn'task a single question. 'Then that mine shall be called the Fortescue GoldMine, ' he said. 'And you'll work it and make an honest man's job of it. 'It was a pretty big undertaking, but it sort of appealed to BuckskinBill, and he took it on. The only real bad mistake he made was when hetrusted Harley. Except for that, the thing worked--and worked well. The smuggling trade isn't what it was, eh, boys? That's becauseFortescue--and Fletcher Hill--are using up the labour for the mine. Andyou may hate 'em like hell, but you can't get away from the fact thatthis mine is run fair and decent, and there isn't a man here who doesn'tstand a good chance of making his fortune if he plays a straight game. It's been a chance to make good for every one of us, and it's thanks toFletcher Hill--because he hasn't asked questions--because he's just takenus on trust--and I'm hanged if he doesn't deserve something better than abullet through his brain, even if he is a magistrate and a policeman anda man of honour. Have you got that, boys? Then chew it over and swallowit! And when you've done that, I'll tell you something more. "

"Oh, let's have it all, boss, now you're at it!" broke in Nixon. "Weshan't have hysterics now. We're past that stage. "

Warden turned with a lightning movement and laid his hand upon the girlbeside him. "Gentlemen, " he said, "it's Fletcher Hill--and not BuckskinBill--who's the boss of this valley. And he's a good boss--he's asportsman--he's a maker of men. And this lady is going to be his wife. You're going to stand by her, boys. You aren't going to make a widow ofher before she's married. You aren't going to let a skunk like Harleymake skunks of you all. You're sportsmen, too--better sportsmen than thatstands for--better sportsmen, maybe, than I am myself. What, boys? It'syour turn to speak now. "

"Wait a bit!" said Nixon. "You haven't quite finished yet, boss. "

"No, that's true. " Warden paused an instant, then abruptly went forward apace and stood alone before the crowd. "I've taken a good many chances inmy life, " he said. "But now I'm taking the biggest of 'em all. Boys, I'ma damned impostor. I've tricked you all, and it's up to you to stick meagainst a wall and shoot me as I deserve, if you feel that way. For I'mBuckskin Bill--I'm Fortescue--and I'm several kinds of a fool to think Icould ever carry it through. Now you know!"

With defiant recklessness he flung the words. They were more of achallenge than a confession. And having spoken them he moved straightforward with the moonlight on his face till he stood practically amongthe rough crowd. 

They opened out to receive him, almost as if at a word of command. AndBuckskin Bill, with his head high and his blue eyes flaming, wentstraight into them with the gait of a conqueror. 

Suddenly, with a passionate gesture, he stopped, flinging up his emptyright hand. "Well, boys, well? What's the verdict? I'm in your hands. "

And a great hoarse roar of enthusiasm went up as they closed around himthat was like the bursting asunder of mighty flood-gates. They surgedabout him. They lifted him on their shoulders. They yelled like maniacsand fired their revolvers in the air. It was the wildest outbreak thatBarren Valley had ever heard, and to the girl who watched it, it was themost marvellous revelation of a man's magnetism that she had ever beheld. Alone he had faced and conquered a multitude. 

It pierced her strangely, that fierce enthusiasm, stirring her aspersonal danger had failed to stir. She turned with the tears runningdown her face and found Fletcher Hill standing unnoticed behind her, silently looking on. 

"Oh, isn't he great? Isn't he great?" she said. 

He took her arm and led her within. His touch was kind, but whollywithout warmth. "There's not much doubt as to who is the boss of BarrenValley, " he said. 

And with the words he smiled--a smile that was sadder than her tears. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE OFFICIAL SEAL

That life could possibly return to a normal course after that amazingnight would have seemed to Dot preposterous but for the extremelypractical attitude adopted by Fletcher Hill. But when she saw him againon the day after their safe return to Trelevan there was nothing in hisdemeanour to remind her of the stress through which they had passed. Hewas, as ever, perfectly calm and self-contained, and whollyuncommunicative. Adela sought in vain to satisfy her curiosity as to thehappenings in Barren Valley which her courage had not permitted her towitness for herself. Fletcher Hill was as a closed book, and on somepoints Dot was equally reticent. By no persuasion could Adela induce herto speak of Bill Warden. She turned the subject whenever it approachedhim, professing an ignorance which Adela found excessively provoking. 

They saw nothing of him during the remainder of the week, and verylittle of Fletcher Hill, who went to and fro upon his business with amachine-like precision that seemed to pervade his every action. He madeno attempt to be alone with Dot, and she, with a shyness almostoverwhelming, thankfully accepted his forbearance. The day they had fixedupon for their marriage was rapidly approaching, but she had almostceased to contemplate it, for somehow it seemed to her that it couldnever dawn. Something must happen first! Surely something was about tohappen! And from day to day she lived for the sight of Bill Warden'sgreat figure and the sound of his steady voice. Anything, she felt, wouldbe bearable if only she could see him once again. But she looked for himin vain. 

When her brother joined them at the end of the week a dullness of despairhad come upon her. Again she saw herself trapped and helpless, lackingeven the spirit to attempt escape. She greeted Jack almost abstractedly, and he observed her throughout the evening with anxiety in his eyes. Whenit was over he drew her aside for a moment as she was bidding himgood-night. 

"What's the matter, little 'un? What's wrong?" he whispered, with his armabout her. 

She clung to him for an instant with a closeness that was passionate. But, "It's nothing, Jack, " she whispered back. "It's nothing. "

Then Fletcher Hill came up to them, and they separated. Adela and Dotwent up to bed, and the two men were left alone. 

 * * * * *

So at length the great day dawned, and nothing had happened. The onlynews that had reached them was a remark overheard by Adela in thedining-room, to the effect that Harley had thrown up his post and gone. 

Dot dressed for her wedding with a dazed sense of unreality. Her attirewas of the simplest. She wore a hat instead of a veil. It was to be aquiet ceremony in the early morning, for neither she nor Hill desired anyunnecessary parade. When she descended the stairs with Adela, Jack wasthe only person awaiting her in the hall. 

He looked at her searchingly as she came down to him, then without a wordhe took her in his arms and kissed her white face. She saw that he wasmoved, and wondered within herself at her own utter lack of emotion. Eversince she had lain against Bill Warden's breast, the wild sweet raptureof his hold had seemed to paralyze in her all other feeling. She knewonly the longing for his presence, the utter emptiness of a world thatheld him not. 

She drove to the church with her hand in Jack's, Adela talkingincessantly the whole way while they two sat in silence. It was a barebuilding in the heart of the town, but its bareness did not convey anychill to her. She was already too numbly cold for that. 

She went up the aisle between Jack and Adela, because the lattergood-naturedly remarked that she might as well have as much support asshe could get. But before they reached the altar-steps Fletcher Hill cameto meet them, and Adela dropped behind. 

He also looked for a moment closely into Dot's face, then very quietly hetook her cold hand from Jack and drew it through his arm. She glanced athim with a momentary nervousness as Jack also fell behind. 

Then some unknown force drew her as the magnet draws the needle, and shelooked towards the altar. A man was standing by the steps awaiting her. She saw the free carriage of the great shoulders, the deep fire of theblue eyes. And suddenly her heart gave a wild throb that was anguish, andstood still. 

Fletcher Hill's arm went round her. He held her for a second closely tohim--more closely than he had ever held her before. But--it came to herlater--he did not utter a single word. He only drew her on. 

And so she came to Bill Warden waiting before the altar. They met--andall the rest was blotted out. 

She went through that service in a breathless wonderment, an amazementthat yet was strangely free from distress. For Bill Warden's hand claspedhers throughout, save when Fletcher Hill took it from him for a moment togive her away. 

When it was over, and they knelt together in the streaming sunshine ofthe morning, she felt as if they two were alone in an inner sanctuarythat was filled with the Love of God. Later, those sacred moments werethe holiest memory of her life.... 

Then a strong arm lifted and held her. She turned from the holy placewith a faint sigh of regret, turned to meet Fletcher Hill's eyes lookingat her with that in them which she was never to forget. 

His voice was the first to break through the wonder-spell that bound her. 

"Do you think you will ever manage to forgive me?" he said. 

She turned swiftly from the arm that encircled her, and impulsivelyshe put her hands upon his shoulders, offering him her lips. "Oh, Idon't--know--what--to say, " she said, brokenly. 

He bent and gravely kissed her. "My dear, there is nothing to be said sofar as I am concerned, " he said. "If you are happy, I am satisfied. "

It was briefly spoken, but it went straight to her heart. She clung tohim for a moment without words, and that was all the thanks she everoffered him. For there was nothing to be said. 

 * * * * *

Very late on the evening of that wonderful day she sat with Bill Wardenon the edge of a rock overlooking a fertile valley of many waters in theBlue Mountains, and heard, with her hand in his the amazing story of thepast few days, which had seemed to her so curiously dream-like. 

"I fought hard against marrying you, " Bill told her, with the smile shehad remembered for so long. "But he had me at every turn--simply rolledme out and wiped the ground with me. Said he'd clap me into prison if Ididn't, and when I said 'All right' to that, he turned on me like a tigerand asked if I wanted to break your heart. Oh, he made me feel aten-times swab, I can tell you. And when I said I didn't want you tomarry an uncaught criminal, he just looked me over and said, 'You've sownyour wild oats. As your partner, I am sponsor for your respectability. ' Iknew what that meant, knew he'd stand by me through thick and thin, whatever turned up. It was the official seal with a vengeance, for whatFletcher Hill says goes in these parts. But it went against the grain, little new chum. It made me sick with myself. I hated playing his gameagainst himself. It was the vilest thing I ever did. I couldn't have doneit--except for you. "

The little hand that held his tightened. She leaned her cheek against hisshoulder. "Shall I tell you something?" she whispered. "I couldn't havedone it either--except for--you. "

His arm clasped her. "I'm such a poor sort of creature, darling, " he said"I'll work for you--live for you--die for you. But I shall never beworthy of you. "

She lifted her face to his in the gathering darkness. "Dear love, " shesaid, "do you remember how--once--you asked me to treat you--withoutprejudice? But I never have--and I don't believe I ever shall. FletcherHill is right to trust you. He is a judge of men. But I--I am only thewoman who loves you, and--somehow--whichever way I take you--I'm alwaysprejudiced--in your favour. "

The low words ended against his lips. He kissed her closely, passionately. "My little chum, " he said, "I will be worthy--I will beworthy--so help me God!"

He was near to tears as he uttered his oath; but presently, when heturned back her sleeve to kiss the place where first his lips hadlingered, they laughed together--the tender laughter of lovers in thehappy morning-time of life. 

 * * * * *

 Her Own Free Will

CHAPTER I

"Well, it's all over now, for better, for worse, as they say. And I hopevery much as it won't be for worse. "

A loud sniff expressive of grave misgiving succeeded the remark. Thespeaker--one of a knot of village women--edged herself a little furtherforward to look up the long strip of red baize that stretched from thechurch porch to the lych gate near which she stood. The two cracked bellswere doing their best to noise abroad the importance of the event thathad just taken place, which was nothing less than the marriage of ColonelEverard's daughter to Piet Cradock, the man of millions. Of the latter'svery existence none of the villagers had heard till a certain day, but afew weeks before, when he had suddenly appeared at the Hall as theaccepted suitor of Nan Everard, whom everyone loved. 

She was only twenty, prettiest, gayest, wildest, of the whole wild tribe. Three sons and eight daughters had the Colonel--a handsome, unrulyfamily, each one of them as lavish, as extravagant, and as undeniablyattractive as he was himself. 

His wife had been dead for years. They lived on the verge of bankruptcy, had done so as long as most of them could remember; but it was only oflate that matters had begun to look really serious for them. It wasrumoured that the Hall was already mortgaged beyond its value, and it wascommon knowledge that the Colonel's debts were accumulating with alarmingrapidity. This marriage, so it was openly surmised, had been arranged inhaste for the sole purpose of easing the strain. 

For that Nan Everard cared in the smallest degree for the solemn, thick-set son of a Boer mother, to whom she had given herself, no oneever deemed possible for an instant. But he was rich, fabulously rich, and that fact counterbalanced many drawbacks. Piet Cradock owned a largeshare in a diamond mine in the South African Republic, and he was aperson of considerable importance in his native land in consequence. Hehad visited England on business, but his time there had been limited toa bare six weeks. This fact had necessitated a brief wooing and a speedymarriage. 

He had met the girl of his choice by a mere accident. He had chanced tobe seated on her right hand at a formal dinner-party in town. Very littlehad passed between them then, but later, through the medium of his host, he had sought her out, and called upon her. Within a week he had askedher to be his wife. And Nan Everard, impulsive, dazzled by the prospectof unbounded wealth, and feverishly eager to ease the family burden, hadaccepted him. 

He was obliged to sail for South Africa within three weeks of hisproposal, and preparations for the marriage had therefore to be hurriedforward with all speed. They were to leave for Plymouth immediately afterthe ceremony, and to sail on the following day. 

So at breathless speed events had raced, and no one knew exactly whatwas the state of Nan's mind even up to the morning of her wedding-day. Perhaps she scarcely knew herself, so madly had she been whirled along inthe vortex to which she had committed herself. But possibly during theceremony some vague realisation of what she was doing came upon her, forshe made her vows with a face as white as death, and in a voice thatnever once rose above a whisper. 

But when she came at last down the church-yard path upon her husband'sarm, she was laughing merrily enough. Some enthusiast had flung a showerof rice over his uncovered head, to his obvious discomfiture. 

He did not laugh with her. His smooth, heavy-jawed face was absolutelyunresponsive. He was fifteen years her senior, and he looked it to thefull. The hair grew far back upon his head, and it had a sprinkling ofgrey. His height was unremarkable, but he had immensely powerfulshoulders, and a bull-like breadth of chest, that imparted a certainair of arrogance to his gait. His black brows met shaggily over eyes ofsombre brown. Undeniably a formidable personage, this!

Nan, glancing at him as she entered the carriage, harboured for amoment the startled reflection that if he had a beard nothing couldhave restrained her just then from screaming and running away. But, fortunately for her quaking dignity, his face, with the exception ofthose menacing eyebrows, and the lashes that shaded his gloomy eyes, waswholly free from hair. 

Driving away from the church with its two clanging bells, she made aresolute effort to shake off the scared feeling that had so possessed herwhen she had stood at the altar with this man. If she had made a mistake, and even now she was not absolutely certain that she had--it wasimpossible in that turmoil of conflicting emotions to say--butif she had, it was past remedy, and she must face the consequenceswithout shrinking. She had a conviction that he would domineer over herwithout mercy if she displayed any fear. 

So, bravely hiding her sinking heart, she laughed and chatted for thebenefit of her taciturn bridegroom with the gayest inconsequence duringthe brief drive to her home. 

He scarcely replied. He seemed to have something on his mind also. AndNan breathed a little sigh of relief when they reached their destination, and he gravely handed her out. 

A litter of telegrams on a table in the old-fashioned hall caught thegirl's attention directly she entered. She pounced upon them with eagerzest. 

"Ah, here's one from Jerry Lister. I knew he would be sure to remember. He's the dearest boy in the world. He would have been here, but for somehorrid examination that kept him at Oxford. "

She opened the message impetuously, and began to read it; but suddenly, finding her husband at her side, she desisted, crumpling it in her handwith decidedly heightened colour. 

"Oh, he's quite ridiculous. Let us open some of the others. "

She thrust a sheaf into his hand, and busied herself with the remainder. 

He did not attempt to open any of them, but stood silently watching herglowing face as she opened one after another and tossed them down. 

Suddenly she raised her eyes, and met his look fully, with a certainpride. 

"Is anything the matter?"

He pointed quite calmly to the scrap of paper she held crumpled in herhand. 

"Are you not going to read that?" he asked, in slow, rather carefulEnglish. 

Her colour deepened; it rose to her forehead in a burning wave. 

"Presently, " she returned briefly. 

His eyes held hers with a curious insistence. 

"You need not be afraid, " he said very quietly; "I shall not try to lookover. "

Nan stared at him, too amazed for speech. The hot blood ebbed fromher face as swiftly as it had risen, leaving her as white as theorange-blossoms in her hair. 

At length suddenly, with a passionate gesture, she thrust out her hand tohim with the ball of paper on her palm. 

"Pray take it and read it, " she said, her voice quivering with anger, "since it interests you so much. "

He made no movement to comply. 

"I do not wish to read it, Anne, " he said gravely. 

Her lip curled. It was the first time he had ever called her by herChristian name, and there was something exceedingly formal in the way heuttered it now. Moreover, no one ever called her anything but Nan. Forsome reason she was hotly indignant at this unfamiliar mode of address. It increased her anger against him tenfold. 

"Take it and read it!" she reiterated, with stubborn persistence. "I wishyou to do so!"

The first carriage-load of guests was approaching the house as she spoke. Cradock paused for a single instant as if irresolute, then, without moreado, he took her at her word. He smoothed the paper out without thesmallest change of countenance, and read it, while she stood quiveringwith impotent fury by his side. It was a long telegram, and it took someseconds to read; but he did not look up till he had mastered it. 

"Good-bye, sweetheart, good-bye, " so ran the message--"It is nored-letter day for me, but I wish you joy with all my heart. Spare athought now and then for the good old times and the boy you left behindyou. --Your loving Jerry. "

Amid a buzz of congratulation, Piet Cradock handed the missive back tohis bride with a simple "Thank you!" that revealed nothing whatever ofwhat was in his mind. 

She took it, without looking at him, with nervous promptitude, and theincident passed. 

The guests were many, and Nan's attention was very fully occupied. Nocasual observer, seeing her smiling face, would have suspected theturmoil of doubt that underlay her serenity. 

Only Mona, her favourite sister, had the smallest inkling of it, but evenMona was not in Nan's confidence just then. No intimate word of any sortpassed between them up in the old bedroom that they had shared all theirlives during the fleeting half-hour that Nan spent preparing for herjourney. They could neither of them bear to speak of the comingseparation, and that embodied everything. 

The only allusion that Nan made to it was as she passed out of the roomwith her arm round her sister's shoulders, and whispered:

"Don't sleep by yourself to-night, darling. Make Lucy join you. "

They descended the stairs, holding closely to each other. Old ColonelEverard, very red and tearful, met them at the foot, and folded Nantightly in his arms, murmuring inarticulate words of blessing. 

Nan emerged from his embrace pale but quite tearless. 

"Au revoir, dad!" she said, in her sprightliest tone. "You will be havingme back like a bad half-penny before you can turn round. "

Still laughing, she went from one to another of her family with words ofcareless farewell, and finally rah the gauntlet of her well-wishers tothe waiting carriage, into which she dived without ceremony to avoid thehail of rice that pursued her. 

Her husband followed her closely, and they were off almost before he tookhis seat beside her. 

"Thank goodness, that's over!" said Nan, with fervour. "I'll never marryagain if I live to be a hundred! I am sure being buried must be much morefun, and not nearly so ignominious. "

She leaned forward with the words, and was on the point of letting downthe window, when there was a sudden, deafening report close to them. Thecarriage jerked and swerved violently, and in an instant it was beingwhirled down the drive at the top speed of two terrified horses. 

Instinctively Nan turned to the man beside her. 

"It's the boys!" she exclaimed. "They said they should fire a salute!But--but--"

She broke off, amazed to find his arms gripping her tightly, forcing herback in her seat, holding her pressed to him with a strength that tookher breath away. 

It all came--a multitude of impressions--crowded into a few briefseconds; yet every racing detail was engraved with awful distinctnessupon the girl's mind, never to be forgotten. 

She struggled wildly in that suffocating hold, struggled fruitlessly tolift her face from her husband's shoulder into which it was ruthlesslypressed, and only ceased to struggle when the end of that terrible flightcame with a jolt and a jar and a final, sickening crash that flung herheadlong into a dreadful gulf of emptiness into which no light or echo ofsound could even vaguely penetrate. 

CHAPTER II

Nan opened her eyes in her own sunny bedroom, and gazed wonderingly abouther, dimly conscious of something wrong. 

The doctor, whom she had known from her earliest infancy, was bendingover her, and she smiled her recognition of him, though with a dawninguneasiness. Vague shapes were floating in her brain that troubled andperplexed her. 

"What happened?" she murmured uneasily. 

He laid his hand upon her forehead. 

"Nothing much, " he told her gently. "Lie still like a good girl and go tosleep. There is nothing whatever for you to worry about. You'll be betterin the morning. "

But the shapes were obstinate, and would not be expelled. They were, moreover, beginning to take definite form. 

"Wasn't there an accident?" she said restlessly. "I wish you would tellme. "

"Well, I will, " the doctor answered, "if you will keep quiet and not vexyourself. There was a bit of an accident. The carriage was overturned. But no one was hurt but you, and you will soon be yourself again if youdo as you're told. "

"But how am I hurt?" questioned Nan, moving her head on the pillow with adizzy feeling of weakness. "Ah!" with a sudden frown of pain. "It--it'smy arm. "

"Yes, " the doctor said. "It's your arm. It went through the carriagewindow. I have had to strap it up pretty tightly. You will try to put upwith it, and on no account must it be moved. "

She looked at him with startled eyes. 

"Is it very badly cut, then?"

"Yes, a fragment of glass pierced the main artery. But I have checked thebleeding--it was a providential thing that I was at hand to do it--andif you keep absolutely still, it won't burst out again. I am telling youthis because it is necessary for you to know what a serious matter it is. Any exertion might bring it on again, and then I can't say what wouldhappen. You have lost a good deal of blood as it is, and you can't affordto lose any more. But if you behave like a sensible girl, and lie quietfor a few days, you will soon be none the worse for the adventure. "

"For a few days!" Nan's eyes widened. "Then--then I shan't be able to gowith--with--" She faltered, and broke off. 

He answered her with very kindly sympathy. 

"Poor little woman! It's hard lines, but I am afraid there is no help forit. You will have to postpone your honeymoon for a little while. "

"Have you--have you--told--him?" Nan whispered anxiously. 

"Yes, he knows all about it, " the doctor said. "You shall see himpresently. But I want you to rest now. You have had a nasty shock, andI should like you to sleep it off. Just drink this, and shut your eyes. "

Nan obeyed him meekly. She was feeling very weak and tired. And, after alittle, she fell asleep, blissfully unconscious of the fact that herhusband was seated close to her on the other side of the bed, silent andwatchful, and immobile as a statue. 

She did not wake till late on the following morning, and then it was tofind her sister Mona only in attendance. 

"Have you been up all night?" was Nan's first query. 

Mona hesitated. 

"Well, not exactly. I lay down part of the time. "

"Why in the world didn't you go to bed?" questioned Nan. 

"I couldn't, dear. Piet was here. "

"Who?" said Nan sharply; then, colouring vividly, "All night, Mona? Howcould you let him?"

"I couldn't help it!" said Mona. "He wouldn't go. "

"What nonsense! He's gone now, I suppose?" Nan spoke irritably. Thetightness of the doctor's bandages was causing her considerable pain. 

"Oh, yes, he went some time ago, " Mona assured her. "But he is sure tocome back presently, and say good-bye. "

"Say good-bye!" Nan echoed the words slowly, a dawning brightness in hereyes. "Is he--is he really going, then?" she whispered. 

"He says he must go--whatever happens. It was a solemn promise, and hecan't break it. I don't understand, of course, but he is wanted atKimberley to avert some crisis connected with the mines. "

"Then--he will have to start soon?" said Nan. 

"Yes. But he won't leave till the last minute. He has chartered a specialto take him to Plymouth. "

"He knows I can't go?" said Nan quickly. 

"Oh, yes; the doctor told him that last night. "

"What did he say? Was he angry?"

"He looked furious. But he didn't say anything, even in Dutch. I thinkhis feelings were beyond words, " said Mona, with a little smile. 

Nan asked no more, but when the doctor saw her a little later, he wasdissatisfied with her appearance, and scolded her for working herselfinto a fever. 

"There's no sense in fretting about it, " he said. "The thing is done, andcan't be altered. I have no doubt your husband will be back again in afew weeks to fetch you, and we will have you quite well again by then. "

But Nan only shivered in response, as though she found this assurancethe reverse of comforting. The shock of the accident, succeeding theincessant strain of the past few weeks, had completely broken down hernerve, and no amount of reasoning could calm her. 

When a message came from her husband an hour later, asking if she wouldsee him, she answered in the affirmative, but the bare prospect of theinterview threw her into a ferment of agitation. 

She lay panting on her pillows like a frightened child when at length heentered. 

He came in very softly, but every pulse in her body leapt at hisapproach. She could not utter a word in greeting. 

He stood a moment in silence, looking down at her, then, stooping, hetook her free hand into his own. 

"Are you better?" he asked, his deep voice hushed as if he were inchurch. 

She could not answer him for the fast beating of her heart. He waited alittle, then sat down by the bed, his great hand still holding her littletrembling one in a steady grasp. 

"The doctor tells me, " he said, "that it would not be safe for you totravel at present, so I cannot of course, think of allowing you to doso. "

Nan's eyes opened very wide at this. It was an entirely novel idea thatthis man should take upon himself to direct her movements. She drew adeep breath, and found her voice. 

"I should certainly not dream of attempting such a thing without thedoctor's permission. "

His grave face did not alter. His eyes looked directly into hers andit seemed to Nan for the first time that they held something of adomineering expression. 

She turned her head away with a quick frown. She also made a slight, ineffectual effort to free her hand. But he did not appear to noticeeither gesture. 

"Yes, " he said, in his slow way, "it is out of the question, and so Ihave asked your father to take care of you for me until my return--for, unfortunately, I cannot postpone my own departure. "

Nan's lips quivered. She was beginning to feel hysterical. With an effortshe controlled herself. 

"How long shall you be away?" she asked. 

"It is impossible for me to say. Everything depends upon the state ofaffairs at the mines. But you may be quite sure, Anne"--a deeper notecrept into his voice--"that my absence will be as short as I can possiblymake it. "

She turned her head towards him again. 

"You needn't hurry for my sake, " she said abruptly. "I shall be perfectlyhappy here. "

"I am glad to hear it, " he answered gravely. "I have made full provisionfor you. The interest upon the settlement I have made upon you will bepaid to you monthly. Should you find it insufficient, you will, ofcourse, let me know. I could cable you some more if necessary. "

A great blush rose in Nan's face at his words, spreading upwards to herhair. 

"Oh, " she stammered, "I--I--indeed, I shan't want any money! Pleasedon't--"

"It is your own, " he interposed quietly, "and as such I beg that you willregard it, and spend it exactly as you like. Should you require more, asI have said, I shall be pleased to send it to you. "

He uttered the last sentence as if it ended the matter, and Nan foundherself unable to say more. To have expressed any gratitude would havebeen an absolute impossibility at that moment. 

She lay, therefore, in quivering silence until he spoke again. 

"It is time for me to be going. I hope the injury to your arm willprogress quite satisfactorily. You will not be able to write to meyourself at present, but your sister Mona has promised to let me hearof you by every mail. Dr. Barnard will also write. "

He paused. But Nan said nothing whatever. She was wondering, with a fieryembarrassment, what form his farewell would take. 

After a brief silence he rose. 

"Good-bye, then!" he said. 

He bent low over her, looking closely into her unwilling face. Andthen--it was the merest touch--for the fraction of a second his lips wereon her forehead. 

"Good-bye!" he said again, under his breath, and in another moment sheheard his soft tread as he went away. 

Her heart was throbbing madly; she felt as if it were leaping up and downwithin her. For a space she lay listening, every nerve upon the stretch. Then at last there came to her the sound of voices raised in farewell, the crunch of wheels below her window, the loud banging of a door. Andwith a gasp she turned her face into her pillow, and wept for sheerrelief. 

He had come and gone like an evil dream, and she was left safe in herfather's house. 

CHAPTER III

Three weeks after her wedding, Nan Cradock awoke to the amazing discoverythat she was a rich woman; how rich it took her some time to realise, andwhen it did dawn upon her she was startled, almost dismayed. 

Her recovery from the only illness she had ever known was marvellouslyrapid, and with her return to health her spirits rose to their accustomedgiddy height. There was little in her surroundings to remind her of thefact that she was married, always excepting the unwonted presence ofthese same riches which she speedily began to scatter with a lavish hand. Her life slipped very easily back into its accustomed groove, save thatthe pinch of poverty was conspicuously absent. The first day of everymonth brought her a full purse, and for a long time the charm of thisnovelty went far towards quieting the undeniable sense of uneasiness thataccompanied it. 

It was only when the novelty began to wear away that the burdened feelingbegan to oppress her unduly. No one suspected it, not even Mona, whoadhered rigorously to her promise, and wrote her weekly report of hersister's health to her absent brother-in-law long after Nan was fullycapable of performing this duty for herself. Mona had always beenconsidered the least feather-brained of the family, and she certainlyfulfilled her trust with absolute integrity. 

Piet Cradock's epistles were not quite so frequent, and invariably of thebriefest. They were exceedingly formal at all times, and Nan's heartnever warmed at the sight of his handwriting. It was thick and strong, like himself, and she always regarded it with a little secret sense ofaversion. 

Nevertheless, as time passed, and he made no mention of return, her dreadof the future subsided gradually into the back of her mind. It had neverbeen her habit to look forward very far, and she was still little morethan a child. Gradually the fact of her marriage began to grow shadowyand unreal, till at length she almost managed to shut it out of herconsideration altogether. She had accepted the man upon impulse, dazzledby the glitter of his wealth. To find that he had drifted out of herlife, and that the wealth remained, was the most blissful state ofaffairs that she could have desired. 

Slowly spring merged into summer, and more and more did it seem to Nanthat the past was nothing but a dream. She returned to her customarypursuits with all her old zest, rising early in the mornings to followthe otter-hounds, tramping for miles, and returning ravenous tobreakfast; or, again, spending hours in the saddle, and only returningat her own sweet will. Colonel Everard's household was one of absolutefreedom. No one ever questioned the doings of anyone else. From theearliest they had one and all been accustomed to go their own way. AndNan was the freest and most independent of them all. 

It was on a splendid morning in July that as she splashed along themarshy edge of a stream in hot pursuit of one of the biggest otters shehad ever seen, a well-known voice accosted her by name. 

"Hullo, Nan! I wondered if you would turn up when they told me you werestill at home. "

Nan whisked round, up to her ankles in mud. 

"Hullo, Jerry, it's you, is it?" was her unceremonious reply. "Pleased tosee you, my boy. But don't talk to me now. I can't think of anything butbusiness. "

She was off with the words, not waiting to shake hands. But Jerry Listerwas not in the least discouraged by this treatment. He was accustomed toNan and all her ways. 

He pounded after her along the bank and joined her as a matter of course. A straight, good-looking youth was Jerry, as wild and headstrong as Nanherself. He was the grand-nephew of old Squire Grimshaw, ColonelEverard's special crony, and he and Nan had been chums from theirchildhood. He was only a year older than she, and in many respects he washer junior. "I say, you are all right again?" was his first question, when the otter allowed them a little breathing-space. "I was awfullysorry to hear about your accident, you know, but awfully glad, too, in away. By Jove, I don't think I could have spent the Long here, with you inSouth Africa! What ever possessed you to go and marry a Boer, Nan?"

"Don't be an idiot!" said Nan sharply. "He isn't anything of the sort. "

Jerry accepted the correction with a boyish grimace. 

"I'm coming to call on you to-morrow, Mrs. Cradock, " he announced. 

Nan coloured angrily. 

"You needn't trouble yourself, " she returned. "I don't receive callers. "

But Jerry was not to be shaken off. He linked an affectionate arm inhers. 

"All right, Nan old girl, don't be waxy, " he pleaded. "Come on the lakewith me this afternoon instead. I'll bring some prog if you will, andwe'll have one of our old red-letter days. Is it a promise?"

She hesitated, still half inclined to be ungracious. 

"Well, " she said at length, moved in spite of herself by his persuasiveattitude, "I will come to please you, on one condition. "

"Good!" ejaculated Jerry. "It's done, whatever it is. "

"Don't be absurd!" she protested, trying to be stern and failing somewhatignominiously. "I will come only if you will promise not to talk aboutanything that you see I don't like. "

"Bless your heart, " said Jerry, lifting her fingertips to his lips, "Iwon't utter a syllable, good or bad, without your express permission. You'll come, then?"

"Yes, I'll come, " she said, allowing the smile that would not besuppressed. "But if you don't make it very nice, I shall never comeagain. "

"All right, " said Jerry cheerily. "I'll bring my banjo. You always likethat. Come early, like a saint. I'll be at the boat-house at eleven. "

He was; and Nan was not long after. The lake stretched for about a milein the squire's park, and many were the happy hours that they had spentupon it. 

It was a day of perfect summer, and they drifted through it in sublimeenjoyment. Jerry soon discovered that the girl's marriage and anythingremotely connected with it were subjects to be avoided, and as he had nogreat wish himself to investigate in that direction he found smalldifficulty in confining himself to more familiar ground. Without effortthey resumed the old friendly intercourse that the girl's rash step hadthreatened to cut short, and long before the end of the afternoon theywere as intimate as they had ever been. 

"You mustn't go in yet, " insisted Jerry, when a distant clock struckseven. "Wait another couple of hours. There's plenty of food left. Andthe moonrise will be grand to-night. "

Nan did not need much persuading. She had always loved the lake, andJerry's society was generally congenial. He had, moreover, been takingspecial pains to please her, and she was quite willing to be pleased. 

She consented, therefore, and Jerry punted her across to her favouritenook for supper. She thoroughly enjoyed the repast, Jerry's ideas ofwhat a picnic-basket should contain being of a decidedly lavish order. 

The meal over, he took up his banjo and waxed sentimental. Nan lay amongher cushions and listened in sympathetic silence. Undeniably Jerry knewhow to make music, and he also knew when to stop--a priceless gift inNan's estimation. 

When the moon rose at last out of the summer haze, he had laid hisinstrument aside and was lying with his head on his arms and hisface to the rising glory. They watched it dumbly in the silence ofgoodfellowship, till at last it topped the willows and shone in a broad, silver streak across the lake right up to the prow of the boat. 

After a long time Jerry turned his dark head. 

"I say, Nan!" he said, almost in a whisper. 

"Yes?" she murmured back, her eyes still full of the splendour. The boyraised himself a little. 

"Do you remember that day ever so long ago when we played at beingsweethearts on this very identical spot?" he asked her softly. 

She turned her eyes to his with a doubtful, questioning look. 

"We weren't in earnest, Jerry, " she reminded him. 

He jerked one shoulder with a sharp, impatient gesture, highlycharacteristic of him. 

"I know we weren't. I shan't dream of being in earnest in that way foranother ten--perhaps twenty--years. But there's no harm in makingbelieve, is there, just now and then? I liked that game awfully, andso did you. You know you did. "

Nan did not attempt to deny it. She sat up instead with her hands claspedround her knees and laughed like an elf. 

Her wedding-ring caught the moonlight, and the boy leaned forward with afrown. 

"Take that thing off, won't you, just for to-night? I hate to think you'remarried. You're not, you know. We're in fairyland, and married peoplenever go there. The fairies will turn you out if they see it. "

Very gently he inserted one finger between her clasped ones and began todraw the emblem off. 

Nan made no resistance whatever. She only sat and laughed. She was in hergayest, most inconsequent mood. Some magic of the moonlight was in herveins that night. 

"There!" said Jerry triumphantly. "Now you are safe. Jove! Did you hearthat water-sprite gurgling under the boat? It must be ripping to be awater-sprite. Can't you see them, Nan, whisking about down there incouples along the stones? Give me your hand, and we'll dive under andjoin them. "

But Nan's enthusiasm would not stretch to this. She fully understood hismood, but she would only sit in the moonlight and laugh, till presentlyJerry, infected by her merriment, began to laugh too, and spun the ringhe had filched from her high into the moonlight. 

How it happened neither of them could ever afterwards say; but just atthat critical moment when the ring was glittering in mid-air, somewayward current, or it might have been the water-sprite Jerry had justdetected, lapped the water smartly against the punt and bumped it againstthe bank. Jerry exclaimed and nearly overbalanced backwards; Nan made ahasty grab at her falling property, but her hand only collided with his, making a similar grab at the same moment, and between them they sent thering spinning far out into the moonlit ripples. 

It disappeared before their dazzled eyes into that magic bar of light, and the girl and the boy turned and gazed at one another in speechlessconsternation. 

Nan was the first to recover. She drew a deep breath, and burst into amerry peal of laughter. 

"My dear boy, for pity's sake don't look like that! I never saw anythingso absolutely tragic in my life. Why, what does it matter? I can buyanother. I can buy fifty if I want them. "

Thus reassured, Jerry began to laugh too, but not with Nan's abandonment. The incident had had a sobering effect upon him. 

"But I'm awfully sorry, " he protested. "All my fault. You must let memake it good. "

This suggestion added to Nan's mirth. "Oh, I couldn't really. I shouldfeel as if I was married to you, and I shouldn't like that at all. Nowyou needn't look cross, for you know you wouldn't either. No, don't besilly, Jerry. It doesn't matter the least little bit in the world. "

"But, I say, won't the absent one be savage?" suggested Jerry. 

Nan tossed her head. "I'm sure I don't know. Anyhow it doesn't matter. "

"Do you really mean that?" he persisted. "Don't you really care?"

Nan threw herself back in the boat with her face to the stars. 

"Why, of course not, " she declared, with regal indifference. "How can yoube so absurd?"

And in face of such sublime recklessness, he was obliged to be convinced. 

CHAPTER IV

Nan's picnic on the lake was not concluded much before ten o'clock. 

She ran home through the moonlight, bareheaded, whistling as carelesslyas a boy. Night and day were the same thing to her in the place inwhich she had lived all her life. There was not one of the village folkwhom she did not know, not one for whom the doings of the wild Everardsdid not provide food for discussion. For Nan undoubtedly was an Everardstill, her grand wedding notwithstanding. No one ever dreamed of applyingany other title to her than the familiar "Miss Nan" that she had bornefrom her babyhood. There was, in fact, a general feeling that the unknownhusband of Miss Nan was scarcely worthy of the high honour that had beenbestowed upon him. His desertion of her on the very day succeeding thewedding had been freely criticised, and in many quarters condemned out ofhand. No one knew the exact circumstances of the case, but all wereagreed in pronouncing Miss Nan's husband a defaulter. 

That Miss Nan herself was very far from fretting over the situation wasabundantly evident, but this fact did not in any way tend to justify theoffender, of whom it was beginning to be opined round the bars of thevillage inns that he was "one o' them queer sort of cusses that it wasbest for women to steer clear of. "

Naturally these interesting shreds of gossip never reached Nan's ears. She was, as she had ever been, supremely free from self-consciousnessof any description, and it never occurred to her that the situation inwhich she was placed was sufficiently peculiar to cause comment. TheEverards had ever been a law unto themselves, and it was inconceivablethat anyone should attempt to apply to them the conventional rules bywhich other people chose to let their lives be governed. Of course theywere different from the rest of the world. It had been an accepted factas long as she could remember, and it certainly had never troubled her, nor was it ever likely to do so. 

She was sublimely unconscious of all criticism as she ran down thevillage street that night, nodding carelessly to any that she met, andfinally turned lightly in at her father's gates, walking with elastictread under the great arching beech trees that blotted the moonlight fromher path. 

The front door stood hospitably open, and she entered to find her fatherstretched in his favourite chair, smoking. 

He greeted her with his usual gruff indulgence. 

"Hallo, you mad-cap! I was just wondering whether I would scour thecountry for you, or leave the door open and go to bed. I think it wasgoing to be the last, though, to be sure, it would have served you rightif I had locked you out. Had any dinner?"

"No, darling, supper--any amount of it. " Nan dropped a kiss upon his baldhead in passing. "I've been with Jerry, " she said, "on the lake the wholeday long. We watched the moon rise. It was so romantic. "

The Colonel grunted. 

"More rheumatic than romantic I should have thought. Better have a glassof grog. "

Nan screwed up her bright face with a laugh. 

"Heaven forbid, dad! And on a night like this. Oh, bother! Is that aletter for me?"

Colonel Everard was pointing to an envelope on the mantelpiece. Shecrossed the hall without eagerness, and picked it up. 

"I've had one, too, " said the Colonel, after a brief pause, speaking witha jerk as if the words insisted upon being uttered in spite of him. 

"You!" Nan paused with one finger already inserted in the flap. "Whatfor?"

Her father was staring steadily at the end of his cigar, or he might haveseen a hint of panic in her dark eyes. 

"You will see for yourself, " he said, still in that uncomfortable, jerkystyle. "He seems to think--Well, I must say it sounds reasonable enoughsince he can't get back at present; but you will see for yourself. "

A little tremor went through Nan as she opened the letter. With frowningbrows she perused it. 

It did not take long to read. The thick, upright writing was almostarrogantly distinct, recalling the writer with startling vividness. 

He had written with his accustomed brevity, but there was much more thanusual in his letter. He saw no prospect, so he told her, of being ableto leave the country for some time to come. Affairs were unsettled, andlikely to remain so. At the same time, there was no reason, now that herhealth was restored, that she should not join him, and he was writing toask her father to take her out to him. He would meet them at Cape Town, and if the Colonel cared to do so he would be very pleased if he wouldspend a few months with them. 

The plan was expressed concisely but with absolute kindness. Neverthelessthere was about the letter a certain tone of mastery which gave Nan veryclearly to understand that the writer thereof did not expect to bedisappointed. It was emphatically the letter of a husband to his wife, not of a lover to his beloved. 

She looked up from it with a very blank face. 

"My dear dad!" she ejaculated. "What can he be thinking of?"

Colonel Everard smiled somewhat ruefully. 

"You, apparently, " he said, with an effort to speak lightly. "What shallwe say to him--eh, Nan? You'll like to go on the spree with your old dadto take care of you. "

"Spree!" exclaimed Nan. And again in a lower key, with a still finerdisdain: "Spree! Well"--tearing the letter across impulsively, with theaction of a passionate child--"you can go on the spree if you like, dad, but I'm going to stay at home. I'm not going to run after him to the endsof the earth if he is my husband. It wasn't in the bargain, and I won'tdo it!"

She stamped like a little fury, scattering fragments of the torn letterin all directions. 

Her father attempted a feeble remonstrance, but she overrode himinstantly. 

"I won't listen to you, dad!" she declared fiercely. "I tell you I won'tdo it! The man isn't living who shall order me to do this or that as if Iwere his slave. You can write and tell him so if you like. When I marriedhim, he gave me to understand that we should only be out there for a fewmonths at most, and then we were to settle in England. You see what adifferent story he tells now. But I won't be treated in that way. I won'tbe inveigled out there, and made to wait on his royal pleasure. He choseto go without me. I wasn't important enough to keep him in England, andnow it's my turn. He isn't important enough to drag me out there. No, bequiet, daddy! I tell you I won't go! I won't go, I swear it!"

"My dear child, " protested the Colonel, making himself heard at length inher pause for breath. "No one wants you to go anywhere or do anythingagainst your will. Piet Cradock isn't so unreasonable as that, if he is aDutchman. Now don't distress yourself. There isn't the smallest necessityfor that. I thought it just possible that you might like the idea as Iwas to be with you. But as you don't--well, there's an end of it. We willsay no more. "

Nan's arm was around his neck as he ended, her cheek against hisforehead. 

"Dear, dear daddy, don't think I'm cross with you. You're just thesweetest old darling in the world, and I'd go to Kamschatka with yougladly--in fact, anywhere--anywhere--except South Africa. Can't we gosomewhere together, just you and I? Let's go to Jamaica. I'm sure I canafford it. "

"No, no, no!" protested the Colonel. "Get away with you, you baggage!What are you thinking of? Miss the cubbing season? Not I. And not youeither, if I know you. There! Run along to bed, and take my blessing withyou. I'll send a line to Piet, if you like, and tell him you don't objectto waiting for him a bit longer under your old father's roof. Come, beoff with you! I'm going to lock up. "

He hoisted himself out of his chair with the words, looked at her fondlyfor a moment, took her pretty face between his hands, and kissed hertwice. 

"She's the worst pickle of the lot, " he declared softly. 

He did not add that she was also his darling of them all, but this was aperfectly open secret between them, and had been such as long as Nancould remember. She laughed up at him with tender impudence inrecognition of the fact. 

CHAPTER V

The letter from Piet Cradock was not again referred to by either Nan orher father. The latter answered it in his own way after the lapse of afew weeks. He was of a peaceable, easy-going nature himself, and he didnot anticipate any trouble with Nan's husband. After all, the child'sreluctance to leave her home was perfectly natural. He, for his part, hadnever fully understood the attraction which his son-in-law had exercisedupon her. He had been glad enough to have his favourite daughter providedfor, but the actual parting with her had been a serious trouble to him, the most serious he had known for years, and he had been very far fromdesiring to quarrel with the Fate that had restored her to him. 

He was comfortably convinced that Piet would understand all this. Moreover, the fellow was clearly very busy. All his energies seemed to befully occupied. He would have but little time to spare for his wife, evenif he had her at his side. No, on the whole, the Colonel was of opinionthat Nan's decision was a wise one, and it seemed to him that, uponreflection, his son-in-law could scarcely fail to agree with him. 

Something of this he expressed in his letter when he eventually rousedhimself to reply to Piet's invitation, and therewith he dismissed allfurther thought upon the subject from his mind. His darling had pleasedherself all her life, and naturally she would continue to do so. 

His letter went into silence, but there was nothing surprising in thisfact. Piet was, of course, too busy to have any leisure for privateaffairs. The whole matter slid into the past with the utmost ease. Nodoubt he would come home some day, but very possibly not for years, andthe Colonel was quite content with this vague prospect. 

As for Nan, she flicked the matter from her with the utmost nonchalance. Since her father had undertaken to explain things, she did not eventrouble herself to write an answer to her husband's letter. That letterhad, in fact, very deeply wounded her pride. It had been a command, andNan was not accustomed to such treatment. Never, in all her unruly life, had she yielded obedience to any. No discipline had ever tamed her. Shehad been free, free as air, and she had not the vaguest intention ofsubmitting herself to the authority of anyone. The bare idea wasunthinkably repugnant to her, foreign to her whole nature. 

So, with a fierce disgust, she cast from her all memory of that briefmessage that had come to her from the man who called himself her husband, who had actually dared to treat her as one having the right to controlher actions. She could be a thousand times more arrogant than he whenoccasion served, and she had not the faintest intention of allowingherself to be fettered by any man's tyranny. 

Swiftly the days of that splendid summer flew by. She scarcely knew howshe spent them, but she was always in the open air, and almost invariablywith Jerry. She missed him considerably when he returned to Oxford, butthe hunting season was at hand, and soon engrossed all her thoughts. OldSquire Grimshaw was the master, and Nan and her father followed hishounds three days in every week. People had long since come to acquiescein the absence of Nan's husband. Many of them had almost forgotten thatthe girl was married, since Nan herself so persistently ignored the fact. Gossip upon the subject had died down for lack of nourishment. And Nanpursued her reckless way untrammelled as of yore. 

The week before Christmas saw Jerry once more at the Hall. He was asardent a follower of the hounds as was Nan, and many were the breakneckgallops in which they indulged before a spell of frost put an end to thisgiddy pastime. Christmas came and went, leaving the lake frozen to athickness of several inches, leaving Nan and the ever-faithful Jerrycutting figures of extraordinary elaboration on the ice. 

The Hunt Ball had been fixed to take place on the sixth of January, and, in preparation for this event, Nan and some of her sisters were busilyengaged beforehand in decking the Town Hall of the neighbourhood withevergreens and bunting. Jerry's assistance in this matter was, of course, invaluable, and when the important day arrived, he and Nan spent thewhole afternoon in sliding about the floor to improve the surface. 

So absorbing was this occupation that the passage of time was quiteunnoticed by either of them till Nan at length discovered to her dismaythat she had missed the train by which she had meant to return. 

To walk back meant a trudge of five miles. To drive was out of thequestion, for all the carriages in the place had been requisitioned. 

"What in the world shall I do?" she cried. "If I walk back, I shall neverhave time to dress. Oh, why haven't I got a motor?"

Jerry slapped his leg with a yell of triumph. 

"My dear girl, you have! The very thing! I'll be your motor and chauffeurrolled into one. My bicycle is here. Come along, and I'll take you homeon the step. "

The idea was worthy of them both. Nan fell in with it with a gay chuckle. It was not the first time that she had indulged in this species ofgymnastics with Jerry's co-operation, though, to be sure, some years hadelapsed since the last occasion on which she had performed the feat. 

She had not, however, forgotten her ancient prowess, and Jerry wasdelighted with his passenger. Poised on one foot, and holding firmly tohis shoulders, Nan sailed down the High Street in the full glare of thelamps. It was not a dignified mode of progression, but it was very farfrom being ungraceful. 

She wore a little white fur cap on her dark hair, and her pretty facelaughed beneath it like the face of a merry child. The danger of herposition was a consideration that never occurred to her. She was in herwildest mood, and enjoying herself to the utmost. 

The warning hoot of a motor behind her dismayed her not at all. 

"Hurry up, Jerry! Don't let them pass!" she urged. 

And Jerry put his whole heart into his pedalling and bore her at the topof his speed. 

It was an exciting race, but ending, as such races are bound to end, inthe triumph of the motor. The great machine overtook them steadily, surely. For three seconds they were abreast, and Nan hammered hercavalier on the back with her muff in a fever of impatience. Then themotor glided ahead, leaving only the fumes of its petrol to exasperatethe already heated Nan. 

"Beasts!" she ejaculated tersely, while Jerry became so limp withlaughter, that he nearly ceased pedalling altogether. 

No further adventure befell them during the five-mile journey. The roadswere in excellent condition, and the moon was high and frostily bright. 

"It's been lovely, " Nan declared, as they turned in at her father'sgates. "And you're a brick, Jerry!"

"How many waltzes shall I get for it?" was Jerry's prompt rejoinder. 

The girl's gay laugh rang silvery through the frosty air. Jerry had beenasking the question at intervals all the afternoon. 

"I'll give you all the extras, " she laughed as she sprang lightly to theground. 

Jerry did not even dismount. His time also was limited. 

"Yes?" he called over his shoulder, as he wheeled round and began to rideaway. "And?"

"And as many more as I can spare, " cried Nan, and with a wave of her handturned to enter the house. 

The laugh was still on her lips as she mounted the steps. The hall-doorstood open, and her father's voice hailed her from within. 

"Hallo, Nan, you scapegrace! What mad-cap trick will you be up to next, I wonder?"

There was a decided note of uneasiness behind the banter of his tonewhich her quick ear instantly detected. She looked up sharply and in asecond, as if at a touch of magic, the laughter all died out of her face. 

A man was standing in the glow of the lamp-light slightly behind herfather, a man of medium height and immense breadth, with a clean-shaven, heavy-browed face, and sombre eyes that watched her silently. 

CHAPTER VI

Nan was ever quick in all her ways, and it was very seldom that she wasdisconcerted. Between the moment of her reaching the top step and thatin which she entered the hall, she flashed from laughing childhood tohaughty womanhood. The dignity with which she offered her hand to herhusband was in its way superb. 

"An unexpected pleasure!" was her icy comment. 

He took the hand, looking closely into her eyes. He made no attempt todraw her nearer, and Nan remained at arm's-length. Yet something in hisscrutiny affected her, for a shiver went through her, proudly though shemet it. 

"It is cold, " she said, by way of explanation. "It is freezing hard, andwe came all the way by road. "

"Yes, " he said, in his deep, slow voice. "I saw you. "

"You saw me?" Nan's eyebrows went up; she was furiously conscious thatshe blushed. 

"I passed you in a motor, " he explained. 

"Oh!" She withdrew her hand, and turned to the fire with a little laugh, raging inwardly at the fate that had betrayed her. 

Standing by the hearth, she pulled off her gloves, and spread her handsto the blaze. It was a mere pretence, for she was hot all over by thattime, hot and quivering and fiercely resentful. There was another feelingalso behind her resentment, a feeling which she would not own, that madeher heart thump oddly, as it had thumped only once before in herlife--when this man had touched her face with his lips. 

"Well, " she said, standing up after a few minutes, "I must go and dress, and so must you, dad. We are going to the Hunt Ball to-night, " she added, with a brief glance in her husband's direction. 

He made no reply of any sort. His eyes were fixed upon her left hand. After a moment she became aware of this, and slipped it carelessly intoher pocket. Whistling softly, she turned to go. 

At the foot of the stairs she heard her father's voice, and paused. 

"You had better come, too, " he was saying to his son-in-law. 

Nan wheeled sharply, almost as if she would protest, but she checked herwords unspoken. 

Quietly Piet Cradock was making reply:

"Thank you, Colonel. I think I had better. "

Across the hall Nan met his gaze still unwaveringly fixed upon her, andshe returned it with the utmost defiance of which she was capable. Didhe actually fancy that she could be coerced into joining him, she askedherself--she who had always been free as the air? Well, he would soondiscover his mistake. She would begin to teach him from that moment. 

With her head still held high, she turned and mounted the stairs. 

Mona was waiting for her in much disturbance of spirit. 

"He arrived early this afternoon, " was her report. "We were all soastonished. He has come for you, Nan, and he says he must start back nextweek without fail. Isn't it short notice? I wish he had written to say hewas coming. He sat and talked to dad all the afternoon. And then, as youdidn't come, he started off in his motor to find you. He must have goneto the station first, or he would have met you sooner. "

To all this Nan listened with a set face, while she raced through herdressing. She made no comment whatever. The only signs that she heardlay in her tense expression and unsteady fingers. 

They did not descend till the last minute, just as the carriagecontaining the Colonel and three more of his daughters was driving away. 

Piet was standing like a massive statue in the hall. As the two girlscame down, he moved forward. 

"I have kept the motor for you, " he said. 

Mona thanked him. Nan did not utter a word. She would not touch the handthat would have helped her in, and she kept her lips firmly closedthroughout the drive. 

When she entered the ballroom at length her husband was by her side, butneither by word nor look did she acknowledge his presence there. 

Jerry spied her instantly, and came towards her. She went quickly to meethim. 

"For goodness' sake, " she whispered urgently, "help me to get away fromthat man!"

"Of course, " said Jerry, promptly leading her away in the oppositedirection till the crowd swallowed them. "Who the dickens is he?"

She looked at him with a small, piteous smile. 

"His name is Piet Cradock, " she said. 

"Great Scotland!" ejaculated Jerry; and added fiercely: "What the devilhas he come back for? What does he want?"

Nan threw back her head with a sudden wild laugh. 

"Guess!" she cried. 

But Jerry knew without guessing, and swore savagely under his breath. 

"But you won't go with him--not yet, anyhow?" he urged. "He can't hurryyou off without consulting your convenience. You won't submit to that?"

An imp of mischief had begun to dance in Nan's eyes. 

"I am told he has to sail next week, " she said. "But I think it possiblethat by that time he won't be quite so anxious to take me with him. Timealone will prove. How many waltzes did you ask for?"

"As many as I can get, of course, " said Jerry, taking instant advantageof this generous invitation. 

She laughed recklessly, and gave him her card. 

"Take them then, my dear boy. I am ready to dance all night long. "

She laughed again still more recklessly when he handed her card back toher. 

"You are very daring!" she remarked. 

He looked momentarily disconcerted. 

"You don't mind, do you?"

"I mind? It's what I meant you to do, " she answered lightly. "Shall I sayyou are very daring on my behalf?"

Jerry flushed a deep red. 

"I would do anything under the sun for you, Nan, " he said, in a lowvoice. 

Whereat she laughed again--a gay, sweet laugh, and left him. 

CHAPTER VII

Piet Cradock spent nearly the whole of that long evening leaning againsta doorpost watching his wife dancing with Jerry Lister. They were thebest-matched couple in the room, and, as a good many remarked, theyseemed to know it. 

Through every dance Nan laughed and talked with a feverish gaiety, conscious of that long, long gaze that never varied. She felt almosthysterical under it at last. It made her desperate--so desperate that shefinally quitted the ballroom altogether in Jerry's company, and remainedinvisible till people were beginning to take their departure. 

That feeling at the back of her mind had grown to a definite sensationthat she could not longer ignore or trample into insignificance. She washorribly afraid of that silent man with his gloomy, inscrutable eyes. Hislook frightened, almost terrified her. She felt like a trapped creaturethat lies quaking in the grass, listening to the coming footsteps of itscaptor. 

In a vague way Jerry was aware of her inquietude, and when they rose atlength to leave their secluded corner, he turned and spoke with a certainblunt chivalry that did him credit. 

"I say, Nan, if things get unbearable, you'll promise to let me know?I'll do anything to help you, you know--anything under the sun. "

And Nan squeezed his arm tightly in acknowledgment, though she made noverbal answer. 

Amid a crowd of departing dancers they came face to face with Piet. Hewas standing in an attitude of immense patience near the door. Veryquietly he addressed her. 

"Colonel Everard and your sisters have gone. The motor is waiting to takeyou when you are ready. "

She started back sharply. Her nerves were on edge, and the news was ashock. Her hand was still on Jerry's arm. Impulsively she turned tohim. 

"I haven't had nearly enough yet, " she declared. "Come along, Jerry!Let's dance to the bitter end!"

Jerry took her at her word on the instant, and began to thread the wayback to the ballroom. But before they reached it a quiet hand fastenedupon his shoulder, detaining him. 

"Pardon me, " said Piet Cradock, "but my wife has had more than enoughalready, and I am going to take her home!"

Jerry stopped, struck silent for the moment by sheer astonishment. 

Without further words Piet proceeded to transfer Nan's hand from theboy's arm to his own. He did it with absolute gentleness, but with aresolution that admitted of no resistance--at least Nan attempted none. 

But the action infuriated Jerry, and in the flurry of the moment hecompletely lost his head. 

"What the devil do you mean?" he demanded loudly. 

An abrupt silence fell upon the buzzing throng about them. Through it, with unfaltering composure, fell Piet Cradock's reply. 

"I mean exactly what I have said. If you have any objection to raise, Iam ready to deal with it, either now or later--as you shall choose. "

The words were hardly uttered when Nan did an extraordinary thing. Shelifted a perfectly colourless face with a ghastly smile upon it, and heldout her free hand to Jerry. 

"All right, Jerry, " she said. "I think I'll go after all. I am rathertired. Good-night, dear boy! Pleasant dreams! Now, Piet"--she turnedthat quivering smile upon her husband, and it was the bravest thing shehad ever done--"don't keep me waiting. Go and get your coat, and be quickabout it; or I shall certainly be ready first. "

He turned away at once, and the incident was over, since by thisunexpected move Nan had managed to convey to her too ardent championthat she desired it to be so. 

He departed sullenly to the refreshment-room, mystified but obedient andshe dived hurriedly into the cloakroom in search of her property. 

She found Piet waiting for her when she came out, and she passed forthwith him to the waiting motor with a laugh and a jest for the benefit ofthe onlookers. 

But the moment the door closed upon them she fell into silence, drawnback from him as far as possible, her cold hands clenched tight under hercloak. 

He did not attempt to speak to her during the quarter of an hour's drive, sitting mutely beside her in statuesque stillness; and it was she who, when he handed her out, broke the silence. 

"I have something to say to you. "

He bent before her stiffly. 

"I am at your service. "

There was something in his words that sounded ironical to her, somethingthat sent the blood to her face in a burning wave. She turned in silenceand ascended the steps in front of him. 

She found the door unlocked, but the hall was empty, and lighted only bythe great flames that spouted up from the log-fire on the open hearth. 

Clearly the rest of the family had retired, and a sudden, sharp suspicionflashed through Nan that her husband had deliberately laid his plans forthis private interview with her. 

It set her heart pounding again within her, but she braced herself totreat him with a high hand. He must not, he should not, assume themastery over her. 

Silently she waited as he shut and bolted the great door, and thenquietly crossed the shadowy hall to join her. 

She had dropped her cloak from her shoulders, and the firelight playedruddily over her dress of shimmering white, revealing her slim youngbeauty in every delicate detail. Very pale, but erect and at leastoutwardly calm, she faced him. 

"What I have to say to you, " she said, "will make you very angry; butI hope you will have the patience to listen to me, because it must besaid. "

He did not answer. He merely stooped and stirred the fire to a higherblaze, then turned and looked at her with those ever-watching eyes ofhis. 

Nan's hands were clenched unconsciously. She was making the greatesteffort of her life. 

"It has come to this, " she said, forcing herself with all her quiveringstrength to speak quietly. "I do not wish to be your wife. I haverealized for some time that my marriage was a mistake, and I thoughtit possible, I hoped with all my heart, that you would see it, too. Isuppose, by your coming back in this way, that you have not yet done so?"

He was standing very quietly before her with his hands behind him. Notwithstanding her wild misgiving, she could not see that he was in anyway angered by her words. He seemed to observe her with a grave interest. That was all. 

A tremor of passion went through her. His passivity was not to be borne. In some curious fashion it hurt her. She felt as though she were beatingand bruising herself against bars of iron. 

"Surely, " she said, and her voice shook in spite of her utmost effort tocontrol it--"surely you must see that you are asking of me more than Ican possibly give. I own that I am--nominally--your wife, but I realizenow that I can never be anything more to you than that. I cannot go awaywith you. I can never make my home with you. I married you upon impulse. I did you a great wrong, but you will admit that you hurried me into it. And now that--that my eyes are open, I find that I cannot go on. Wouldit--would it--" She was faltering under that unchanging gaze, but shecompelled herself to utter the question--"be quite impossible to--to geta separation?"

"Quite, " said Piet. 

He did not raise his voice, but she shrank at the brief word, shrankuncontrollably as if he had struck her. 

He went on quite steadily, but his eyes gave her no rest. They seemed toher to gleam red in the glancing firelight. 

"I do not admit that our marriage was a mistake. I was always aware thatyou married me for my money. But on the other hand I was willing to payyour price. I wanted you. And--I want you still. Nothing will alter thatfact. I am sorry if you think you have made a bad bargain, for you willhave to abide by it. Perhaps some day you will change your mind again. But it is not my habit to change mine. That is, I think, all that need besaid upon the subject. "

There was not the faintest hint of vehemence in his tone, but there wasunmistakable authority. Having spoken, he stood grimly waiting for hernext move. 

As for Nan, a sudden fury entered into her that possessed her morecompletely than any fear. To be thus mastered in a few curt sentences wasmore than her wild spirit would endure. Without an instant's hesitationshe flung down the gauntlet. 

"It is true, " she said, speaking quickly, "that I married you for yourmoney, but since you knew that, you were as much to blame as I. Had Iknown then what sort of man you were, I would sooner have gone into theworkhouse. I am quite aware that it is thanks to you that my father isnot a ruined man, but I--I protest against being made the price for yourbenefits. I will never touch another penny of your money myself, andneither shall any of my family if I can prevent it. As to abiding by mybargain, I refuse absolutely and unconditionally. I do not acknowledgeyour authority over me. I will be no man's slave, and--and, sooner thanlive with you as your wife, I--I will die in a ditch!"

Furiously she flung the words at him, too much carried away by her ownmadness to note their effect upon him, too angry to see the sudden, leaping flame in his eyes; too utterly reckless to realize that firekindles fire. 

Her fierce wrath was in its way sublime. She was like a beautiful, wildcreature raging at its captor, too infuriated to be afraid. 

"I defy you, " she declared proudly, "to make me do anything against mywill!"

There was scorn as well as defiance in her voice--scorn because he stoodbefore her so silently; scorn because the fierce torrent of her anger hadflowed unchecked. She had only to stand up to him, it seemed, and likethe giant of the fable he dwindled to a pigmy. She was no longer hurt byhis passivity. She despised him for it. 

But it was for the last time in her life. As she turned contemptuously topick up her cloak, he moved. 

With a single stride he had reached her, and in an instant his hand wason her arm, his face was close to hers. And then she saw, what she hadbeen too self-engrossed to see before, that fire had kindled fire indeed, and that those rash words of hers had waked the savage in him. 

She made a sharp, instinctive effort to free herself, but he held herfast. She had outrun his patience at last. 

"So, " he said, "you defy me, do you? You defy me to take what is my own?That is not very wise of you. "

He spoke under his breath, and as he spoke he drew her to him suddenly, violently, with a strength that was brutal. For a moment his eyescompelled hers, terrible eyes alight with a passion that scorched herwith its fiery intensity. And then abruptly his arms tightened. She wasat his mercy, and he did not spare her. Savagely, fiercely, he rainedburning kisses upon her shrinking face, upon her neck, her shoulders, herhands, till, after many seconds of vain resistance, spent, quivering, terrified, she broke into agonized tears against his breast. 

His hold relaxed then, but tightened again as her trembling limbs refusedto support her. He held her for a while till her agitation had in somedegree subsided; then at last he took her two shaking hands into one ofhis, and turned her face upwards. 

Once more his eyes held hers, but the fire in them had died down to asmoulder. His mouth was grim. 

"Come!" he said quietly, "you won't defy me after this?"

Her white lips only quivered in reply. She made no further effort toresist him. 

Very slowly he took his arm from her, still holding her hands. 

"You have married a savage, " he said, "but you would never have known itif you had not taunted me with your defiance. Let me tell you now--forit is as well that you should know it--that there is nothing--do youhear?--nothing in this world that I cannot make you do if I so choose!But if you are wise, you will not challenge me to prove this. It isenough for you to know that as I have mastered myself, so I can--and soI will--master you!"

His words fell with a ring of iron. The old inflexibly sombre demeanourby which alone till that night she had always known him clothed him likea coat of mail. Only the grasp of his hand was vital and close. It seemedto burn her flesh. 

"I have done!" he said, after a pause. "Have you anything further to sayto me?"

She found it within her power to free herself, and did so. She wasshaking from head to foot. The untamed violence of the man had appalledher, but his abrupt resumption of self-control was almost more terrible. She felt as if his will compassed and constrained her like bands of iron. 

She stood before him in panting silence, a shrinking woman, strivingvainly to raise from the dust the shield of pride that he had so rudelyshattered and flung aside. She could not speak to him. She had no words. From the depths of her soul she hated him. But--it had come to this--shedid not dare to tell him so. 

He waited quietly for a few seconds; then unexpectedly, but withoutvehemence, he held out his hand to her. 

"Anne, " he said, a subtle change in his deep voice, "fight against me, and you will be miserable, for I am bound to conquer you. But come tome--come to me of your own free will--and I swear before Heaven that Iwill make you happy. "

But Nan held back with horror, almost with loathing, in her eyes. She didnot utter a word. There was no need. 

His hand fell. For a second the fire that smouldered in his eyes shotupwards to a flame, but it died down again instantly. He turned from herin silence and picked up her cloak. 

He did not look at her as he handed it to her, and Nan did not dare tolook at him. Dumbly she forced her trembling body into subjection toher will. She crossed the hall without faltering, and went without soundor backward glance up the stairs. And the man was left alone in theflickering firelight. 

CHAPTER VIII

To Mona fell the task of making preparation for Nan's departure, for Nanherself did not raise a finger to that end. Three days only remained toher of the old free life--three days in which to bid farewell toeverybody and everything she knew and loved. 

Her husband did not attempt to obtrude his presence upon her during thosethree days. The man's patience was immense, cloaking him as with agarment of passive strength. He was merely a guest in Colonel Everard'shouse, and a silent guest at that. 

No one knew what had passed between him and his young wife on the nightof the Hunt Ball, but it was generally understood that he had assertedhis authority over her after a fashion that admitted of no resistance. Only Mona could have told of the white-faced, terrified girl who had laintrembling in her arms all through the dark hours that had followed theirinterview, but Mona knew when to hold her peace, though it was no lovefor her brother-in-law that sealed her lips. 

So, with a set face, she packed her sister's belongings, never faltering, scarcely pausing for thought, till on the very last day she finished hertask, and then sat musing alone in the darkness of the winter evening. 

Nan had been out all the afternoon, no one knew exactly where, though itwas supposed that she was paying farewell visits. The Colonel, whosecourteous instincts would not suffer him to neglect a guest, had been outshooting with his son-in-law all day long. Mona heard them come trampingup the drive and enter the house, as she sat above in the dark. Shelistened without moving, and knew that one of her sisters was givingthem tea in the hall. 

Two hours passed, but Nan did not return. Mona rose at last to dress fordinner. Her face shone pale as she lighted her lamp, but her eyes weresteadfast; they held no anxiety. 

Descending the stairs at length she found Piet waiting below before thefire. He looked round as she came down, looked up the stairs beyond her, and gravely rose to give her his chair. 

Mona was generally regarded as hostess in her father's house, though shewas not his eldest daughter. She possessed a calmness of demeanour thatwas conspicuously lacking in all the rest. 

She sat down quietly, her hands folded about her knees. "Have you hadgood sport?" she asked, her serene eyes raised to his. 

There was a slight frown between Piet's brows. Hitherto he had alwaysregarded this girl as his friend. To-night, for the first time, shepuzzled him. There was something hostile about her something he feltrather than saw, yet of which from the very moment of her coming, he waskeenly conscious. 

He scarcely answered her query. Already his wits were at work. 

Suddenly he asked her a blunt question. "Has Anne come in yet?"

She answered him quite as bluntly, almost as if she had wished for hiscurt interrogation. "No. "

He raised his brows for an instant, then in part reassured by herabsolute composure, he merely commented: "She is late. "

Mona said nothing. She turned her quiet eyes to the blaze before her. There was not the faintest sign of agitation in her bearing. 

"Do you know what she is doing?" He asked the question slowly, halfreluctantly it seemed. 

Again she looked at him. Clear and contemptuous, her eyes met his. 

"Yes, I know. "

The words, the look, stabbed him with a swift suspicion. He bent towardsher, his hand gripped her wrist. 

"What do you mean? Where is she?"

She made no movement to avoid him. A faint, grim smile hovered about hercalm mouth. 

"I can tell you what I mean, " she said quietly. "I cannot tell you whereshe is. "

"Then tell me what you mean, " he said between his teeth. 

His face was close to hers, and in that moment it was terrible. But Monadid not flinch. The small, bitter smile passed, that was all. 

"I mean, " she said, speaking very steadily and distinctly, "that youwill go back to South Africa without her after all. I mean that by yourhateful and contemptible brutality you have driven her from you for ever. I mean that you have forced her into taking a step that will compel youto set her free from your tyranny. I mean that simply and solely toescape from you she has run away with--another man. "

A quiver of pain went over her face as she ended. With a swift, passionate movement she rose, flinging her mask of composure aside. Thehand that gripped her wrist was bruising her flesh, but she never feltit. 

"Yes, " she said, with abrupt vehemence. "That is what you havedone--you--you! You would not stoop to win her. You chose to take her byforce, and force is the one thing in the world that she will nevertolerate. You bullied her, frightened her, humiliated her. You drove herto do this desperate thing. And you face me now, you dare to face me, because I am a weak woman. If I were a man, I would kick you out of thehouse. I--I believe I would kill you! Even Nan cannot hate you or despiseyou one-tenth as much as I do!"

She ceased, but her eyes blazed their hatred at him as her heart cursedhim. She was furious as a tigress that defends her young. 

As for the man, his hand was still clenched upon her wrist, but noviolent outburst escaped him. He was white to the lips, but he wasabsolutely sane. If he heard her wild reproaches, he passed them over. 

"Who is the man?" he said, and his voice fell like a word of command, arresting, controlling, compelling. 

It was not what she had expected. She had been prepared for tempestuous, for overwhelming, wrath. The absence of this oddly disconcerted her. Herown tornado of indignation was checked. She answered him almostinvoluntarily. 

"Jerry Lister. "

He frowned as if trying to recall the owner of the name, and againwithout her conscious will she explained. 

"You saw him that night at the ball. They were together all the evening. "

The frown passed from his face. 

"That--cub!" he said slowly. "And"--his eyes were searching hers closely;he spoke with unswerving determination--"where have they gone?"

She withstood his look though she felt its compulsion. 

"I refuse to tell you that. "

"You know?" he questioned. 

"Yes, I know. "

"Then you will tell me. " He spoke with conviction. She felt as if hiseyes were burning her. 

"Then you will tell me, " he repeated, as if she had not heard him. 

"I refuse, " she said again; but she said it with a wavering resolution. Undoubtedly there was something colossal about this man. She began tofeel the grip of his fingers upon her wrist. The pain of it becameintense, yet she knew that he was not intentionally torturing her. 

"You are hurting me, " she said, and instantly his hold relaxed. But hedid not let her go. 

"Answer me!" he said. 

"Why should I answer you?" It was the last resort of her weakening will. 

He betrayed no impatience. 

"You will answer me for your sister's sake, " he told her grimly. 

"What do you mean? You will follow her?"

"I shall follow her. "

"And bring her back?"

"Back here? No, certainly not. "

"You will hurt her, bully her, terrify her!" The words were quick withagitation. 

He ignored them. "Tell me where she is. "

She made a last effort. 

"If I tell you--will you take me with you?"

"No, " he said, "I will not. "

"Then--then--" She was looking straight into those pitiless eyes. Itseemed she could not help herself. "I will tell you, " she said at last. "But you will be kind to her? You will remember how young she is, andthat--that you drove her to it?"

Her voice was piteous, her resistance was dead. 

"I shall remember, " he said very quietly, "one thing only. "

"Yes?" she murmured. "Yes?"

"That she is my wife, " he said, in the same level tone. "Now--answer me. "

And because there was no longer any alternative course, she yielded. 

Had he shown himself a raging demon she could have resisted him, andrejoiced in it. But this man, with his rigid self-control, his unswervingresolution, his deadly directness, dominated her irresistibly. 

Without argument he had changed her point of view. Without argument orprotestation of any sort, he had convinced her that it was no passingfancy of his that had prompted him to choose Nan for his wife. She hadvaguely suspected it before. Now she knew. 

CHAPTER IX

It was very dark over the moors. The solitary lights of a cab crawlingalmost at a foot pace along the lonely road shone like a will-o'-the-wispthrough the snow. It had been snowing for hours, steadily, thickly, andthe cold was intense. The dead heather by the roadside had long beencompletely hidden under that ever-increasing load. It lay in greatbillows of white wherever the carriage lamps revealed it, stretching awayinto the darkness, an immense, untrodden desert, wrapped in a deathlysilence, more terrible than any sound. 

It seemed to Nan, shivering inside that cheerless cab, as if the worldhad stopped like a run-down watch, and that she alone, with hermelancholy equipage, retained in all that vast stillness the power tomove. 

She wished heartily that she had permitted Jerry to come to the stationto meet her, but for some reason not wholly intelligible to herself shehad prohibited this. And he, ever obedient to her behests, had sent theconveyance to fetch her, remaining behind himself to complete thepreparations for her reception upon which he had been engaged for thepast two days at the tiny, incommodious shooting-box which his father hadbequeathed to him, and of which not very valuable piece of landedproperty he was somewhat inordinately proud. 

It had been a tedious cross-country journey, and the five miles from thestation seemed to Nan interminable. Already deep down in her heart werestirring ghastly doubts regarding the advisability of this mad expeditionof hers. Jerry, as she well knew, was fully prepared to enjoy thesituation to the utmost. He was a trusty friend in need to her, no more, and she had not the smallest misgiving so far as he was concerned. 

He would be to her what he had ever been, breezy comrade, merryfriend--romantic cavalier, perhaps, but in such a fashion as to convinceher that he was only playing at romance. It had always been his attitudetowards her, and she anticipated no change. The boy's natural chivalryhad moved her to accept his help, though she well knew that the step shehad taken was a desperate one, even for one of the wild Everards. Thatit would fulfil its purpose she did not doubt. Her husband, she was fullyconvinced, would take no further steps to deprive her of her liberty. Hernotions of legal procedure in such a case were of the haziest, but shehad not the faintest doubt that this last, wildest escapade of hers wouldsooner or later procure her her freedom from the chain that so galledher. 

And yet she started and shivered at every creak of the crazy vehicle thatwas bearing her to the haven of her emancipation. She was horribly, unreasonably afraid, now that she had taken this rash step. Would itupset her father very greatly, she wondered? But surely he would notthink badly of her for making a way of escape for herself. He had beenpowerless to deliver her. Surely, surely he would understand!

The cab jolted to a standstill, and out of the darkness came an eager, boyish voice, bidding her welcome. An impetuous hand wrenched open thedoor, and she and Jerry were face to face. 

She never recalled afterwards crossing the threshold of his little abode. She was numbed and weary in mind and body. But she found herself atlength seated before a bright fire, with a cup of steaming tea in herhand, and Jerry hovering about her in high delight; and the comfort ofhis welcome revived her at length to an active realization of hersurroundings. 

Clearly the adventure, mad, lawless as it undoubtedly was, was nothingbut a picnic to him. He was enjoying himself immensely without a thoughtof any possible consequences, and it was plain that this was the attitudein which he expected her to regard the matter. 

With an effort she responded to his mood, but she could not shake off theburden of doubt and foreboding that oppressed her. She felt as if thelong, bitter journey had in some fashion aged her. Jerry's gaiety was asthe prattle of a child to her now. They had been children together tillthat day, but she felt that they could never be so again. Never beforehad she stopped in her headlong course to look ahead, to count the cost!Now, for the first time, misgivings arose within her upon Jerry's score. What if this boy who had lent himself so lightly, so absolutely freely, to her scheme for deliverance, were made in any way to suffer for hisreckless generosity? For this it had been with him--and this only--as shewell knew. 

With sheer, boyish gallantry, he had offered his protection; with sheer, girlish recklessness, she had accepted it. And now--now she had in a fewhours crossed the boundary between childhood and womanhood and she stoodaghast, asking herself what she had done!

By what means understanding had come to her she did not stay toquestion. The tragic force of it overwhelmed all reasoning. She knewbeyond all doubting that she had made the most ghastly mistake of herlife. She had done it in blindness, but the veil had been rent away; and, horror-struck, she now beheld the accursed quicksand into which they hadblundered. 

"I say, " said Jerry, "you're awfully tired, aren't you? You're positivelyhaggard. I've got quite a decent little dinner for you, and I've doneevery blessed thing myself. There isn't a soul in the house except ustwo. I thought you'd like it best. "

She smiled at him wanly, and thanked him. He was watching her withfriendly, anxious eyes. 

"Yes; well, drink that up and have some more. I'm afraid you'll think theaccommodation rather poor. It's only a pillbox, you know. I'll show youround when you're ready. I've got my kennel in the kitchen. Best placefor a watch-dog, eh? But you've only got to thump on the floor if you wantanything. There, that's better. You don't look quite so frozen as youdid. Come, it's rather a lark, isn't it?"

His boyish eyes pleaded with her, and again she made a valiant effort torespond. She knew what stupendous efforts he had been making to secureher comfort. 

"Everything is perfect, " she declared, "and you're the nicest boy in theworld. I'm quite warm now. What a dear little hall, to be sure!"

"Hall!" said Jerry. "It's the living-room! But there's another oneupstairs that you can sit in. I thought you would like the upper regionsall to yourself. We can call on each other, you know, now and then. Isay, it's rather a lark, isn't it? Come and see my preparations fordinner. "

She went with him into the little bare kitchen, and bestowed lavishpraise upon everything she saw. 

Jerry's cooking was an accomplishment of which he had some reason to beproud. He was roasting a pheasant for his visitor's delectation. 

"I always do the cooking when we camp out, " he explained. "Just sit downwhile I finish peeling the potatoes. "

He pointed to a truckle bedstead in the corner; and Nan seated herselfand made a determined effort to banish her depression. 

Jerry's preparations for his own comfort were anything but elaborate. 

"Oh, I could sleep on bare boards, " he lightly said, when she commentedupon the hardness of his couch. "I know the furniture isn't up to much, but it isn't a bad little shanty when you're used to it. My pater andmater spent their honeymoon here years ago, and I stayed here with twoother fellows for three weeks' grouse-shooting a couple of years back. Rare sport we had, too. Do you mind passing over that saucepan? Thanks!I say, Nan, I hope you don't mind it being a bit rough. "

"My dear boy, " Nan said impulsively, "if it were a palace I shouldn'tlike it half so well. "

Jerry grinned serenely. 

"Yes, it's snug, anyhow, and I think you'll like that pheasant. There'sanother one in the larder, so we shall have something to eat if we'resnowed up. That cupboard leads upstairs. Perhaps you would like to go andexplore. Dinner in half an hour. "

Nan availed herself of this suggestion. She was frankly curious to knowwhat Jerry's ideas of feminine comfort might be. She ascended the steepcottage stairs that wound up to the first floor, looking about her withconsiderable interest. The narrow staircase was lighted from above, andshe finally emerged into a little room in which a fire burned brightly. A sofa had been drawn in front of it, and was piled with cushions. Therewere one or two basket-chairs, and a small square table bearing apaper-shaded lamp, and a newspaper, a "Punch, " Jerry's banjo, and acigarette case. 

The window was covered with a red curtain, and the cosy warmth of theplace sent a glow of comfort through Nan. Jerry's efforts had not beenin vain. 

From this apartment she passed into another beyond, the door of whichstood half open, and found herself in a bedroom. A small stove burnedin a corner of this, and upon it a kettle steamed merrily. There was roomfor but little furniture besides the bed, but the general effect wasexceedingly comforting to the girl's oppressed soul. She sat down on theedge of the bed and leaned her aching head against the back. 

What was happening at home she wondered? Her departure must be known bythis time. Mona would have told Piet. She tried to picture the man'suntrammelled wrath when he heard. How furious he would be! She shivereda little. She was quite sure he would never want to see her again. 

And yet, curiously, there still ran in her brain those words he haduttered on that night that she had defied him--that dreadful night whenhe had held her in his arms and forced her to endure his hateful kisses!

She could almost hear his deep voice speaking: "Anne, fight against meand you will be miserable, for I am bound to conquer you. But come tome--come to me of your own free will--and I swear before Heaven that Iwill make you happy!" Make her happy! He! She could not imagine it. Andyet it was true that, fighting against him, she was miserable. 

With a great sigh, she rose at last and began to remove her outdoorthings. It was done--it was done. What was the use of stopping on thewrong side of the hedge to think? She had taken the leap. There couldnever be any return for her. The actual mistake had been committed long, long ago, when she had married this man for his money. That had beenmonstrous, contemptible! She realized it now. But that, too, was beyondremedy. Her only hope left was that in his fury he would set her free, and that without injury to Jerry. She had not the faintest notion how hewould set about it; but doubtless he would not keep her long inignorance. He would be more eager now than she had ever been to snapasunder the chain that bound them to each other. Yes, she was quite, quite sure that he would never want to see her again. 

CHAPTER X

Jerry's dinner was not, for some reason, quite the success he hadanticipated. 

Nan made no complaint of the cooking, but she ate next to nothing, to thegrief of his hospitable soul. She was tired, of course, but there wassomething in her manner that he could not fathom. She was silent andunresponsive. There was almost an air of tragedy about her that made herso unfamiliar that he felt as if he were entertaining a stranger. He didnot like the change. His old domineering, impetuous playfellow wasinfinitely easier to understand. He did not feel at ease with this quiet, white-faced woman, who treated him with such wholly unaccustomedcourtesy. 

"I say, " he said, when the meal was ended, "let's go upstairs and have asmoke. I can clear away after you have gone to bed. Or do you want to goto bed now? It's nearly nine, so you may if you like. "

She thanked him, and declined. 

"I shouldn't sleep if I did, " she said with a shiver. "No; I will helpyou wash up, and then we will go upstairs and have some music. "

Jerry fell in eagerly with this idea. He loved his banjo. He demurred alittle at accepting her assistance in the kitchen, but finally yielded, for she would not be refused. She seemed to dread the thought ofsolitude. 

When they went upstairs at length, she made a great effort to shake offher depression. She even sang a little to one or two of Jerry's melodies, but her customary high spirits remained conspicuously absent, and after awhile Jerry became impatient, and laid the instrument down. 

"What's the matter?" he asked bluntly. 

Nan was sitting with her feet on the fender, her eyes upon the flames. His question did not seem to surprise her. 

"You wouldn't understand, " she said, "if I were to tell you. "

"Well, you might as well give me the chance, " he responded. "Myintelligence is up to the average, I dare say. "

She looked round at him with a faint smile. 

"Oh, don't be huffy, dear boy! Why should you? You want to know what isthe matter? Well, I'll tell you. I'm afraid--I'm horribly afraid--thatI've made a great mistake. "

"You have?" said Jerry. "How? What do you mean?"

"I knew you would ask that, " she said, with a little, helpless gesture ofthe shoulders. "And it is just that that I can't explain to you. You see, Jerry, I've only just begun to realize it myself. "

Jerry was staring at her blankly. 

"Do you mean, that you wish you hadn't come?" he said. 

She nodded, rising suddenly from her chair. 

"Oh, Jerry, don't be vexed, though you've a perfect right. I've made aghastly, a perfectly hideous mistake. I--I can't think how I ever came todo it. But--but I wouldn't mind so frightfully if it weren't for you. That's what troubles me most--to have made a horrible mess of my life, and to have dragged you into it. " Her voice shook, and she broke off fora moment, biting her lips. Then: "Oh, Jerry, " she wailed, "I've done adreadful thing--a dreadful thing! Don't you see it--what he will think ofme--how he will despise me?"

The last words came muffled through her hands. Her head was bowed againstthe chimney-piece. 

Jerry was nonplussed. He rose somewhat awkwardly, and drew near the bowedfigure. 

"But, my dear girl, " he said, laying a slightly hesitating hand upon hershoulder, "what the devil does it matter what he thinks? Surely youdon't--you can't care--care the toss of a half-penny?"

But here she amazed him still further. 

"I do, Jerry, I do!" she whispered vehemently. "He's horrid--oh, he'shorrid. But I can't help caring. I wanted him to think the very worstpossible of me before I came. But now--but now--Then too, there's you, "she ended irrelevantly. "What could they do to you, Jerry? Could they putyou in prison?"

"Great Scott, no!" said Jerry. "You needn't cry over me. I always manageto fall on my feet. And, anyhow, it isn't a hanging matter. I say, cheerup, Nan, old girl! Don't you think you'd better go to bed? No? Well, letme play you something cheerful, then. I've never seen you in the dumpsbefore. And I don't like it. I quite thought this would be one of ourred-letter days. Look up, I say! I believe you're crying. "

Nan was not crying, but such was the concern in his voice that she raisedher head and smiled to reassure him. 

"You're very, very good to me, Jerry, " she said earnestly. "And oh, I dohope I haven't got you into trouble!"

"Don't you worry your head about me, " said Jerry cheerfully. "You'retired out, you know. You really ought to go to bed. Let's have somethingrousing, with a chorus, and then we'll say good-night. "

He took up his banjo again, and dashed without preliminary into the gaystrains of "The Girl I Left Behind Me. "

He sang with a gaiety that even Nan did not imagine to be feigned, and, lest lack of response should again damp his spirits, she forced herselfto join in the refrain. Faster and faster went Jerry's fingers, fasterand faster ran the song, his voice and Nan's mingling, till at last hebroke off with a shout of laughter, and sprang to his feet. 

"There! That's the end of our soirée, and I'm not going to keep you up aminute longer. I wonder if we're snowed up yet. We'll have some funto-morrow, if we are. I say, look at the time! Good-night! Good-night!"

He advanced towards her. She was standing facing him, with her back tothe fire. But something--something in her eyes--arrested him, sending hisown glancing backwards over his shoulder. She was looking, not at him, but beyond him. 

The next instant, with a sharp oath, Jerry had wheeled in his tracks. He, too, stood facing the door, staring wide-eyed, dumbfounded. 

There, at the head of the stairs, quite motionless, quite silent, facingthem both, stood Piet Cradock. 

CHAPTER XI

Nan was the first to free herself from the nightmare paralysis that boundher. Swiftly, as though in answer to a sudden inner urging, she movedforward. She almost pushed past Jerry in her haste. She was white, whiteto the lips with fear, but she never faltered till she stood between herhusband and the boy she had chosen to protect her. The first glimpse ofPiet had revealed to her in what mood he had come. In his right hand hewas gripping her father's heaviest hunting-crop. 

He came slowly forward, ignoring her. His eyes were upon Jerry, whoglared back at him like a young panther. He did not appear to be awareof Nan. 

Suddenly he spoke, briefly, grimly every word clean as a pistol-shot. 

"I suppose you are old enough to know what you are doing?"

"What do you mean?" demanded Jerry, in fierce response. "What are youdoing here? And how the devil did you get in? This place belongs to me!"

"I know. " Piet's face was contemptuous. He seemed to speak through closedlips. "That is why I came. I wanted you. "

"What do you want me for?" flashed back Jerry, with clenched hands. "Ifyou have anything to say, you'd better say it downstairs. "

"I have nothing whatever to say. " There was a deep sound in Piet's voicethat was something more than a menace. Abruptly he squared his greatshoulders, and brought the weapon he carried into full view. 

Jerry's eyes blazed at the action. 

"You be damned!" he exclaimed loudly. "I'll fight you with pleasure, butnot before--"

"You will do nothing of the sort!" thundered Piet, striding forward. "You will take a horse-whipping from me here and now, and in my wife'spresence. You have behaved like a cur, and she shall see you treated assuch. "

The words were like the bellow of a goaded bull. Another instant, and hewould have been at hand grips with the boy, but in that instant Nansprang. With the strength of desperation, she threw herself against him, caught wildly at his arms, his shoulders, clinging at last with frenziedfingers to his breast. 

"You shan't do it!" she gasped, struggling with him. "You shan't do it!If--if you must punish anyone, punish me! Piet, listen to me! Oh listen!I am to blame for this! You can't--you shan't--hurt him just because hehas stood by me when--when I most wanted a friend. Do you hear me, Piet?You shan't do it! Beat me, if you like! I deserve it. He doesn't!"

"I will deal with you afterwards, " he said, sweeping her hands from hiscoat at a single gesture. 

But she caught at the hand that sought to brush her aside, caught andheld it, clinging so fast to his arm that without actual violence hecould not free himself. 

He stood still, then, his eyes glowering ruddily over her head at Jerry, who stamped and swore behind her. 

"Anne, " he said, and the sternness of his voice was like a blow, "go intothe next room!"

"I will not!" she gasped back. "I will not!"

Her face was raised to his. With her left hand she sought and grasped hisright wrist. Her whole body quivered against him, but she stood herground. 

"I shall hurt you!" he said between his teeth. 

"I don't care!" she cried back hysterically. "You--you can kill me, ifyou like!"

He turned his eyes suddenly upon her, flaming them straight into hersmercilessly, scorchingly. She felt as though an electric current had runthrough her, so straight, so piercing was his look. But she met it fully, with wide, unflinching eyes, while her fingers still clutched desperatelyat his iron wrists. 

"Nan! Nan! For Heaven's sake go, and leave us to fight it out!" imploredJerry. "This can't be settled with you here. You are only making thingsworse for yourself. You don't suppose I'm afraid of him, do you?"

She did not so much as hear him. All her physical strength was leavingher; but still, panting and quivering, she met those fiery, searchingeyes. 

Suddenly she knew that her hold upon him was weaker than a child's. Shemade a convulsive effort to renew it, failed, and fell forward againsthim with a gasping cry. 

"Piet!" she whispered, in nerveless entreaty. "Piet!"

He put his arm around her, supporting her; then as he felt her weightupon him he bent and gathered her bodily into his arms. She sank intothem, more nearly fainting than she had ever been in her life; and, straightening himself, he turned rigidly, and bore her into the innerroom. 

He laid her upon the bed there, but still with shaking, powerless fingersshe tried to cling to him. 

"Don't leave me! Don't go!" she besought him. 

He took her hands and put them from him. He turned to leave her, but eventhen she caught his sleeve. 

"Piet, I--I want to--to tell you something, " she managed to say. 

He wheeled round and bent over her. There was something of violence inhis action. 

"Tell me nothing!" he ordered harshly. "Be silent! Anne, do you hear me?Do you hear me?"

Under the compulsion of his look and voice she submitted at last. Trembling she hid her face. 

And in another moment she heard his step as he went out, heard him closethe door and the sharp click of the key as he turned it in the lock. 

CHAPTER XII

For many, many seconds after his departure she lay without breathing, exactly as he had left her, listening, listening with all the strengththat remained to her for the sounds of conflict. 

But all she heard was Piet's voice pitched so low that she could notcatch a word. Then came Jerry's in sharp, staccato tones. He seemed to besurprised at something, surprised and indignant. Twice she heard himfling out an emphatic denial. And, while she still listened with apanting heart, there came the tread of their feet upon the stairs, and she knew that they had descended to the lower regions. 

For a long, long while she still crouched there listening, but there cameto her straining ears no hubbub of blows--only the sound of men's voicestalking together in the room below her, with occasional silences between. Once indeed she fancied that Jerry spoke with passionate vehemence, butthe outburst--if such it were--evoked no response. 

Slowly the minutes dragged away. It was growing very late. What could behappening? What were they saying to each other? When--when would thisterrible strain of waiting be over?

Hark! What was that? The tread of feet once more and the sound of anopening door. Ah, what were they doing? What? What?

Trembling afresh she raised herself on the bed to listen. There came toher the sudden throbbing of a motor-engine. He had come in his car, then, and now he was going, going without another word to her, leaving heralone with Jerry. The conviction came upon her like a stunning blow, depriving her for the moment of all reason. She leapt from the bed andthrew herself against the door, battering against it wildly with herfists. 

She must see him again! She must! She must! She would not be desertedthus! The bare thought was intolerable to her. Did he hold her so lightlyas this, then--that, having followed her a hundred miles through blindingsnow, he could turn his back upon her and leave her thus?

That could only mean but one thing, and her blood turned to fire as sherealized it. It meant that he would have no more of her, that he deemedher unworthy, that--that he intended to set her free!

But she could not bear it! She would not! She would not! She wouldescape. She would force Jerry to let her go. She would follow himthrough that dreadful wilderness of snow. She would run in the tracksof his wheels until she found him. 

And then she would force him--she would force him--to listen to her whileshe poured out to him the foolish, the pitiably foolish truth!

But what if he would not believe her? What then? What then? She had sunkto her knees before the door, still beating madly upon it, and cryingwildly at the keyhole for Jerry to come and set her free. 

In every pause she heard the buzzing of the engine. It seemed to her tohold a jeering note. The outer door was open, and an icy draught blewover her face as she knelt there waiting for Jerry. She broke off againto listen, and heard the muffled sounds of wheels in the snow. Then camethe note of the hooter, mockingly distinct; and then the hum of theengine receding from the house. The outer door banged, and the icydraught suddenly ceased. 

With a loud cry she flung herself once more at the unyielding panels, bruising hands and shoulders against the senseless wood. 

"Jerry! Jerry!" she cried, and again in anguished accents, "Jerry! Cometo me, quick, oh, quick! Let me out! Let me out!"

She heard a step upon the stairs. He was coming. 

In a frenzy she beat and shook the door to make him hasten. She was readyto fly forth like a whirlwind in the wake of the speeding motor. For shemust follow him, she must overtake him; she must--Heaven help her! Shemust somehow make him understand!

Oh, why was Jerry so slow? Every instant was increasing the distancebetween her and that buzzing motor. She screamed to him in an agony ofimpatience to hurry, to hurry, only to hurry. 

He did not call in answer, but at last, at last, his hand was on thedoor. 

She stumbled to her feet as the key grated in the lock, and draggedfiercely at the handle. It resisted her, for there was another hand uponit, and with an exclamation of fierce impatience she snatched her ownaway. 

"Oh, be quick!" she cried hysterically. "Be quick! He is miles away bythis time. I shall never catch him, and I must, I must!"

The door opened. She dashed forward. But a man's arm barred her progress, and with a cry she drew back. The next moment she reeled as she stood, reeled gasping till she slipped and slid to the floor at his feet. Theman upon the threshold was her husband!

CHAPTER XIII

In silence he lifted her and laid her again upon the bed. His touch wasperfectly gentle, but there was no kindness in it, no warmth of any sort. And Nan turned her face into the pillow and sobbed convulsively. Howcould she tell him now?

He began to walk up and down the tiny room, still maintaining thatominous silence. But she sobbed on, utterly unstrung, utterly hopeless, utterly spent. 

He paused at last, and poured some water into a glass. 

"Drink this, " he said, stopping beside her. "And then lie quiet until Ispeak to you. "

But she could neither raise herself nor take the glass. He stooped andlifted her, holding the water to her trembling lips. She leaned againsthim with closed eyes while she drank. She was painfully anxious to avoidhis look. And yet when he laid her down, the sobbing began again, thoughshe struggled feebly to repress it. 

He fetched a chair at last and sat down beside her, gravely waiting tillher breathing became less distressed. Then, finding her calmer, hefinally spoke:

"You need not be afraid of me, Anne. I shall not hurt you. "

"I am not afraid, " she whispered back. 

He sat silent for a space, not looking at her. At last:

"Can you attend to me now?" he asked her formally. 

She raised herself slowly. 

"May I say something first?" she said. 

He turned his brooding eyes upon her. 

"If you can say it quietly, " he said. 

She pressed her hand to her throat. 

"You--will listen to me, and--and believe me?"

"I shall know if you lie to me, " he said. 

She made a sharp gesture of protest. 

"I don't deserve that, " she said. "You know it. "

His grim lips relaxed a very little. 

"I shouldn't talk about deserts if I were you, " he said. 

His tone scared her again, but she made a valiant effort to composeherself. 

"You say that, " she said, "because you are very angry with me. I don'tdispute your right to be angry. I know I've made a fool of you. But--butafter all"--her voice began to shake uncontrollably; she forced out thewords with difficulty--"I've made a much bigger fool of myself. I thinkyou might consider that. "

He did consider it with drawn brows. 

"Does that improve your case?" he asked at length. 

She did not answer him. She was trying hard to read his face, but it toldher nothing. With a swift movement she slipped to her feet and stoodbefore him. 

"I don't know, " she said, speaking fast and passionately, "what you havein your mind. I don't know what you think of me. But I suppose you meanto punish me in some way, to--to give me a lesson that will hurt me allmy life. You have me at your mercy, and--and I shall have to bear it, whatever it is. But before--before you make me hate you, let me say this:I am your wife. Hadn't you better remember that before you punish me?I--I shan't hate you so badly so long as I know that you remember that. "

She stopped. She was wringing her hands fast together to subdue heragitation. 

Piet had risen with her, but she could no longer search his face. She hadsaid that she did not fear him, but in that moment she was more horriblyafraid than she had ever been in her life. 

She thought that he would never break his silence. Had she angered himeven further by those words of hers, she wondered desperately? And ifso--oh! if so--Suddenly he spoke, and every pulse in her body leaped andquivered. 

"Since when, " he said, "have you begun to remember that?"

"I have never forgotten it, " she said, in a voiceless whisper. 

He took her hands, separated them, held up the left before her eyes. 

"Never?" he said. "Be careful what you say to me. "

She looked up with a flash of the old quick pride. 

"I have spoken the truth, " she said. "Why should I be careful?"

He dropped her hand. 

"What have you done with your wedding-ring?"

"I--lost it. " Nan's voice and eyes sank together. "It was an accident, "she said. "We dropped it in the lake. "

"We?" said Piet. 

She made a little hopeless gesture. 

"Yes, Jerry and I. It's no good telling you how it happened. You won'tbelieve me if I do. "

He made no comment. Only after a moment he put his hand on her shoulder. 

"Have you anything else to say?" he asked. 

She shook her head without speaking. She was shivering all over. 

"Very well, then, " he said. "Come into the other room--you seem cold. "

She went with him submissively. The fire had sunk low, and he replenishedit. The hunting crop that he had brought from her father's house lay onthe table with Jerry's banjo. He picked it up and put it away in acorner. 

"Sit down, " he said. 

She sank upon the sofa, hiding her face. He took up his stand on the rug, facing her. 

"Now, " he said quietly, "do you remember my telling you that you hadmarried a savage? I see you do. And you are afraid of me in consequence. I am a savage. I admit it. I hurt you that night. I meant to hurt you. Imeant you to see that I was in earnest. I meant you to realize that youwere my wife. I meant--I still mean--to master you. But I did not mean toterrify you as you were terrified, as you are terrified now. I made amistake, and for that mistake I desire to apologize. "

He stooped and drew one of her hands away from her face. 

"You defied me, " he said. "Do you remember? And I am not accustomed todefiance. Nor will I bear it from anyone--my wife least of all. I am notthreatening you; I am simply showing you what you must learn to expectfrom me, from the savage you have married. It is not my intention tofrighten you. I am no longer angry with either you or the young fool whomyou call your friend. By the way, I have not done him any violence. Hehas merely gone to find a lodging for himself and for the motor in thevillage. Yes, I turned him out of his own house, but I might have doneworse. I meant to do much worse. "

"Yes?" murmured Nan. "Why--why didn't you?"

"Because, " he answered grimly, "I found that I had only fools to dealwith. "

He paused a moment. 

"Well, now for your punishment, " he said. "As you remarked just now, I have you absolutely at my mercy. How much mercy do you expect--ordeserve? Answer me--as my wife. "

But she could not answer him. She only bowed her head speechlesslyagainst the strong hand that still held hers. 

She could feel his fingers tightening to a grip. And she knew herselfbeaten, powerless. 

"Listen to me, Anne!" he said suddenly; and in his voice was somethingthat she had only heard once before, and that but vaguely. "I am going togive you a fair chance, in spite of your behaviour to me. I am willing tobelieve--I do believe--that, to a certain extent, I drove you to thiscourse. I also believe that you and your friend Jerry are nothing but apair of irresponsible children. I should like to have caned him, but Ihad nothing but a loaded horse-whip to do it with, so I was obliged tolet him off. Now listen! I am going downstairs and I shall stay there forexactly half an hour. If between now and the end of that half-hour youcome to me with any good and sufficient reason for letting you go backand live apart from me in your father's house, I will let you go. Youhave asked me to remember that you are my wife. Precisely what you meantby that you have left me to guess. You will make that request of yoursquite plain to me within the next half-hour. "

He relinquished his hold with the words, and would have withdrawn hishand, but she made a sharp movement to stay him. 

"Do you--really--mean that?" she asked him, a catch in her voice, herhead still bent. 

"I have said it, " he said. 

But still with nervous fingers she sought to detain him. 

"What--what would you consider a good and sufficient reason?"

The hand she held clenched slowly upon itself. 

"If you can convince me, " he said, his voice very deep and steady, "thatto desert me would be for your happiness, I will let you go for that. "

"But how can I convince you?" she said, her face still hidden from him, her hands closed tightly upon his wrist. 

"You will be able to do so, " he said, "if you know your own mind. "

"And if--if I fail to satisfy you?" she faltered. 

He was silent. After a moment he deliberately freed himself, and turnedaway. 

"Those are my terms, " he said. "If you do not come to me in half an hourI shall conclude that you leave the decision in my hands--in short, thatyou wish to remain my wife. Think well, Anne, before you take action inthis matter. I do not seek to persuade you to either course. Only let mewarn you that, whatever your choice, I shall treat it as final. You mustrealize that fully before you choose. "

He was at the head of the stairs as he ended. Without a pause he began todescend, and she counted his footsteps with a wildly beating heart tillthey ceased in the room below. 

CHAPTER XIV

She was alone. In a silence intense she lifted her head at last, and knewthat for half an hour she was safe from interruption. 

Far away over the snow she heard a distant church clock tolling midnight. It ceased, and in the silence she thought she heard her stretched nervescracking one by one. Soon--very soon--she would have to go down to himand fight the final battle for her freedom. But she would wait till thevery last minute. She would spend the whole of the brief time accorded toher in mustering all her strength. He had swept her pride utterly out ofher reach. But surely that was not her only weapon. 

What of her hatred--that hatred that had driven her to this mad flightwith Jerry? Surely out of that she could fashion a shield that all hissavagery could not pierce. Moreover, he had given her his word to abideby her decision whatever it might be, so long as she could convince himof that same hatred that had once blazed so fiercely within her. 

But what had happened to it, she wondered? It had wholly ceased to nerveher for resistance. How was it? Was she too physically exhausted to fanit into flame, or had he torn this also from her to wither underfoot withher dead pride? Surely not! With all his boasts of mastery, he had notmastered her yet. She would never submit to him--never, never! Crush her, trample her as he would, she would never yield herself voluntarily tohim. It was only when he began to spare her that she found herselfwavering. Why had he spared her? she asked herself. Why had he given herthat single chance of escape?

Or, stay! Had he, after all, been generous? Had he but affectedgenerosity that he might the more completely subjugate her? He had saidthat she must convince him that freedom from her chain would meanhappiness to her. And how could she ever convince him of this? How?How? Would he ever see himself as she saw him--a monster of violencewhose very presence appalled her? The problem was hopeless, hopeless! Sheknew that she could never make him understand. 

Swiftly the time passed, and with every minute her resolution grewweaker, her agitation more uncontrollable. She could not do it. She couldnot face him with another challenge. It would kill her to resist himagain as she had resisted him on Jerry's behalf. And yet she must dosomething. For, if she did not go to him, he would come to her. Thehalf-hour he had given her was nearly spent. If she did not make up hermind soon it would be too late. It might be that already he was repentinghis brief generosity, if generosity it had been. It might be that at anymoment she would hear his tread upon the stairs. 

She started up in a panic, fancying that she heard it already. But nosound followed her wild alarm, and she knew that her quivering nerveshad tricked her. Shuddering from head to foot, she stood listening, debating with herself. 

Her time was very short now; only three minutes to the half-hour--onlytwo--only one!

With a gasp, she gathered together all the little strength she had left. But she could not descend those gloomy stairs. She dared not go to him. She stood halting at the top. 

Ah, now he was moving! She heard his step in the room below, and she wasconscious of an instant's wild relief that the suspense was past. 

Then panic rushed back upon her, blotting out all else. She saw hisshadow on the stairs, and she cried to him to stop. 

"I am coming down to you! Wait for me! Wait!"

He stepped back, and she stumbled downwards, nearly falling in her haste. At the last stair she tripped, recovering herself only by the arm heflung out to catch her. 

"I was coming!" she gasped incoherently. "I would have come before, butthe stairs were dark--so dark, and I was frightened!"

"There is nothing to frighten you, " he said gravely. 

"I can't help it!" she wailed like a child. "Oh, Piet--Piet, be kind tome--just this once--if you can! I--I'm terrified!"

He put his arm round her. 

"Why?" he said. 

She could not tell him. But in a vague fashion his arm comforted her; andthat also was beyond explanation. 

"You are not angry?" she whispered. 

"No, " he said. 

"You will be, " she said, shivering, "when I have told you my decision. "

"What is your decision?" he asked. 

She did not answer him; she could not. 

He moved, and very gently set her free. There was a chair by the tablefrom which he had evidently just risen. He turned to it and sat down, watching her under his hand. 

"What is your decision?" he asked again. 

She shook her head. Her agony of fear was passing, but still she couldnot tell him yet. 

He waited silently, his face so shaded by his hand that she could notread its expression. 

"Why don't you answer me?" he said at last. 

"I--can't!" she said, with a sob. 

"You leave the decision to me?" he questioned. 

She did not answer. 

He straightened himself slowly, without rising. 

"My decision is made, " he said. "Give me your hand; not that one--theleft. "

She obeyed him trembling. He had taken something from his pocket. With astart she saw what it was. 

"Oh, no, Piet--no!" she cried. 

But he had his way, for he would not suffer her resistance to thwart him. Very gravely and resolutely he slipped a gold ring on to her finger. 

"And you will give me your word to keep it there, " he said, looking up ather. 

Her lips were quivering; she could not speak. 

"Never mind, " he said; "I can trust you. "

He released her hand with the words, and there followed a brief silencewhile Nan stood struggling vainly for self-control. 

Failing at length, she sank suddenly down upon her knees at the tablehiding her face and crying as if her heart would break. 

"My dear Anne!" he said. And then in a different tone, his hand upon herbowed head: "What is it child? Don't cry, don't cry! Is it so hard foryou to be my wife?"

She could not answer him. His kindness was so strange to her. She couldonly sob under that gentle, comforting hand. 

"Hush!" he said. "Hush! Don't be so distressed. Anne, listen! I willnever be a savage to you again. I swear it on my honour, on my faith inyou, and on the love I have for you. What more can I do?"

Still she could not answer him, but her tears were ceasing. Yielding tothe pressure of his hand, she had drawn nearer to him. But she did notraise her head. 

After a long, quivering silence she spoke. 

"Piet, I--I want you to--forgive me; not just for this, but for--athousand things. Piet, I--I didn't know you really loved me. "

"I have always loved you, Anne, " he said, in his deep, slow voice. 

"And you--forgive me, " she said faintly. 

"I have forgiven you, " he answered gravely. 

She made a slight, shy movement, and he took his hand from her head. Butin an instant impulsively she caught at it, drawing it down against herburning face. 

"And you are not angry with me any more?" she murmured. 

"No, " he said again. 

She was silent for a space, not moving, still tightly holding his hand. 

He could not see her face, nor did he seek to do so. Perhaps he feared toscare away her new-found courage. 

At length, in a very small voice, she broke the silence. 

"Piet!"

He leaned forward. 

"What is it, Anne?"

He could feel her breath quick and short upon his hand. She seemed to bemaking a supreme effort. 

"Piet!" she said again. 

"I am listening, " he responded, with absolute patience. 

She turned one cheek slightly towards him. 

"If I loved anybody, " she said, rather incoherently, "I--I'd find someway of letting them know it. "

He leaned his head once more upon his hand. 

"I am a rough beast, Anne, " he said sadly. "My love-making only hurtsyou. "

Nan was silent again for a little, but she still held fast to his hand. 

"Were you, " she asked hesitatingly at length, "were you--making love tome--that night?"

"After my own savage fashion, " he said. 

"Well, " she said, a slight quiver in her voice, "it didn't hurt me, Piet. "

Piet was silent. 

"I mean, " she said, gathering courage, "if--if I had known that it meantjust that, I--well, I shouldn't have minded so much. "

Still Piet was silent. His hand shaded his eyes, but she knew that he waswatching her. 

"Do you understand?" she asked him doubtfully. 

"No, " he said. 

"Don't you--don't you know what I want you to do?" she said, ratherBreathlessly. 

"No, " he said again. 

"Must I--tell you?" she asked, with a gasp. 

"I think you must, " he said, in his grave way. 

She lifted her head abruptly. Her eyes were very big and shining. Shestretched her hands out to him with a little, quivering laugh. 

"I hate you for making me say it!" she declared, with a vehemence halfpassionate, half whimsical. "Piet, I--I want you--to--to--take me in yourarms again, and--and--kiss me--as you did--that night. "

The last words were uttered from his breast, though she never knew howshe came to be there. It was as though a whirlwind had caught her awayfrom the earth into a sunlit paradise that was all her own--a paradise inwhich fear had no place. And the chain against which she had chafed solong and bitterly had turned to links of purest gold. 

 * * * * *

 The Consolation Prize

"So you don't want to marry me?" said Earl Wyverton. 

He said it by no means bitterly. There was even the suggestion of a smileon his clean-shaven face. He looked down at the girl who stood beforehim, with eyes that were faintly quizzical. She was bending at the momentto cut a tall Madonna lily from a sheaf that grew close to the path. Athis quiet words she started and the flower fell. 

He stooped and picked it up, considered it for a moment, then slipped itinto the basket that was slung on her arm. 

"Don't be agitated, " he said, gently. "You needn't take meseriously--unless you wish. "

She turned a face of piteous entreaty towards him. She was tremblinguncontrollably. "Oh, please, Lord Wyverton, " she said, earnestly, "please, don't ask me! Don't ask me! I--I felt so sure you wouldn't. "

"Did you?" he said. "Why?"

He looked at her with grave interest. He was a straight, well-made man;but his kindest friends could not have called him anything but ugly, andthere were a good many who thought him formidable also. Nevertheless, there was that about him--an honesty and a strength--which made up to avery large extent for his lack of other attractions. 

"Tell me why, " he said. 

"Oh, because you are so far above me, " the girl said, with an effort. "You must remember that. You can't help it. I have always known that youwere not in earnest. "

"Have you?" said Lord Wyverton, smiling a little. "Have you? You seem tohave rather a high opinion of me, Miss Neville. "

She turned back to her flowers. "There are certain things, " she said, ina low voice, "that one can't help knowing. "

"And one of them is that Lord Wyverton is too fond of larking to beconsidered seriously at any time?" he questioned. 

She did not answer. He stood and watched her speculatively. 

"And so you won't have anything to say to me?" he said at last. "In fact, you don't like me?"

She glanced at him with grey eyes that seemed to plead for mercy. "Yes, I like you, " she said, slowly. "But--"

"Never mind the 'but, '" said Wyverton, quietly. "Will you marry me?"

She turned fully round again and faced him. He saw that she was verypale. 

"Do you mean it?" she said. "Do you?"

He frowned at her, though his eyes remained quizzical and kindly. "Don'tbe frightened, " he said. "Yes; I am actually in earnest. I want you. "

She stiffened at the words and grew paler still; but she said nothing. 

It was Wyverton who broke the silence. There was something about her thatmade him uneasy. 

"You can send me away at once, " he said, "if you don't want me. Youneedn't mind my feelings, you know. "

"Send you away!" she said. "I!"

He gave her a sudden, keen look, and held out his hand to her. "Nevermind the rest of the world, Phyllis, " he said, very gravely. "Let themsay what they like, dear. If we want each other, there is no power onearth that can divide us. "

She drew in her breath sharply as she laid her hand in his. 

"And now, " he said, "give me your answer. Will you marry me?"

He felt her hand move convulsively in his own. She was trembling still. 

He bent towards her, gently drawing her. "It is 'Yes, ' Phyllis, " hewhispered. "It must be 'Yes. '"

And after a moment, falteringly, through white lips, she answered him. 

"It is--'Yes. '"

 * * * * *

"And you accepted him! Oh, Phyllis!"

The younger sister looked at her with eyes of wide astonishment, almostof reproach. They were two of a family of ten; a country clergyman'sfamily that had for its support something under three hundred pounds ayear. Phyllis, the eldest girl, worked for her living as a privatesecretary and had only lately returned home for a brief holiday. 

Lord Wyverton, who had seen her once or twice in town, had actuallyfollowed her thither to pursue his courtship. She had not believedherself to be the attraction. She had persistently refused to believe himto be in earnest until that afternoon, when the unbelievable thing hadactually happened and he had definitely asked her to be his wife. Eventhen, sitting alone with her sister in the bedroom they shared, she couldscarcely bring herself to realize what had happened to her. 

"Yes, " she said; "I accepted him of course--of course. My dear Molly, howcould I refuse?"

Molly made no reply, but her silence was somehow tragic. 

"Think of mother, " the elder girl went on, "and the children. How could Ipossibly refuse--even if I wanted?"

"Yes, " said Molly; "I see. But I quite thought you were in love with JimFreeman. "

In the silence that followed this blunt speech she turned to looksearchingly at her sister. Molly was just twenty, and she did the entirework of the household with sturdy goodwill. She possessed beauty that wasunusual. They were a good-looking family, and she was the fairest of themall. Her eyes were dark and very shrewd, under their straight blackbrows; her face was delicate in colouring and outline; her hair wasred-gold and abundant. Moreover, she was clever in a strictly practicalsense. She enjoyed life in spite of straitened circumstances. And shepossessed a serenity of temperament that no amount of adversity everseemed to ruffle. 

Having obtained the desired glimpse of her sister's face, she returnedwithout comment to the very worn stocking that she was repairing. 

"I had a talk with Jim Freeman the other day, " she said. "He was drivingthe old doctor's dog-cart and going to see a patient. He offered me alift. "

"Oh!" Phyllis's tone was carefully devoid of interest. She also took up astocking from the pile at her sister's elbow and began to work. 

"I asked him how he was getting on, " Molly continued. "He said that Dr. Finsbury was awfully good to him, and treated him almost like a son. Heasked very particularly after you; and when I told him you were cominghome he said that he should try and manage to come over and see you. Buthe is evidently beginning to be rather important, and he can't get awayvery easily. He asked a good many questions about you, and wanted to knowif I thought you were happy and well. "

"I see. " Again the absence of interest in Phyllis's tone was so marked asto be almost unnatural. 

Molly dismissed the subject with a far better executed air ofindifference. 

"And you are really going to marry Earl Wyverton, " she said. "How nice, Phyl! Did he make love to you?"

There was a distinct pause before Phyllis replied. "No. There was noneed. "

"He didn't!" ejaculated Molly. 

"I didn't encourage him to, " Phyllis confessed. "He went away directlyafter. He said he should come to-morrow and see dad. "

"I suppose he's frightfully rich?" said Molly, reflectively. 

"Enormously, I believe. " A deep red flush rose in Phyllis's face. She hadbegun to tremble again in spite of herself. Molly suddenly dropped herwork and leaned forward. 

"Phyl, Phyl, " she said, softly; "shall I tell you what Jim Freeman saidto me that day? He said that very soon he should be able to support awife--and I knew quite well what he meant. I told him I was glad--soglad. Oh, Phyl, darling, when he comes and asks you to go to him, whatwill you say?"

Phyllis looked up with quick protest on her lips. She wrung her handstogether with a despairing gesture. 

"Molly, Molly, " she gasped, "don't torture me! How can I help it? How canI help it? I shall have to send him away. "

"Oh, poor darling!" Molly said. "Poor, poor darling!"

And she gathered her sister into her arms, pressing her close to herheart with a passionate fondness of which only a few knew her to becapable. There was only a year between them, and Molly had always beenthe leading spirit, protector and comforter by turns. 

Even as she soothed and hushed Phyllis into calmness her quick brain wasat work upon the situation. There must be a way of escape somewhere. Ofthat she was convinced. There always was a way of escape. But for thetime at least it baffled her. Her own acquaintance with Wyverton was veryslight. She wished ardently that she knew what manner of man he was atheart. 

Upon one point at least she was firmly determined. This monstroussacrifice must not take place, even were it to ensure the whole familywelfare. The life they lived was desperately difficult, but Phyllis mustnot be allowed to ruin her own life's happiness and another's also toease the burden. 

But what a pity it seemed! What a pity! Why in wonder was Fate soperverse? Molly thought. Such a brilliant chance offered to herselfwould have turned the whole world into a gilded dreamland. For she waswholly heart-free. 

The idea was a fascinating one. It held her fancy strongly. She began towonder if he cared very deeply for her sister, or if mere looks hadattracted him. 

She had good looks too, she reflected. And she was quick to learn, adaptable. The thought rushed through her mind like a meteor throughspace. He might be willing. He might be kind. He had a look about hiseyes--a quizzical look--that certainly suggested possibilities. But dareshe put it to the test? Dare she actually interfere in the matter?

For the first time in all her vigorous young life Molly found her courageat so low an ebb that she was by no means sure that she could rely uponit to carry her through. 

She spent the rest of that day in trying to screw herself up to what sheprivately termed "the necessary pitch of impudence. "

 * * * * *

At nine o'clock on the following morning Lord Wyverton, sitting atbreakfast alone in the little coffee-room of the Red Lion, heard a voicehe recognized speak his name in the passage outside. 

"Lord Wyverton, " it said, "is he down?"

Lord Wyverton rose and went to the door. He met the landlady justentering with a basket of eggs in her hand. She dropped him a curtsy. 

"It's Miss Molly from the Vicarage, my lord, " she said. 

Molly herself stood in the background. Behind the landlady's broad backshe also executed a village bob. 

"I had to come with the eggs. We supply Mrs. Richards with eggs. And itseemed unneighbourly to go away without seeing your lordship, " she said. 

She looked at him with wonderful dark eyes that met his own withunreserved directness. He told himself as he shook hands that this girlwas a great beauty and would be a magnificent woman some day. 

"I am pleased to see you, " he said, with quiet courtesy. "It was kind ofyou to look me up. Will you come into the garden?"

"I haven't much time to spare, " said Molly. "It's my cake morning. Youare coming round to the Vicarage, aren't you? Can't we walk together?"

"Certainly, " he replied at once, "if you think I shall not be too early avisitor. "

Molly's lips parted in a little smile. "We begin our day at six, " shesaid. 

"What energy!" he commented. "I am only energetic when I am on aholiday. "

"You're on business now, then?" queried Molly. 

He looked at her keenly as they passed out upon the sunlit road. "I thinkyou know what my business is, " he said. 

She did not respond. "I'll take you through the fields, " she said. "It'sa short cut. Don't you want to smoke?"

There was something in her manner that struck him as not altogethernatural. He pondered over it as he lighted a cigarette. 

"They are cutting the grass in the church fields, " said Molly. "Don't youhear?"

Through the slumberous summer air came the whir of the machine. It wasJune. 

"It's the laziest sound on earth, " said Wyverton. 

Molly turned off the road to a stile. "You ought to take a holiday, " shesaid, as she mounted it. 

He vaulted the railing beside it and gave her his hand. "I'm notaltogether a drone, Miss Neville, " he said. 

Molly seated herself on the top bar and surveyed him. "Of course not, "she said. "You are here on business, aren't you?"

Wyverton's extended hand fell to his side. "Now what is it you want tosay to me?" he asked her, quietly. 

Molly's hands were clasped in her lap. They did not tremble, but theygripped one another rather tightly. 

"I want to say a good many things, " she said, after a moment. 

Lord Wyverton smiled suddenly. He had meeting brows, but his smile wasreassuring. 

"Yes?" he said. "About your sister?"

"Partly, " said Molly. She put up an impatient hand and removed her hat. Her hair shone gloriously in the sunlight that fell chequered through theoverarching trees. 

"I want to talk to you seriously, Lord Wyverton, " she said. 

"I am quite serious, " he assured her. 

There followed a brief silence. Molly's eyes travelled beyond him andrested upon the plodding horses in the hay-field. 

"I have heard, " she said at length, "that men and women in your positiondon't always marry for love. "

Wyverton's brows drew together into a single, hard, uncompromising line. "I suppose there are such people to be found in every class, " he said. 

Molly's eyes returned from the hay-field and met his look steadily. "Ilike you best when you don't frown, " she said. "I am not trying to insultyou. "

His brows relaxed, but he did not smile. "I am sure of that, " he said, courteously. "Please continue. "

Molly leaned slightly forward. "I think one should be honest at alltimes, " she said, "at whatever cost. Lord Wyverton, Phyllis isn't inlove with you at all. She cares for Jim Freeman, the doctor'sassistant--an awfully nice boy; and he cares for her. But, you see, youare rich, and we are so frightfully poor; and mother is often ill, chiefly because there isn't enough to provide her with what she needs. And so Phyllis felt it would be almost wicked to refuse your offer. Perhaps you won't understand, but I hope you will try. If it weren't forJim, I would never have told you. As it is--I have been wondering--"

She broke off abruptly and suddenly covered her face with her two handsin a stillness so tense that the man beside her marvelled. 

He moved close to her. He was rather pale, but by no means discomposed. 

"Yes?" he said. "Go on, please. I want you to finish. "

There was authority in his voice, but Molly sat in unbroken silence. 

He waited for several moments, then laid a perfectly steady hand on herknee. 

"You have been wondering--" he said. 

She did not raise her head. As if under compulsion, she answered him withher face still hidden. 

"I have dared to wonder if--perhaps--you would take me--instead. I--amnot in love with anybody else, and I never would be. If you are in lovewith Phyllis, I won't go on. But if it is just beauty you care for, I amno worse-looking than she is. And I should do my best to please you. "

The low voice sank. Molly's habitual self-possession had wholly desertedher at this critical moment. She was painfully conscious of the quiethand on her knee. It seemed to press upon her with a weight that wasalmost intolerable. 

The silence that followed was terrible to her. She wondered afterwardshow she sat through it. 

Then at last he moved and took her by the wrists. "Will you look at me?"he said. 

His voice sent a quiver through her. She had never felt so desperatelyscared and ashamed in all her healthy young life. Yet she yielded to theinsistence of his touch and tone, and met the searching scrutiny of hiseyes with all her courage. He was not angry, she saw; nor was hecontemptuous. More than that she could not read. She lowered her eyesand waited. Her pulses throbbed wildly, but still she kept herself fromtrembling. 

"Is this a definite offer?" he asked at last. 

"Yes, " she answered. Her voice was very low, but it was steady. 

He waited a second, and she felt the mastery of the eyes she could notmeet. 

"Forgive me, " he said, then; "but are you actually in earnest?"

"Yes, " she said again, and marvelled at her own daring. 

His hold tightened upon her wrists. "You are a very brave girl, " he said. 

There was a baffling note in his tone, and she glanced up involuntarily. To her intense relief she saw the quizzical, kindly look in his eyesagain. 

"Will you allow me to say, " he said, "that I don't think you were createdfor a consolation prize?"

He spoke somewhat grimly, but his tone was not without humour. Molly satquite still in his hold. She had a feeling that she had grossly insultedhim, that she had made it his right to treat her exactly as he chose. 

After a moment he set her quietly free. 

"I see you are serious, " he said. "If you weren't--it would beintolerable. But do you actually expect me to take you at your word?"

She did not hesitate. "I wish you to, " she said. 

"You think you would be happy with me?" he pursued. "You know, I amcalled eccentric by a good many. "

"You are eccentric, " said Molly, "or you wouldn't dream of marrying oneof us. As to being happy, it isn't my nature to be miserable. I don'twant to be a countess, but I do want to help my people. That in itselfwould make me happy. "

"Thank you for telling me the truth, " Wyverton said, gravely. "I believeI have suspected some of it from the first. And now listen. I asked yoursister to marry me--because I wanted her. But I will spoil no woman'slife. I will take nothing that does not belong to me. I shall set herfree. "

He paused. Molly was looking at him expectantly. His face softened alittle under her eyes. 

"As for you, " he said, "I don't think you quite realize what you haveoffered me--how much of yourself. It is no little thing, Molly. It is allyou have. A woman should not part with that lightly. Still, since youhave offered it to me, I cannot and do not throw it aside. If you are ofthe same mind in six months from now, I shall take you at your word. Butyou ought to marry for love, child--you ought to marry for love. "

He held out his hand to her abruptly, and Molly, with a burning face, gave him both her own. 

"I can't think how I did it, " she said, in a low voice. "But I--I am notsorry. "

"Thank you, " said Lord Wyverton, and he stooped with an odd little smile, and kissed first one and then the other of the hands he held. 

 * * * * *

No one, save Phyllis, knew of the contract made on that golden morning inJune on the edge of the flowering meadows; and even to Phyllis only thebare outlines of the interview were vouchsafed. 

That she was free, and that Lord Wyverton felt no bitterness over hisdisappointment, he himself assured her. He uttered no word of reproach. He did not so much as hint that she had given him cause for complaint. Hewas absolutely composed, even friendly. 

He barely mentioned her sister's interference in the matter, and hesaid nothing whatsoever as to her singular method of dealing with thesituation. It was Molly who briefly imparted this action of hers, andher manner of so doing did not invite criticism. 

Thereafter she went back to her multitudinous duties without an apparentsecond thought, shouldering her burden with her usual serenity; and noone imagined for a moment what tumultuous hopes and doubts underlay hercalm exterior. 

Lord Wyverton left the place, and the general aspect of things returnedto their usual placidity. 

The announcement of the engagement of the vicar's eldest daughter to JimFreeman, the doctor's assistant in the neighbouring town, created a smallstir among the gossips. It was generally felt that, good fellow as youngFreeman undoubtedly was, pretty Phyllis Neville might have done farbetter for herself. A rumour even found credence in some quarters thatshe had actually refused the wealthy aristocrat for Jim Freeman's sake, but there were not many who held this belief. It implied a foolishnesstoo sublime. 

Discussion died down after Phyllis's return to her work. It wasunderstood that her marriage was to take place in the winter. Molly'shands were, in consequence, very full, and she had obviously no time totalk of her sister's choice. There was only one visitor who ever calledat the Vicarage in anything approaching to state. Her visits usuallyoccurred about twice a year, and possessed something of the nature of aRoyal favour. This was Lady Caryl, the Lady of the Manor, in whose giftthe living lay. 

This lady had always shown a marked preference for the vicar's seconddaughter. 

"Mary Neville, " she would remark to her friends, "is severely handicappedby circumstance, but she will make her mark in spite of it. Her beauty isextraordinary, and I cannot believe that Providence has destined her fora farmer's wife. "

It was on a foggy afternoon at the end of November that Lady Caryl'scarriage turned in at the Vicarage gates for the second state call of theyear. 

Molly received the visitor alone. Her mother was upstairs with abronchial attack. 

Lady Caryl, handsome, elderly, and aristocratic, entered the shabbydrawing-room with her most gracious air. She sat and talked for a whileupon various casual subjects. Molly poured out the tea and responded withher usual cheery directness. Lady Caryl did not awe her. Her father waswont to remark that Molly was impudent as a robin and brave as a lion. 

After a slight pause in the conversation Lady Caryl turned from parishaffairs with an abruptness somewhat characteristic of her, but by nomeans impetuous. 

"Did you ever chance to meet Earl Wyverton, my dear Mary?" she inquired. "He spent a few days here in the summer. "

"Yes, " said Molly. "He came to see us several times. "

The beautiful colour rose slightly as she replied, but she lookedstraight at her questioner with a directness almost boyish. 

"Ah!" said Lady Caryl. "I was away from the Manor at the time, or Ishould have asked him to stay there. I have always liked him. "

"We like him too, " said Molly, simply. 

"He is a gentleman, " rejoined Lady Caryl, with emphasis. "And that makeshis misfortune the more regrettable. "

"Misfortune!" echoed Molly. 

She started a little as she uttered the word--so little that none but avery keen observer would have noticed it. 

"Ah!" said Lady Caryl. "You have not heard, I see. I suppose you wouldnot hear. But it has been the talk of the town. They say he has lostpractically every penny he possessed over some gigantic Americanspeculation, and that to keep his head above water he will have to sellor let every inch of land he owns. It is particularly to be regretted, ashe has always taken his responsibilities seriously. Indeed, there aremany who regard his principles as eccentrically fastidious. I am not ofthe number, my dear Mary. Like you, I have a high esteem for him, and hehas my most heartfelt sympathy. "

She ceased to speak, and there was a little pause. 

"How dreadful!" Molly said then. "It must be far worse to lose a lot ofmoney than to be poor from the beginning. "

The flush had quite passed from her face. She even looked slightly pale. 

Lady Caryl laid down her cup and rose. "That would be so, no doubt, " shesaid. "I think I shall try to persuade him to come to us at the end ofthe year. And your sister is to be married in January? It will be quitean event for you all. I am sure you are very busy--even more so thanusual, my dear Mary. "

She made her stately adieu and swept away. 

After her departure Molly bore the teacups to the kitchen and washed themwith less than her usual cheery rapidity. And when the day's work wasdone she sat for a long while in her icy bedroom, with the moonlightflooding all about her, thinking, thinking deeply. 

 * * * * *

It was the eve of Phyllis's wedding-day, and Molly was hard at work inthe kitchen. The children were all at home, but she had resolutelyturned every one out of this, her own particular domain, that she mightcomplete her gigantic task of preparation undisturbed. The wholehousehold were in a state of seething excitement. There were guests inthe house as well, and every room but the kitchen seemed crowded to itsutmost capacity. Molly was busier than she had ever been in her life, andthe whirl of work had nearly swept away even her serenity. She was verytired, too, though she was scarcely conscious of it. Her hands went fromone task to another with almost mechanical skill. 

She was bending over the stove, stirring a delicacy that required herminute attention when there came a knock on the kitchen door. 

She did not even turn her head as she responded to it. "Go away!" shecalled. "I can't talk to anyone. "

There was a pause--a speculative pause--during which Molly bent lowerover her saucepan and concluded that the intruder had departed. 

Then she became suddenly aware that the door had opened quietly andsomeone had entered. She could not turn her head at the moment. 

"Oh, do go away!" she said. "I haven't a second to spare; and if thisgoes wrong I shall be hours longer. "

The kitchen door closed promptly and obligingly, and Molly, with a littlesigh of relief, concentrated her full attention once more upon the matterin hand. 

The last critical phase of the operation arrived, and she lifted thesaucepan from the fire and turned round with it to the table. 

In that instant she saw that which so disturbed her equanimity that shenearly dropped saucepan and contents upon the kitchen floor. 

Earl Wyverton was standing with his back against the door, watching herwith eyes that shone quizzically under the meeting brows. 

He came forward instantly, and actually took the saucepan out of herhands. 

"Let me, " he said. 

Molly let him, being for the moment powerless to do otherwise. 

"Now, " he said, "what does one do--pour it into this glass thing? I see. Don't watch me, please; I'm nervous. "

Molly uttered a curious little laugh that was not wholly steady. 

"How did you come here?" she said. 

He did not answer her till he had safely accomplished what he hadundertaken. Then he set down the saucepan and looked at her. 

"I am staying with Lady Caryl, " he told her gravely. "I arrived thisafternoon. And I have come here to present a humble offering to yoursister, and to make a suggestion equally humble to you. I arrived here inthis room by means of a process called bribery and corruption. But if youare too busy to listen to me, I will wait. "

"I can listen, " Molly said. 

He had not even shaken hands with her, and she felt strangely uncertainof herself. She was even conscious of a childish desire to run away. 

He took her at her word at once. "Thank you, " he said. "Now, do youremember a certain conversation that took place between us six monthsago?"

"I remember, " she said. 

An odd sense of powerlessness had taken possession of her, and she knewit had become visible to him, for she saw his face alter. 

"I know I'm ugly, " he said, abruptly; "but I'm not frowning, believe me. "

She understood the allusion and laughed rather faintly. "I'm not afraidof you, Lord Wyverton, " she said. 

He smiled at her. "Thank you, " he said. "That's kind. I'm coming to thepoint. There are just two questions I have to ask you, and I've done. First, have they told you that I'm a ruined man?"

Molly's face became troubled. "Yes, " she said. "Lady Caryl told me. I wasvery sorry--for you. "

She uttered the last two words with a conscious effort. He was masteringher in some subtle fashion, drawing her by some means irresistible. Shefelt almost as if some occult force were at work upon her. He did notthank her for her sympathy. Without comment he passed on to his secondquestion. 

"And are you still disposed to be generous?" he asked her, with adirectness that surpassed her own. "Is your offer--that splendid offer ofyours--still open? Or have you changed your mind? You mustn't pity meovermuch. I have enough to live on--enough for two"--he smiled again thatpleasant, sudden smile of his--"if you will do the cooking and polish thefront-door knob. "

"What will you do?" demanded Molly, with a new-found independence of tonethat his light manner made possible. 

"I shall clean the boots, " he answered, promptly, "or swab the floors, or, it may be"--he bent slightly towards her, and she saw a new light inhis eyes as he ended--"it may be, stand by my wife to lift the saucepanoff the fire, or do all her other little jobs when she is tired. "

Again, and more strongly, she felt that he was drawing her, and she knewthat she was going--going into deep waters in which his hand alone couldhold her up. She stood before him silently. Her heart was beating veryfast. The surging of the deep sea was in her ears. It almost frightenedher, though she knew she had no cause to fear. 

And then, suddenly, his hands were upon her shoulders and his eyes wereclosely searching her face. 

"I offer you myself, Molly, " he said, and there was ringing passion inhis voice, though he controlled it. "I loved you from the moment youoffered to marry me. Is not that enough?"

Yes; it was enough. The mastery of it rolled in upon her in a fullflood-tide that no power of reasoning could withstand. She drew one long, gasping breath--and yielded. The splendour of that moment was greaterthan anything she had ever known. Its intensity was almost too vividto be borne. 

She stretched up her arms to him with a little sob of pure and gladsurrender. There was no hiding what was in her heart. She revealed it tohim without words, but fully, gloriously, convincingly, as she yieldedher lips to his. And she forgot that she had desired to marry him for hismoney. She forgot that the family clothes were threadbare and the familycares almost impossible to cope with. She knew only that better thingwhich is greater than poverty or pain or death itself. And, knowing it, she possessed more than the whole world, and found it enough. 

Late that night, when at last Molly lay down to rest with the morrow'sbride by her side, there came the final revelation of that amazing day. Neither she nor Wyverton had spoken a word to any of that which wasbetween them. It was not their hour; or, rather, the time had not arrivedfor others to share in it. 

But as the two girls clasped one another on that last night ofcompanionship Phyllis presently spoke his name. 

"I actually haven't told you what Lord Wyverton did, Moll, " she said. "You would never guess. It was so unexpected, so overwhelming. You knowhe came to tea. You were busy and didn't see him. Jim was there, too. Hecame straight up to me and said the kindest things to us both. We werestanding away from the rest. And he put an envelope into my hand andasked me, with his funny smile, to accept it for an old friend's sake. Hedisappeared mysteriously directly after. And--and--Molly, it was a chequefor a thousand pounds. "

"Good gracious!" said Molly, sharply. 

"Wasn't it simply amazing?" Phyllis continued. "It nearly took my breathaway. And then Lady Caryl arrived, and I showed it to her. And she saidthat the story of his ruin was false, that she thought he himself hadinvented it for a special reason that had ceased to exist. And she saidthat she thought he was richer now than he had ever been before. Why, Molly, Molly--what has happened? What is it?"

Molly had suddenly sprung upright in bed. The moonlight was shining onher beautiful face, and she was smiling tremulously, while her eyeswere wet with tears. 

She reached out both her arms with a gesture that was full of an infinitetenderness. 

"Yes, " she said, "yes, I see. " And her glad voice rang and quivered onthat note which Love alone can strike. "It's true, darling. It's true. He is richer now than he ever was before, and I--I have found endlessriches too. For I love him--I love him--I love him! And--he knows it!"

"Molly!" exclaimed her sister in amazement. 

Molly did not turn. She was staring into the moonlight with eyes thatsaw. 

"And nothing else counts in all the world, " she said. "He knows that too, as we all know it--we all know it--at the bottom of our hearts. "

And with that she laughed--the soft, sweet laugh of Love triumphant--andlay back again by her sister's side. 

 * * * * *

 Her Freedom

"We have been requested to announce that the marriage arranged betweenViscount Merrivale and Miss Hilary St. Orme will not take place. "

Viscount Merrivale was eating his breakfast when he chanced upon thisannouncement. He was late that morning, and, contrary to custom, wasskimming through the paper at the same time. But the paragraph broughtboth occupations to an abrupt standstill. He stared at the sheet for afew moments as if he thought it was bewitched. His brown face reddened, and he looked as if he were about to say something. Then he pushed thepaper aside with a contemptuous movement and drank his coffee. 

His servant, appearing in answer to the bell a few minutes later, lookedat him with furtive curiosity. He had already seen the announcement, being in the habit of studying society items before placing the paperon the breakfast-table. But Merrivale's clean-shaven face was free fromperturbation, and the man was puzzled. 

"Reynolds, " Merrivale said, "I shall go out of town this afternoon. Havethe motor ready at four!"

"Very good, my lord. " Reynolds glanced at the table and noted with somesatisfaction that his master had only eaten one egg. 

"Yes, I have finished, " Merrivale said, taking up the paper. "If Mr. Culver calls, ask him to be good enough to wait for me. And--that's all, "he ended abruptly as he reached the door. 

"As cool as a cucumber!" murmured Reynolds, as he began to clear thetable. "I shouldn't wonder but what he stuck the notice in hisself. "

Merrivale, still with the morning paper in his hand, strolled easily downto his club and collected a few letters. He then sauntered into thesmoking-room, where a knot of men, busily conversing in undertones, gavehim awkward greeting. 

Merrivale lighted a cigar and sat down deliberately to study his paper. 

Nearly an hour later he rose, nodded to several members, who glanced upat him expectantly, and serenely took his departure. 

A general buzz of discussion followed. 

"He doesn't look exactly heart-broken, " one man observed. 

"Hearts grow tough in the West, " remarked another. "He has probably donethe breaking-off himself. Jack Merrivale, late of California, isn't thesort of chap to stand much trifling. "

A young man with quizzical eyes broke in with a laugh. 

"Ask Mr. Cosmo Fletcher! He is really well up on that subject. "

"Also Mr. Richard Culver, apparently, " returned the first speaker. 

Culver grinned and bowed. 

"Certainly, sir, " he said. "But--luckily for himself--he has neverqualified for a leathering from Jack Merrivale, late of California. Idon't believe myself that he did do the breaking-off. As they haven't metmore than a dozen times, it can't have gone very deep with him. And, anyhow, I am certain the girl never cared twopence for anything excepthis title, the imp. She's my cousin, you know, so I can call her what Ilike--always have. "

"I shouldn't abuse the privilege in Merrivale's presence if I were you, "remarked the man who had expressed the opinion that Merrivale was not oneto stand much trifling. 

 * * * * *

"Well, but wasn't it unreasonable?" said Hilary St. Orme, with handsclasped daintily behind her dark head. "Who could stand such tyranny asthat? And surely it's much better to find out before than after. I hatemasterful men, Sybil. I am quite sure I could never have been happy withhim. "

The girl's young step-mother looked across at the pretty, mutinous faceand sighed. 

"It wasn't a nice way of telling him so, I'm afraid, dear, " she said. "Your father is very vexed. "

"But it was beautifully conclusive, wasn't it?" laughed Hilary. "As tothe poor old pater, he won't keep it up for ever, bless his simple heart, that did want its daughter to be a viscountess. So while the fit lastsI propose to judiciously absent my erring self. It's a nuisance to haveto miss all the fun this season; but with the pater in the sulks itwouldn't be worth it. So I'm off to-morrow to join Bertie and thehouse-boat at Riverton. As Dick has taken a bungalow close by, we shallbe quite a happy family party. They will be happy; I shall be happy; andyou--positively, darling, you won't have a care left in the world. If itweren't for your matrimonial bonds, I should quite envy you. "

"I don't think you ought to go down to Riverton without someoneresponsible to look after you, " objected Mrs. St. Orme dubiously. 

"My dear little mother, what a notion!" cried her step-daughter with amerry laugh. "Who ever dreamt of the proprieties on the river? Why, Ispent a whole fortnight on the house-boat with only Bertie and the Badgerthat time the poor old pater and I fell out over--what was it? Well, itdoesn't matter. Anyhow, I did. And no one a bit the worse. Bertie isequal to a dozen _duennas_, as everyone knows. "

"Don't you really care, I wonder?" said Mrs. St. Orme, with wonderingeyes on the animated face. 

"Why should I, dear?" laughed the girl, dropping upon a hassock at herside. "I am my own mistress. I have a little money, and--consideringI am only twenty-four--quite a lot of wisdom. As to being ViscountessMerrivale, I will say it fascinated me a little--just at first, you know. And the poor old pater was so respectful I couldn't help enjoying myself. But the gilt soon wore off the gingerbread, and I really couldn't enjoywhat was left. I said to myself, 'My dear, that man has the makings of ahectoring bully. You must cut yourself loose at once if you don't want todevelop into that most miserable of all creatures, a down-trodden wife. 'So after our little tiff of the day before yesterday I sent the noticeoff forthwith. And--you observe--it has taken effect. The tyrant hasn'tbeen near. "

"You really mean to say the engagement wasn't actually broken off beforeyou sent it?" said Mrs. St. Orme, looking shocked. 

"It didn't occur to either of us, " said Hilary, looking down with asmile at the corners of her mouth. "He chose to take exception to mybeing seen riding in the park with Mr. Fletcher. And I took exception tohis interference. Not that I like Mr. Fletcher, for I don't. But I had toassert my right to choose my own friends. He disputed it. And then weparted. No one is going to interfere with my freedom. "

"You were never truly in love with him, then?" said Mrs. St. Orme, regretand relief struggling in her voice. 

Hilary looked up with clear eyes. 

"Oh, never, darling!" she said tranquilly. "Nor he with me. I don't knowwhat it means; do you? You can't--surely--be in love with the poor oldpater?"

She laughed at the idea and idly took up a paper lying at hand. Half aminute later she uttered a sharp cry and looked up with flaming cheeks. 

"How--how--dare he?" she cried, almost incoherent with angryastonishment. "Sybil! For Heaven's sake! See!"

She thrust the paper upon her step-mother's knee and pointed with afinger that shook uncontrollably at a brief announcement in the societycolumn. 

"We are requested to state that the announcement in yesterday's issuethat the marriage arranged between Viscount Merrivale and Miss Hilary St. Orme would not take place was erroneous. The marriage will take place, aspreviously announced, towards the end of the season. "

 * * * * *

"What sublime assurance!" exclaimed Bertie St. Orme, lying on his back inthe luxurious punt which his sister was leisurely impelling up stream, and laughing up at her flushed face. "This viscount of yours seems tohave plenty of decision of character, whatever else he may be lackingin. "

Bertie St. Orme was a cripple, and spent every summer regularly upon theriver with his old manservant, nicknamed "the Badger. "

"Oh, he is quite impossible!" Hilary declared. "Let's talk of somethingelse!"

"But he means to keep you to your word, eh?" her brother persisted. "Howwill you get out of it?"

Hilary's face flushed more deeply, and she bit her lip. 

"There won't be any getting out of it. Don't be silly! I am free. "

"The end of the season!" teased Bertie. "That allows you--let'ssee--four, five, six more weeks of freedom. "

"Be quiet, if you don't want a drenching!" warned Hilary. "Besides, " sheadded, with inconsequent optimism, "anything may happen before then. Why, I may even be married to a man I really like. "

"Great Scotland, so you may!" chuckled her brother. "There's the wild manthat Dick has brought down here to tame before launching at society. He'sa great beast like a brown bear. He wouldn't be my taste, but that's adetail. "

"I hate fashionable men!" declared Hilary, with scarlet face. "I'd rathermarry a red Indian than one of these inane men about town. "

"Ho! ho!" laughed Bertie. "Then Dick's wild man will be quite to yourtaste. As soon as he leaves off worrying mutton-bones with his fingersand teeth, we'll ask Dick to bring him to dine. "

"You're perfectly disgusting!" said Hilary, digging her punt-pole intothe bed of the river with a vicious plunge. "If you don't mean to behaveyourself, I won't stay with you. "

"Oh, yes, you will, " returned Bertie with brotherly assurance. "Youwouldn't miss Dick's aborigine for anything--and I don't blame you, forhe's worth seeing. Dick assures me that he is quite harmless, or I don'tknow that I should care to venture my scalp at such close quarters. "

"You're positively ridiculous to-day, " Hilary declared. 

 * * * * *

A perfect summer morning, a rippling blue river that shone like glasswhere the willows dipped and trailed, and a girl who sang a murmurouslittle song to herself as she slid down the bank into the laughingstream. 

Ah, it was heavenly! The sun-flecks on the water danced and swam allabout her. The trees whispered to one another above her floating form. The roses on the garden balustrade of Dick Culver's bungalow nodded asthough welcoming a friend. She turned over and struck out vigorously, swimming up-stream. It was June, and the whole world was awake andsinging. 

"It's better than the entire London season put together, " she murmured toherself, as she presently came drifting back. 

A whiff of tobacco-smoke interrupted her soliloquy. She shook back herwet hair and stood up waist-deep in the clear, green water. 

"What ho, Dick!" she called gaily. "I can't see you, but I know you'rethere. Come down and have a swim, you lazy boy!"

There followed a pause. Then a diffident voice with an unmistakablyforeign accent made reply. 

"Were you speaking to me?"

Glancing up in the direction of the voice, Hilary discovered a strangerseated against the trunk of a willow on the high bank above her. Shestarted and coloured. She had forgotten Dick's wild man. She describedhim later as the brownest man she had ever seen. His face was brown, thelower part of it covered with a thick growth of brown beard. His eyeswere brown, surmounted by very bushy eyebrows. His hair was brown. Hishands were brown. His clothes were brown, and he was smoking what lookedlike a brown clay pipe. 

Hilary regained her self-possession almost at once. The diffidence of thevoice gave her assurance. 

"I thought my cousin was there, " she explained. "You are Dick's friend, I think?"

The man on the bank smiled an affirmative, and Hilary remarked to herselfthat he had splendid teeth. 

"I am Dick's friend, " he said, speaking slowly, as if learning the lessonfrom her. There was a slight subdued twang in his utterance whichattracted Hilary immensely. 

She nodded encouragingly to him. 

"I am Dick's cousin, " she said. "He will tell you all about me if you askhim. "

"I will certainly ask, " the stranger said in his soft, foreign drawl. 

"Don't forget!" called Hilary, as she splashed back into deep water. "Andtell him to bring you to dine on our house-boat at eight to-night! Bertieand I will be delighted to see you. We were meaning to send a formalinvitation. But no one stands on ceremony on the river--or in it either, "she laughed to herself as she swam away with swift, even strokes. 

"I shouldn't have asked him in that way, " she explained to her brotherafterwards, "if he hadn't been rather shy. One must be nice toforeigners, and dear Dickie's society undiluted would bore me toextinction. "

"I don't think we had better give him a knife at dinner, " remarkedBertie. "I shouldn't like you to be scalped, darling. It would ruin yourprospects. I suppose my only course would be to insist upon his marryingyou forthwith. "

"Bertie, you're a beast!" said his sister tersely. 

 * * * * *

"We have taken you at your word, you see, " sang out Dick Culver from hispunt. "I hope you haven't thought better of it by any chance, for myfriend has been able to think of nothing else all day. "

A slim white figure danced eagerly out of the tiny dining-saloon of thehouse-boat. 

"Come on board!" she cried hospitably. "The Badger will see to your punt. I am glad you're not late. "

She held out her hand to the new-comer with a pretty lack of ceremony. Helooked more than ever like a backwoodsman, but it was quite evident thathe was pleased with his surroundings. He shook hands with her almostreverently, and smiled in a quiet, well-satisfied way. But, havingnothing to say, he did not vex himself to put it into words--a traitwhich strongly appealed to Hilary. 

"His name, " said Dick Culver, laughing at his cousin over the big man'sshoulder, "is Jacques. He has another, but, as nobody ever uses it, itisn't to the point, and I never was good at pronunciation. He is a FrenchCanadian, with a dash of Yankee thrown in. He is of a peaceabledisposition except when roused, when all his friends find it advisableto give him a wide berth. He--"

"That'll do, my dear fellow, " softly interposed the stranger, with agentle lift of the elbow in Culver's direction. "Leave Miss St. Orme tofind out the rest for herself! I hope she is not easily alarmed. "

"Not at all, I assure you, " said Hilary. "Never mind Dick! No one does. Come inside!"

She led the way with light feet. Her exile from London during the seasonpromised to be less deadly than she had anticipated. Unmistakably sheliked Dick's wild man. 

They found Bertie in the little roselit saloon, and as he welcomed thestranger Culver drew Hilary aside. There was much mystery on his comicalface. 

"I'll tell you a secret, " he murmured; "this fellow is a great chief inhis own country, but he doesn't want anyone to know it. He's coming hereto learn a little of our ways, and he's particularly interested inEnglish women, so be nice to him. "

"I thought you said he was a French Canadian, " said Hilary. 

"That's what he wants to appear, " said Culver. "And, anyhow, he had aYankee mother. I know that for a fact. He's quite civilised, you know. You needn't be afraid of him. "

"Afraid!" exclaimed Hilary. 

Turning, she found the new-comer looking at her with brown eyes that weresoft under the bushy brows. 

"He can't be a red man, " she said to herself. "He hasn't got thecheek-bones. "

Leaving Dick to amuse himself, she smiled upon her other guest withwinning graciousness and forthwith began the dainty task of initiatinghim into the ways of English women. 

She was relieved to find that, notwithstanding his hairy appearance, hewas, as Dick had assured her, quite civilised. As the meal proceeded shesuddenly conceived an interest in Canada and the States, which had neverbefore possessed her. She questioned him with growing eagerness, and hereplied with a smile and always that half-reverent, half-shy courtlinessthat had first attracted her. Undoubtedly he was a pleasant companion. Heclothed the information for which she asked in careful and picturesquelanguage. He was ready at any moment to render any service, howeverslight, but his attentions were so unobtrusive that Hilary could notbut accept them with pleasure. She maintained her pretty graciousnessthroughout dinner, anxious to set him at his ease. 

"Englishmen are not half so nice, " she said to herself, as she rose fromthe table. And she thought of the stubborn Viscount Merrivale as shesaid it. 

There was a friendly regret at her departure written in the man's eyes ashe opened the door for her, and with a sudden girlish impulse she paused. 

"Why don't you come and smoke your cigar in the punt?" she said. 

He glanced irresolutely over his shoulder at the other two men who werediscussing some political problem with much absorption. 

With a curious desire to have her way with him, the girl waited with alittle laugh. 

"Come!" she said softly. "You can't be interested in British politics. "

He looked at her with his friendly, silent smile, and followed her out. 

 * * * * *

"Isn't it heavenly?" breathed Hilary, as she lay back on the velvetcushions and watched the man's strong figure bend to the punt-pole. 

"I think it is Heaven, Miss St. Orme, " he answered in a hushed voice. 

The sun had scarcely set in a cloudless shimmer of rose, and, sailing upfrom the east, a full moon cast a rippling, silvery pathway upon themysterious water. 

The girl drew a long sigh of satisfaction, then laughed a little. 

"What a shame to make you work after dinner!" she said. 

She saw his smile in the moonlight. 

"Do you call this work?" She seemed to hear a faint ring of amusement inthe slowly-uttered question. 

"You are very strong, " she said almost involuntarily. 

"Yes, " he agreed quietly, and there suddenly ran a curious thrill throughher--a feeling that she and he had once been kindred spirits together inanother world. 

She felt as if their intimacy had advanced by strides when she spokeagain, and the sensation was one of a strange, quivering delight whichthe perfection of the June night seemed to wholly justify. Anyhow, it wasnot a moment for probing her inner self with searching questions. Sheturned a little and suffered her fingers to trail through the moonlitwater. 

"I wonder if you would tell me something?" she said almost diffidently. 

"If it lies in my power, " he answered courteously. 

"You may think it rude, " she suggested, with a most unusual attack oftimidity. It had been her habit all her life to command rather than torequest. But somehow the very courtesy with which this man treated hermade her uncertain of herself. 

"I shall not think anything so--impossible, " he assured her gently, andagain she saw his smile. 

"Well, " she said, looking up at him intently, "will you--please--let meinto your secret? I promise I won't tell. But do tell me who you are!"

There followed a silence, during which the man leaned a little on hispole, gazing downwards while he kept the punt motionless. The waterbabbled round them with a tinkling murmur that was like the laughter offairy voices. They had passed beyond the region of house-boats andbungalows, and the night was very still. 

At last the man spoke, and the girl gave a queer little motion of relief. 

"I should like to tell you everything there is to know about me, " he saidin his careful, foreign English. "But--will you forgive me?--I do notfeel myself able to do so--yet. Some day I will answer your questiongladly--I hope some day soon--if you are kind enough to continue toextend to me your interest and your friendship. "

He looked down into Hilary's uplifted face with a queer wistfulness thatstruck unexpectedly straight to her heart. She felt suddenly that thisman's past contained something of loss and disappointment of which hecould not lightly speak to a mere casual acquaintance. 

With the quickness of impulse characteristic of her, she smiledsympathetic comprehension. 

"And you won't even tell me your name?" she said. 

He bent again to the pole, and she saw his teeth shine in the moonlight. "I think my friend told you one of my names, " he said. 

"Oh, it's much too commonplace, " she protested. "Quite half the menI know are called Jack. "

And then for the first time she heard him laugh--a low, exultant laughthat sent the blood in a sudden rush to her cheeks. 

"Shall we go back now?" she suggested, turning her face away. 

He obeyed her instantly, and the punt began to glide back through theripples. 

No further word passed between them till, as they neared the house-boat, the high, keen notes of a flute floated out upon the tender silence. 

Hilary glanced up sharply, the moonlight on her face, and saw a group ofmen in a punt moored under the shadowy bank. One of them raised hishand and sent a ringing salutation across the water. 

Hilary nodded and turned aside. There was annoyance on her face--theannoyance of one suddenly awakened from a dream of complete enjoyment. 

Her companion asked no question. He was bending vigorously to his work. But she seemed to consider some explanation to be due to him. 

"That, " she said, "is a man I know slightly. His name is Cosmo Fletcher. "

"A friend?" asked the big man. 

Hilary coloured a little. 

"Well, " she said half-reluctantly, "I suppose one would call him that. "

 * * * * *

"I believe you're in love with Culver's half-breed American, " said CosmoFletcher brutally, nearly three weeks later. He had just been rejectedfinally and emphatically by the girl who faced him in the stern of hisskiff. 

She was very pale, but her eyes were full of resolution as they met his. 

"That, " she said, "is no business of yours. Please take me back!"

He looked as if he would have liked to refuse, but her steadfast eyescompelled him. Sullenly he turned the boat. 

Dead silence reigned between them till, as they rounded a bend in theriver and came within sight of the house-boat, Fletcher, glancing overhis shoulder, caught sight of a big figure seated on the deck. 

Then he turned to the girl with a sneer:

"It might interest Jack Merrivale to hear of this pretty little romanceof yours, " he said. 

The colour flamed in her cheeks. 

"Tell him then!" she said defiantly. 

"I think I must, " said Fletcher. "He and I are such old friends. "

He waited for her to tell him that it was on his account that they hadquarrelled, but she would not so far gratify him, maintaining a stubbornsilence till they drew alongside. Jacques rose to hand her on board. 

"I hope you have enjoyed your row, " he said courteously. 

"Thanks!" she returned briefly, avoiding his eyes. "I think it is too hotto enjoy anything to-day. "

The tea-kettle was singing merrily on the dainty brass spirit-lamp, andshe sat down at the table forthwith. 

Jacques stood beside her, silent and friendly as a tame mastiff. Perhapshis presence after what had just passed between herself and Fletcher madeher nervous, or perhaps her thoughts were elsewhere and she forgot to becautious. Whatever the cause, she took up the kettle carelessly andknocked it against the spirit-lamp with some force. 

Jacques swooped forward and steadied it before it could overturn; but thedodging flame caught the girl's muslin sleeve and set it ablaze in aninstant. She uttered a cry and started up with a wild idea of flingingherself into the river, but Jacques was too quick for her. He turned andseized the burning fabric in his great hands, ripping it away from herarm and crushing out the flames with unflinching strength. 

"Don't be frightened!" he said. "It's all right. I've got it out. "

"And what of you?" she gasped, eyes of horror on his blackened hands. 

He smiled at her reassuringly. 

"Well done, man!" cried Dick Culver. "It was like you to save her lifewhile we were thinking about it. Are you hurt, Hilary?"

"No, " she said, with trembling lips. "But--but--"

She broke off on the verge of tears, and Dick considerately transferredhis attention to his friend. 

"Let's see the damage, old fellow!"

"It is nothing, " said Jacques, still faintly smiling. "Yes, you may seeit if you like, if only to prove that I speak the truth. "

He thrust out one hand and displayed a scorched and blistered palm. 

"Call that nothing!" began Dick. 

Fletcher suddenly pushed forward with an oath that startled them all. 

"I should know that hand anywhere!" he exclaimed. "You infernal, lyingimpostor!"

There was an elaborate tattoo of the American flag on the extended wrist, to which he pointed with a furious laugh. 

"Deny it if you can!" he said. 

Jacques looked at him gravely, without the smallest sign of agitation. 

"You certainly have good reason to know that hand rather well, " he saidafter a moment, speaking with extreme deliberation, "considering that ithas had the privilege of giving you the finest thrashing of your life. "

Fletcher turned purple. He looked as if he were going to strike thespeaker on the mouth. But before he could raise his hand Hilary suddenlyforced herself between them. 

"Mr. Fletcher, " she said, her voice quivering with anger, "go instantly!There is your boat. And never come near us again!"

Fletcher fell back a step, but he was too furious to obey such a command. 

"Do you think I am going to leave that confounded humbug to have it allhis own way?" he snarled. "I tell you--"

But here Culver intervened. 

"You shut up!" he ordered sternly. "We've had too much of you already. You had better go. "

He took Fletcher imperatively by the arm, but Jacques intervened. 

"Pray let the gentleman speak, Dick!" he said. "It will ease his feelingsperhaps. "

"No!" broke in Hilary breathlessly. "No, no! I won't listen! I tell youI won't!" facing the big man almost fiercely. "Tell me yourself if youlike!"

He looked at her closely, still with that odd half-smile upon his face. 

Then, before them all, he took her hand, and, bending, held it to hislips. 

"Thank you, Hilary!" he said very softly. 

In the privacy of her own cabin Hilary removed her tatters and cooled hertingling cheeks. She and her brother were engaged to dine at Dick'sbungalow that night, but an overwhelming shyness possessed her, and atthe last moment she persuaded Bertie to go alone. It was plain thatfor some reason Bertie was hugely amused, and she thought it ratherheartless of him. 

She dined alone on the house-boat with her face to the river. Her frighthad made her somewhat nervous, and she was inclined to start at everysound. When the meal was over she went up to her favourite retreat on theupper deck. A golden twilight still lingered in the air, and the riverwas mysteriously calm. But the girl's heart was full of a heavyrestlessness. Each time she heard a punt-pole striking on the bed of theriver she raised her head to look. 

He came at last--the man for whom her heart waited. He was puntingrapidly down-stream, and she could not see his face. Yet she knew him, by the swing of his arms, the goodly strength of his muscles, --and by thesuffocating beating of her heart. She saw that one hand was bandaged, anda passionate feeling that was almost rapture thrilled through and throughher at the sight. Then he shot beyond her vision, and she heard the puntbump against the house-boat. 

"It's a gentleman to see you, miss, " said the Badger, thrusting a greyand grinning visage up the stairs. 

"Ask him to come up!" said Hilary, steadying her voice with an effort. 

A moment later she rose to receive the man she loved. And her heartsuddenly ceased to beat. 

"You!" she gasped, in a choked whisper. 

He came straight forward. The last light of the day shone on his smoothbrown face, with its steady eyes and strong mouth. 

"Yes, " he said, and still through his quiet tones she seemed to hear afaint echo of the subdued twang which dwellers in the Far West sometimesacquire. "I, John Merrivale, late of California, beg to render to you, Hilary St. Orme, in addition to my respectful homage, that freedom forwhich you have not deigned to ask. "

She stared at him dumbly, one hand pressed against her breast. The rippleof the river ran softly through the silence. Slowly at last Merrivaleturned to go. 

And then sharply, uncertainly, she spoke. 

"Wait, please!" she said. 

She moved close to him and laid her hand on the flower-bedeckedbalustrade, trembling very much. 

"Why have you done this?" Her quivering voice sounded like a prayer. 

He hesitated, then answered her quietly through the gloom. 

"I did it because I loved you. "

"And what did you hope to gain by it?" breathed Hilary. 

He did not answer, and she drew a little nearer as though his silencereassured her. 

"Wouldn't it have saved a lot of trouble, " she said, her voice very lowbut no longer uncertain, "if you had given me my freedom in the firstplace? Don't you think you ought to have done that?"

"I don't know, " Merrivale said. "That fellow spoilt my game. So I offerit to you now--with apologies. "

"I should have appreciated it--in the first place, " said Hilary, andsuddenly there was a ripple of laughter in her voice like an echo of thewater below them. "But now I--I--have no use for it. It's too late. Doyou know, Jack, I'm not sure he did spoil your game after all!"

He turned towards her swiftly, and she thrust out her hands to him with aquick sob that became a laugh as she felt his arms about her. 

"You hairless monster!" she said. "What woman ever wanted freedom whenshe could have--Love?"

 * * * * *

Two days later Viscount Merrivale's friends at the club read withinterest and some amusement the announcement that his marriage to MissHilary St. Orme had been fixed to take place on the last day of themonth. 

 * * * * *

 Death's Property

CHAPTER I

A high laugh rang with a note of childlike merriment from the far end ofthe coffee-room as Bernard Merefleet, who was generally considered a bearon account of his retiring disposition, entered and took his seat nearthe door. It was a decidedly infectious laugh and perhaps for this reasonit was the first detail to catch his attention and to excite hisdisapproval. 

He frowned as he glanced at the menu in front of him. 

He had arrived in England after an absence of twenty years in America, where he had made a huge fortune. He was hungering for the quietunhurried speech of his fellow-countrymen, for the sights and sounds andgeneral atmosphere of English life which for so long had been denied tohim. And the first thing he heard on entering the coffee-room of thisEnglish hotel was the laugh of an American woman. 

He had thought that in this remote corner of England--this little, old-world fishing town, with its total lack of entertainment, itsunfashionable beach, and its wild North Sea breakers--no unit of thegreat Western race would have set foot. He had believed its entireabsence of attraction to be a sure safeguard, and he was unfeignedlydisgusted to discover that this was not the case. 

As he ate his dinner the high laugh broke in on his meditations againand again, and his annoyance grew to a sense of savage irritation. Hehad come over to England for a rest after a severe illness, and withan intense craving, after his twenty years of stress and toil, tostand aside and watch the world--the English, conservative world heloved--dawdle by. 

He wanted to bury himself in an unknown fishing-town and associate withthe simple, unflurried fisher-folk alone. It was a dream of his--a dreamwhich he had imagined near its fulfilment when he had arrived in thepeaceful little world of Old Silverstrand. 

There was a large and fashionable watering-place five miles away. Thiswas New Silverstrand, a town of red brick, self-centred and prosperous. But he had not thought that its visitors would have overflowed into theold fishing-town. He himself saw no attraction there save the peace ofthe shore and the turmoil of the sea. He had known and loved the old townin his youth, long before the new one had been built or even thoughtof. For New Silverstrand was a growth of barely ten years. 

In all his wanderings his heart had always turned with a warm thrill ofmemory to the little old fishing-town where much of his restless boyhoodhad been spent. He had returned to it as to a familiar friend and foundit but slightly changed. A new hotel had been erected where the oldCrayfish Inn had once stood. And this, so far as he had been able tojudge in his first walk through the place on the evening of his arrival, was the sole alteration. 

He had heard that the shore had crumbled beyond the town, but he had leftthat to be investigated on the morrow. The fishing-harbour was the same;the brown-sailed fishing-boats rocked with the well-remembered swinginside; the water poured roaring in with the same baffled fury; andchildren played as of old on the extreme and dangerous edge of the stonequay. 

The memory of that selfsame quay roused deeper recollections inMerefleet's mind as he sat and dined alone at the little table near thedoor. 

There came to him the thought, with a sudden, stabbing regret, of alittle dark-eyed sister who had hung with him over that perilous edge andlaughed at the impotent breakers below. He could hear the silvery echoesof her laughter across half a lifetime, could feel the warm hand thatclasped his own. A magic touch swept aside the years and revealed theold, glad days of his boyhood. 

Merefleet pushed away his plate and sat with fixed eyes, fascinated bythe rosy vision. They were side by side in a fishing-smack, he and theplaymate of his childhood. There was an old fisherman in charge withgrizzled hair, whose name, he recollected without effort, was Quiller. He was showing the little maid how to tie a knot that was warranted neverto come undone. 

Merefleet watched the ardent, flushed face with a deep reverence. He hadnot seen it so vividly since the day he had kissed it for the last timeand gone forth into the seething sea of life to fight the whirlpools. Well, he had emerged triumphant so far as earthly success went. He hadbreasted the tide and risen above the billows. He was wealthy, and he wascelebrated. No mortal power rose up in his path to baulk him of hisdesire. Only desire itself had failed him, and ambition had becomemockery. 

For twenty years he had not had time to stop and think. For twenty yearshe had wrestled ceaselessly with the panting crowd. He had bartered awaythe best years of his life to the gold god, and he was satiated with thesuccess of this transaction. 

In all that time he had not mourned, as he mourned to-night, the loss ofthe twin-sister who had been as his second and better self. He had notrealised till he sat alone in the place, where as a boy he had neverknown solitude, how utterly flat and undesirable was the future thatstretched out like a trackless desert at his feet. 

And in that moment he would have cast away the whole bulk of his greatpossessions for one precious day of youth out of the many that had fledaway for ever. 

A woman's laugh, high, inconsequent, rang through the great coffee-room, and all but one looked towards the corner whence it proceeded. AnAmerican voice began at once to explain the joke with considerablevolubility. 

Bernard Merefleet rose from his chair with a frowning countenance andmade his way down to the old stone quay below the hotel. 

CHAPTER II

The air was keen and salt. He paused on the well-worn stone wall andturned his face to the spray. A hundred memories were at work in hisbrain, and the relief of solitude was unspeakable. It was horriblylonely, but he hugged his loneliness. That laughing voice in the hotelcoffee-room had driven him forth to seek it. No mental or physicaldiscomfort would have induced him to return. 

He propped himself against a piece of stonework and gazed moodily out tosea. He did not want to leave this haven of his childhood. Yet thethought of remaining in close proximity to a party of tourists wasdetestable to him. Why in the world couldn't they stop away, he wonderedsavagely? And then his own inconsistency occurred to him, and he smiledgrimly. For the place undoubtedly had its charm. 

A fisherman in a blue jersey lounged on to the quay at this point ofhis meditations, and, old habit asserting itself, Merefleet greetedhim with a remark on the weather. The man halted in front of him in aconversational attitude. Merefleet knew the position well. It came backto him on a flood of memory. He could not believe that it was twentyyears since he had talked with such an one. 

"Wind in the nor'-east, sir, " said the man. 

"Yes. It's cold for the time of year, " said Merefleet. 

The man assented. 

"Fish plentiful?" asked Merefleet. 

"Nothing to boast of, " was the guarded reply. 

Merefleet had expected it. Right well he knew these fisher-folk. 

"You get a few visitors now, I see, " Merefleet observed. 

The fisherman nodded. "Don't know what they come for, " he observed. "Bathing ain't good, and them pleasure-boats--well"--he lifted hisshoulders expressively--"half-a-capful of wind would upset 'em. There's alady staying at this here hotel--an American lady she be--what goes outevery day regular, she and a young gentleman with her. They won't have menor yet any of my mates to go along, and yet--bless you--they could nomore manage that boat if a squall was to come up nor they could fly. Itold her once as it wasn't safe. And she laughed in my face, sir. Shedid, really. "

Merefleet smiled a little. 

"Well, if she likes to run the risk it's not your fault, " he said. 

"No, sir. It ain't. But that don't make me any easier. She's a prettyyoung lady, too, " the man added. "Maybe you've seen her, sir. "

Merefleet shook his head. He had heard her, and he had no desire toimprove his acquaintance with her. 

"As pretty a young lady as you would wish to see, " continued thefisherman reflectively. "Wonderful, she is. 'Tain't often we get such apicture in this here part of the country. Ever been to America, sir?"

"Just come home, " said Merefleet. 

"Are all the ladies over there as pretty as this one, I wonder?" said hisnew acquaintance in an awed tone. 

"She seems to have made a considerable impression, " said Merefleet, witha laugh. "What is the lady like?"

But the man's descriptive powers were not equal to his admiration. "Icouldn't tell you what she's like, sir, " he said. "But she's that sortof young lady as makes you feel you oughtn't to talk to her with your haton. Ever met that sort of lady, sir?"

Merefleet uttered a short laugh. The man's simplicity amused him. 

"I can't say I have, " he said carelessly. "Good-looking women are notalways the best sort, in my opinion. "

"That's very true, sir, " assented his companion thoughtfully. "There's mywife, for instance. She's as good a woman as you'd find anywhere, but herbest friend couldn't call her handsome, nor even plain. "

And Merefleet laughed again. The man's talk had diverted his thoughts. The intolerable sense of desolation had been lifted from his spirit. Hebegan to feel he had been somewhat unnecessarily irritated by a verysmall matter. 

He lighted a cigar and presented one to his new friend. "I shall get youto row me out for a couple of hours to-morrow, " he said. "By the way, didyou ever know a man called Quiller who had some fishing craft in theseparts twenty years ago?"

The man beamed at the question. "That's my father, sir. He lives alongwith my wife and the kids. Will you come and see him, sir? Oh, yes, he's well and hearty. But he's getting on in years, is dad. He don't goout with the luggers now. You'll come and see him, eh, sir?"

"To-morrow, " said Merefleet, turning. "He will remember me, perhaps. No, I won't give you my name. The old chap shall find out for himself. Good-night. "

And he began to saunter back towards his hotel. 

The searchlight of a man-of-war anchored outside the harbour was flashingover the shore as he went. He watched the long shaft of light withhalf-involuntary attention. He noted in an idle way various details alongthe cliffs that were revealed by the white glow. It touched the hotel atlast and rested there for the fraction of a minute. 

And then a strange thing happened. 

Looking upwards as he was, with fascinated eyes, following the slantingline of light, Merefleet saw a sight which was destined to live in hismemory for all the rest of his life, strive as he might to rid himself ofit. 

As in a dream-picture he saw the figure of a girl standing on the stepsof the terrace in front of the hotel. The searchlight discovered her andlingered upon her. She stood in the brilliant line of light, a splendidvision of almost unearthly beauty. Her neck and arms were bare, curvedwith the exquisite grace of a Grecian statue. Her face was turned towardsthe light--a marvellous face, touched with a faint, triumphant smile. Shewas dressed in a robe of pure white that fell around her in long, softfolds. 

Merefleet gazed upon the wonder before him and asked himself onebreathless question: "Is that--a woman?"

And the answer seemed to spring from the very depth of his being: "No!A goddess!"

It was the most gloriously perfect picture of beauty he had ever lookedupon. 

The searchlight flashed on and the hotel garden was left in darkness. 

A chill sense of loss swept down upon Merefleet, but the impression didnot last. He threw away his cigar with an impetuosity oddly out ofkeeping with his somewhat rugged and unimpressionable nature. A hotdesire to see that face again at close quarters possessed him--the faceof the loveliest woman he had ever beheld. 

He reached the hotel and sat down in the vestibule. Evidently thismarvellous woman was staying in the place. He watched the doorway witha strange feeling of excitement. He had not been so moved for years. 

At length there came a quick, light tread. The next moment he wasgazing again upon the vision that had charmed him out of all commonsense. She stood, framed in the night, white and pure and gloriously, mostsurpassingly, beautiful. Merefleet felt his heart throb heavily. He satin dead silence, looking at her with fascinated eyes. Had he called her aGreek goddess? He had better have said angel. For this was no earth-bornloveliness. 

She stood for several seconds looking towards him with shining, radianteyes. Then she moved forward. Merefleet's eyes were fixed upon her. Hecould not have looked away just then. He was absurdly uncertain ofhimself. 

She paused near him with the light pouring full upon her. Her eyes methis with a momentary questioning. Then ruthlessly she broke the spell. 

"Say, now!" she said in brisk, high tones. "Isn't that searchlight thinga real cute invention?"

CHAPTER III

Merefleet shivered at the words. He did not answer her. The shock hadbeen too great. He sat stiff and silent, waiting for more. 

The American girl looked at him with a pitying little smile. She waswholly unabashed. 

"I reckon the man who invented searchlights was no fool, " she remarked. "I just wish that quaint old battleship would come right along here. It's not exciting, this place. "

"New Silverstrand would be more to your taste, I fancy, " said Merefleet, reluctantly forced to speak. 

The smile on the beautiful face developed into a wicked little gleam ofamusement. "That's so, I daresay, " said the high voice. "But you see, Iwasn't consulted. I've just got to go where I'm taken. "

She sank into a chair opposite Merefleet and leant forward. 

Merefleet sat perfectly rigid. There was a marvellous witchery about theclasped hands and bent head before him. But he did not mean to let hisidiotic sentimentality carry him away again. So long as the enchantresswas speaking, the spell was wholly impotent. Therefore he should notsuffer her to relapse into silence. Yet--how he hated that high, piercingvoice! It was like the desecration of something sacred. It made himshrink in involuntary protest. 

"Say!" suddenly exclaimed his companion, looking at him sharply. "Aren'tyou Bernard Merefleet of New York City?"

Merefleet frowned unconsciously at the notoriety that was his. 

"I was in New York until recently, " he said with some curtness. 

"Exactly what I said, " she returned triumphantly. "A friend of minesnap-shotted you walking up Fifth Avenue. He said to me: 'Here'sMerefleet the gold-king, one of the cutest men in U. S. A. His first nameis Bernard. So we call him the Big Bear for short. ' Ever heard your petname before?"

"Never, " said Merefleet stiffly, with a suggestive hand on the eveningpaper. He wished she would leave him alone. With his eyes averted atlength, the charm of her presence ceased to attract him. He even fanciedhe resented her freedom. But the girl only laughed carelessly. She hadnot the smallest intention of moving. 

"Well, " she said, and he imagined momentarily that her abominable accentwas deliberately assumed. "I guess you've heard it now, Mr. BernardMerefleet. Smart, I call it. What's your opinion?"

Merefleet started a little at the audacity of this speech. And again hewas looking at her. There was a funny little smile twitching the cornersof her mouth. Her beauty was irresistible. Even the iron barrier of hischurlish avoidance was severely shaken. She was hard to withstand, thiswitch with her friendly eyes and frank speech, despite her jarring voice. 

She nodded to him sociably as she met his grave look. "You aren't on apleasure-trip, I reckon, " she observed. 

"Pleasure!" said Merefleet, giving way with abrupt bitterness. "No. There's not much pleasure in unearthing skeletons. That's what I'mdoing. "

The beautiful eyes opposite opened wide. She was silent for a moment. Then, "Think you're wise?" she enquired casually. 

"No, " said Merefleet roughly. "I'm a fool. "

She nodded acquiescence. "That's so, I daresay, " she said. "I was afraidyou were sick. "

"So I am, " he said. "Sick of life--sick of everything. "

"I guess you want some medicine, " she said seriously. 

Merefleet laughed suddenly. "Something strong and deadly, eh?" he said. 

She shook her head. "Tell me what you like best in the world!" she said. 

Merefleet reflected. 

"You must know, " she insisted briskly. "Is it a woman?"

"Good heavens, no!" said Merefleet, with an emphasis not particularlyflattering to the sex. 

"Well, then, " she said, "p'r'aps it's the sea?"

"You may say so for the sake of argument, " said Merefleet. 

"I don't argue, " she responded, with what he took for a touch of heat. "If people disagree with me I just shunt. "

"Excellent policy, " said Merefleet, interested in spite of himself. Hefancied a faint shadow crossed her face. But she continued to speak withbarely a pause. "If you like the sea you'd better join Bert and me. We goout every day. It's real fun. "

"Exciting as well as dangerous, " suggested Merefleet. 

She nodded again. It was a habit of hers when roused to eagerness. "You've hit it. It's just that, " she said. "Will you come?"

Merefleet hesitated. He was still inclined to be surly. But the newinfluence was not so easy to resist as he had imagined. The woman beforehim attracted him strongly, despite the fact that he now knew herloveliness to be but mortal; despite the constant jar of her shrillvoice. 

"Who is Bert?" he enquired at length, reluctantly aware that intemporising he signed away his freedom of action. 

"Bert's my cousin, " she answered. "He's English right through. You'd likeBert. He's in the smoke-room. Bert and I are great chums. "

"Are you staying here alone together?" Merefleet enquired. 

She nodded. "Bert is taking care of me, " she explained. "He's like a sonto me. I call him my English bull-dog. I just love bull-dogs, Mr. Merefleet. "

Merefleet was silent. 

She stretched out her arms with a swift, unconscious movement ofweariness. 

"Well, " she said, "I'm real lazy to-night, and that's fact. I guess youwant to smoke, so I'll go and leave you in peace. "

She rose and stood for a few moments in the doorway, looking out into thepulsing darkness beyond. Merefleet watched her, fascinated. And as hewatched, a deep shadow rose and lingered on the beautiful face. Moved byan instinct he did not stop to question, he rose abruptly and stoodbeside her. There was a pause. Then suddenly she looked up at him and theshadow was gone. 

"Isn't he cross?" she said. 

"Who?" asked Merefleet. 

"Why, that funny old sea, " she laughed. "He's just wild to dash over andswamp us all. Supposing he did, should you care any?"

"I don't know, " said Merefleet. 

Her eyes were full of a soft laughter as she looked at him. Suddenly shelaid a childish hand on his arm. "Oh, you poor old Bear!" she said, dropping her voice a little. "I'm real sorry for you!"

And then she turned swiftly and was gone from his side like a flash ofsunlight. 

CHAPTER IV

It was some time later that Merefleet entered the smoking-room to satisfya certain curiosity which had taken possession of him. He looked roundthe room as he sat down, and almost at once his attention lighted upon abroad-shouldered man of about thirty with a plain, square-jawed face ofgreat determination, who sat, puffing at a short pipe, by the openwindow. 

Merefleet silently observed this man for some time, till, his scrutinymaking itself felt, the object of it wheeled abruptly in his chair andreturned it. 

Merefleet leant forward. It was so little his custom to open conversationwith a stranger that his manner was abrupt and somewhat forced on thisunusual occasion. 

"I believe I ought to know you, " he said. "But I can't recall your name. "

The reply was delivered in a manner as curt as his own. "My name isSeton, " said the stranger. "As you have only met me once before, youprobably won't recall it now. "

Merefleet nodded comprehension. He loved the straight, quiet speech ofEnglishmen. There was no flurry or palaver about this specimen. He spokeas a man quite sure of himself and wholly independent of his fellow men. 

"Ah, I remember you now, " Merefleet said. "You came as Ralph Warrender'sguest to a club dinner in New York. Am I right?"

"Perfectly, " said Seton. "You were the guest of the evening. You made agood speech, I remember. You were looking horribly ill. I suppose that ishow I came to notice you particularly. "

"I was ill, " said Merefleet, "or I should have been out of New Yorkbefore that dinner came off. I always detested the place. And Warrenderwould have done far better in my place. "

"I am not an admirer of Warrender, " said Seton bluntly. 

Merefleet made no comment. He was never very free in the statement of hisopinion. 

"The railway accident in which his wife was killed took place immediatelyafter that dinner, I believe?" he observed presently. "I remember hearingof it when I was recovering. "

"It was a shocking thing--that accident, " said Seton thoughtfully. "It'sodd that Americans always manage to do that sort of thing on such agigantic scale. "

"They do everything on a gigantic scale, " said Merefleet. "What became ofWarrender afterwards? It was an awful business for him. "

"I don't know anything about him, " Seton answered, with a brevity thatseemed to betray lack of interest. "He was no friend of mine, though Ichanced to be his guest on that occasion. I was distantly connected withhis wife, and I inherited some of her money at her death. She was a richwoman, as you probably know. "

"So I heard. But I have never found New York gossip particularlyattractive. "

Seton leant his elbow on the window-sill and gazed meditatively into thenight. "If it comes to that, " he said slowly, "no gossip is exactlyedifying. And to be the victim of it is to be in the most undesirableposition under the sun. "

It struck Merefleet that he uttered the words with some force, almostwith the deliberate intention of conveying a warning; and, being thelast man in the world to attempt to fathom the wholly irrelevant affairsof his neighbour, he dropped into silence and began to smoke. 

Seton sat motionless for some time. The murmur of a conversation that wasbeing sleepily sustained by two men in the room behind them created nodisturbing influence. Presently Seton spoke casually, but with that inhis tone which made Merefleet vaguely conscious of an element ofsuspicion. 

"You didn't expect to see me just now, did you?" he asked. 

"No, " said Merefleet. "I should have taken the trouble to call your nameto mind before I spoke if I had. "

Seton nodded. "I saw you at _table d'hôte_" he remarked. "I was with mycousin at the other end of the room. You were gone when we got up. "

"Your cousin?" said Merefleet deliberately. "Is that the American ladywho is staying here?"

"Yes. Miss Ward. She is from New York, too. You may have seen her there. "

"No, " said Merefleet. "I know very little of New York society, or anysociety for the matter of that. "

Seton turned and looked at him with a smile. "Odd, " he said. "For therecan be scarcely a man, woman, or child, here or in America, who does notknow you by name. "

"Not so bad as that, I hope, " said Merefleet. And Seton laughed. 

"You have the reputation for shunning celebrity, " he remarked. 

"So I understand, " said Merefleet. "I hope the reputation will be myprotection. "

Young Seton became genial from that point onward. Without beingcommunicative, he managed to convey the impression that he was quiteprepared to be friendly. And for some reason unexplained Merefleet waspleased. He went to bed that night with somewhat revised ideas on thesubject of society in general and the society of American girls inparticular. 

CHAPTER V

"Is this the gentleman as was to come and see me? Come in, sir. Come in!My old eyes ain't so sharp as they used to be, but I can see a manythings yet. "

And old Quiller, the fisherman, removed his sou'wester from his snowyhead and peered at the visitor from under his hand. 

"You don't know me, eh, Quiller?" Merefleet said. 

He was surprised to hear a high voice from the interior of the cottagebreak in on the old man's hesitating reply. 

"He's a sort of walking monkey-puzzle, I guess, " said the voice, and aroguish laugh followed the words. 

Merefleet looked over old Quiller's shoulder into the little kitchen. Shewas standing by the table with her sleeves up to her elbows, making someinvalid dish. A shaft of sunlight slanting through the tiny window fellfull upon her as she stood. It made him think of the searchlight glory ofthe previous night. She shone like a princess in her lowly surroundings. 

She nodded to him gaily as she met his eyes. 

"Come right in!" she said hospitably. "And I shall tell Grandpa Quillerwho you are. "

"Aye, but I know, " broke in the old man eagerly. "Master Bernard, ain'tit? That's right, sonny. That's right. Yes, come in! There! I neverthought to see you again. That I never did. This here's little missiewhat comes regular to see my daughter-in-law as has been laid by thisweek or more. I calls her our good angel, " he ended tenderly. "She's beenthe Lord's own blessing to us ever since she come. "

Merefleet, thus invited, entered and sat down on a wooden chair bythe table. Old Quiller turned in also and fussed about him with thesolicitude that comes with age. 

"No, " he said meditatively, "I never thought to see you again, MasterBernard. Why, it's twenty year come Michaelmas since you said 'Good-bye. 'And little miss was with you. Ah, dear! It do make me think of them daysto see you in the old place again. I always said as I'd never see thematch of little miss but this young lady, sir--she's just such another, bless her. "

Merefleet, with his eyes on the busy white hands at the table, smiled atthe eulogy. 

The American girl glanced at him and laughed more softly than usual. "Isn't he fine?" she said. "I just love that old man. "

Somehow that peculiar voice of hers did not jar upon him quite sopainfully as he sat and watched her at her dexterous work. There wassomething about her employment that revealed to him a side of her thather frivolous manner would never have led him to suspect. While he talkedto the old fisherman, more than half his attention was centred on herbeautiful, innocent face. 

"My!" she suddenly exclaimed, turning upon him with a dazzling smile. "Ireckon you'll almost be equal to beating up an egg yourself if you watchlong enough. "

"Perhaps, " said Merefleet. 

She laughed gaily. "Are you coming along with Bert and me this afternoonin Quiller's boat?" she inquired. 

"I believed I have engaged Quiller to come and do the hard work for me, "Merefleet said. 

"You!" She was bending over the fire, stirring the beaten egg into asaucepan. "Oh, you lazy old Bear!" she said reprovingly. "What good willthat do you?"

"I don't know that I want anything to do me good, " Merefleet returned. He had become almost genial under these unusual circumstances. It wascertainly no easy matter to keep this exceedingly sociable young lady ata distance. 

He was watching the warm colour rising in her face as she stooped overthe fire. He had never imagined that the art of cookery could beconducted with so much of grace and charm. Her odd, high voice instantlybroke in on this reflection. 

"I'm going to see Mrs. Quiller and the baby now, " she said, with hersprightly little nod. "So long, Big Bear!"

The little kitchen suddenly looked dull and empty. The sun had gone in. Old Quiller was sucking tobacco ruminatively, his fit of loquacity over. 

Merefleet rose. "Well, I am glad to have seen you, Quiller, " he said, patting the old man's shoulder with a kindly hand. "I must come in again. You and I are old friends, you know, and old comrades, too. Good-bye!"

Quiller looked at him rather vacantly. The fire of life was sinking lowin his veins. He had grown sluggish with the years, and the spark ofunderstanding was seldom bright. 

"Aye, but she's a bonny lass, Master Bernard, " he said with slowappreciation. "A bonny lass she be. You ain't thinking of getting settlednow? I'm thinking she'd keep your home tidy and bright. "

"Good-bye!" said Merefleet with steady persistence. 

"Aye, she would, " said the old man, shifting the tobacco in his cheek. "She's been a rare comfort to me and mine. She'd be a blessing to yourhome, Master Bernard. Take an old chap's word for it, an old chap asknows what's what. That young lady'll be the joy of some man's heart someday. You've got your chance, Master Bernard. You be that man!"

CHAPTER VI

"Say, Bert! We can take Big Bear along in our boat. Isn't that so?"

Merefleet looked up from his paper as he heard the words. They wereseated at the next table at lunch, his American friend and herexcessively English cousin. Merefleet noticed that she was dressed forboating. She wore a costume of white linen, and a Panama hat was crammedjauntily on the soft, dark hair. She was anything but dignified. Yetthere was something splendid in the very recklessness of her beauty. Shewas a queen who did not need to assert her rights. There were other womenpresent, and Merefleet was not even conscious of the fact. 

"Who?" asked Seton, in response to her careless inquiry. 

She nodded in Merefleet's direction and caught his eye as she did so. 

"He's the cutest man in U. S. , " she said, staring him straight in the facewithout sign of recognition. "But he's real lazy. He saw me makingcustard at Grandpa Quiller's this morning, and he wasn't even smartenough to lift the saucepan off the fire. I thought he might have hadspunk enough for that, anyway. "

Twenty-four hours earlier Merefleet would have deliberately hunched hisshoulders, turned his back, and read his paper. But his education was insure hands. He had made rapid progress since the day before. 

He leant a little towards his critic and said gravely:

"Pray accept my apologies for the omission! To tell you the truth, I wasnot watching the progress of the cookery. "

The girl nodded as if appeased. 

"You can come and sit at this table, " she said, indicating a chairopposite to her. "I guess you know my cousin Bert Seton. "

"What makes you guess that?" Merefleet inquired, changing his seat asdirected. 

She looked at him with a little smile of superior knowledge. "I guesslots, " she said, but proffered no explanation of her shrewd conclusion. 

Young Seton greeted Merefleet with less cordiality than he had displayedon the previous evening. There was a suggestion of caution in his mannerthat created a somewhat unfavourable impression in Merefleet's mind. 

Already he was beginning to wonder how these two came to be thus isolatedin the forgotten little town of Old Silverstrand. It was not a naturalstate of affairs. Neither the girl with her marvellous beauty, nor theman with his peculiar concentration of purpose, was a fitting figure forsuch a background. They were out of place--most noticeably so. 

Merefleet was the very last man to make observations of such adescription. But this was a matter so obvious and so undeniably strangethat it forced itself upon him half against his will. He became stronglyaware that Seton did not desire his presence in the boat with him and hiscousin. He did not fathom the objection. But its existence was not to beignored. And Merefleet wondered a little, as he cast about in his mindfor a suitable excuse wherewith to decline the girl's invitation. 

"It's very good of you to ask me to accompany you, Miss Ward, " he saidpresently. "But I know that Quiller the younger is under the impressionthat I have engaged him to row me out of the harbour and bring me backagain. And I don't see very well how I can cancel the engagement. "

Miss Ward nudged her cousin at this speech. 

"Oh, if he isn't just quaint!" she said. "Look here, Bert! You're runningthis show. Tell Mr. Merefleet it's all fixed up, and if he won't comealong with us he won't go at all, as we've got Quiller's boat!"

Seton glanced up, slightly frowning. 

"My dear Mab, " he said, "allow Mr. Merefleet to please himself! The factthat you are willing to put your life in my hands day after day is noguarantee of my skill as a rower, remember. "

"Oh, skittles!" said Mab irrelevantly. 

And Seton, meeting Merefleet's eyes, shrugged his shoulders as ifdisclaiming all further responsibility. 

Mab leant forward. 

"You'd better come, Mr. Merefleet, " she said in a motherly tone. "It'llbe a degree more lively than mooning around by yourself. "

And Merefleet yielded, touched by something indescribable in thebeautiful, glowing eyes that were lifted to his. Apparently she wantedhim to go, and it seemed to him too small a thing to refuse. Perhaps, also, he consulted his own inclination. 

Seton dropped his distant manner after a time. Nevertheless theimpression of being under the young man's close observation lingered withMerefleet, and Mab herself seemed to feel a strain. She grew almostsilent till lunch was over, and then, recovering, she entered into asprightly conversation with Merefleet. 

They went down to the shore shortly after, and embarked in Quiller'sboat. Mab sat in the stern under a scarlet sunshade and talked gaily toher two companions. She was greatly amused when Merefleet insisted upondoing his share of the work. 

"I love to see you doing the galley-slave, " she said. "I know you hateit, you poor old Bear. "

But Merefleet did not hate his work. He sat facing her throughout theafternoon, gazing to his heart's content on the perfect picture beforehim. He wore his hands to blisters, and the sun beat mercilessly downupon him. But he felt neither weariness nor impatience, neither regretnor surliness. 

A magic touch had started the life in his veins; the revelation of awandering searchlight had transformed his sordid world into a palace ofdelight. He accepted the fact without question. He had no wish to goeither forward or backward. 

The blue sea and the blue sky, and the distant, shining shore. These werewhat he had often longed for in the rush and tumult of a great, unrestingcity. But in the foreground of his picture, beyond desire and moremarvellous than imagination, was the face of the loveliest woman he hadever seen. 

CHAPTER VII

There was no wandering alone on the quay for Merefleet that night. It wasvery warm and he sat on the terrace with his American friend. Far awayover at New Silverstrand, a band was playing, and the music came floatingacross the harbour with the silvery sweetness which water imparts. Thelights of the new town were very bright. It looked like a dream-city seenfrom afar. 

"I guess we are just a couple of Peris shut outside, " said Mab in herbrisk, unsentimental voice. "I like it best outside, don't you, BigBear?"

"Yes, " said Merefleet, with a simplicity that provoked her mirth. 

"Oh, aren't you just perfect!" she said. "You've done me no end of good. I'd pay you back if I could. "

Merefleet was silent. He could not see her beautiful face, but her wordstouched him inexplicably. 

There was a long pause. Then, to his great surprise, a warm little handslipped on to his knee in the darkness and a voice, so small that hehardly recognised it, said humbly:

"Mr. Merefleet, I'm real sorry. "

Merefleet started a little. 

"Good heavens! Why?" he said. 

"Sorry you disapprove of me, " she said, with a little break in her voice. "Bert used to be the same. But he's different now. He knows I wasn't madeprim and proper. "

She paused. Merefleet's hand was on her own. He sat in silence, butsomehow his silence was kind. 

She went on. "I wasn't going to speak last night. Only you looked somelancholy at dinner. And then I thought p'r'aps you were lonely, likeI am. I didn't find out till afterwards that you didn't like the way Italked. "

"Do you know you make me feel a most objectionable cad?" said Merefleet. 

"Oh, no, you aren't that, " she hastened to assure him. "I'm positive youaren't that. It was my fault. I spoke first. I thought you looked realsad. And I always want to hearten up sad folks. You see I've been there, and I know what it is. "

"You!" said Merefleet. 

Did he hear a sob in the darkness beside him? He fancied so. The handthat lay beneath his own twitched as if agitated. 

"What do you know about trouble?" said Merefleet. 

She did not answer him. Only he heard a long, hard sigh. Then she laughedrather mirthlessly. 

"Well, " she said, "there aren't many things in this world worth cryingfor. You've had enough of me, I guess. It's time I shunted. "

She tried to withdraw her hand, but Merefleet's hold tightened. 

"No, no. Not yet, " he said, almost as if he were pleading with her. "I'vebehaved abominably. But don't punish me like this!"

She laughed again and yielded. 

"You ought to know your own mind by now, " she said, with something of herformer briskness. "It's a rum world, Mr. Merefleet. "

"It isn't the world, " said Merefleet. "It's the people in it. Now, MissWard, I have a favour to ask. Promise me that you will never againimagine for a moment that I am not pleased--more, honoured--when you aregood enough to stop by the way and speak to me. Of your charity you havestooped to pity my loneliness. And, believe me, I do most sincerelyappreciate it. "

"My!" she said. "That's the nicest thing you've said yet. Yes, I promisethat. You're real kind, do you know? You make me feel miles better. "

She drew her hand gently away. Merefleet was trying to discern herfeatures in the darkness. 

"Are you really lonely, I wonder?" he said. "Or is that a figure ofspeech?"

"It's solid fact, " she said. "But, never mind me! Let's talk of somethingnicer. "

"No, thanks!" Merefleet could be obstinate when he liked. "Unless youobject, I prefer to talk about you. "

She laughed a little, but said nothing. 

"I want to know what makes you lonely, " he said. "Don't tell me, ofcourse, if there is any difficulty about it!"

"No, " she responded coolly. "I won't. But I guess I'm lonely for much thesame reason that you are. "

"I have never been anything else since I became a man, " said Merefleet. 

"Ah!" she said. "I might say the same. Fact is"--she spoke with suddenstartling emphasis--"I ought to be dead. And I'm not. That's my troublein a nutshell. "

"Great heavens, child!" Merefleet exclaimed, with an involuntary start. "Don't talk like that!"

"Why not?" she asked innocently. "Is it wrong?"

"It isn't literal truth, you know, " he answered gravely. "You will notpersuade me that it is. "

"I'm no judge then, " she said, with a note of recklessness in her voice. 

"You have your cousin, " Merefleet pointed out, feeling that he was onuncertain ground, yet unaccountably anxious to prove it. "You are notutterly alone while he is with you. "

She uttered a shrill little laugh. "Why, " she said, "I believe you thinkI'm in love with Bert. "

Merefleet was silent. 

"I'm not, you know, " she said, after a momentary pause. "I'm years olderthan Bert, anyhow. "

"Oh, come!" said Merefleet. 

"Figuratively, of course, " she explained. 

"I understand, " said Merefleet. And there was a silence. 

Suddenly she laughed again merrily. 

"May I share the joke?" asked Merefleet. 

"You won't see it, " she returned. "I'm laughing at you, Big Bear. You arejust too quaint for anything. "

Merefleet did not see the joke, but he did not ask for an explanation. 

Seton himself strolled on to the terrace and joined them directly after;and Mab began to shiver and went indoors. 

The two men sat together for some time, talking little. Seton seemedpreoccupied and Merefleet became sleepy. It was he who at length proposeda move. 

Seton rose instantly. "Mr. Merefleet, " he said rather awkwardly, "I wantto say a word to you. "

Merefleet waited in silence. 

"Concerning my cousin, " Seton proceeded. "You will probably misread mymotive for saying this. But nevertheless it must be said. It is notadvisable that you should become very intimate with her. "

He brought out the words with a jerk. It had been a difficult thing tosay, but he was not a man to shrink from difficulties. Having said it, hewaited quietly for the result. 

Merefleet paused a moment before he spoke. Seton had surprised him, buthe did not show it. 

"I shall not misread your motive, " he said, "as I seldom speculate onmatters that do not concern me. But allow me to say that I consider yourwarning wholly uncalled for. "

"Exactly, " said Seton, "I expected you to say that. Well, I am sorry. Itis quite impossible for me to explain myself. I hope for your sake youwill never be placed in the position in which I am now. I assure you itis anything but an enviable one. "

His manner, blunt and direct, appealed very strongly to Merefleet. Hesaid nothing, however, and they went in together in unbroken silence. Mab did not reappear that night. 

CHAPTER VIII

A fortnight passed away and Merefleet was still at the hotel at OldSilverstrand. Mab was there also, the idol of the fisher-folk, and anunfailing source of interest and admiration to casual visitors at thehotel. 

Merefleet, though he had become a privileged acquaintance, was stillwholly unenlightened with regard to the circumstances which had broughther to the place under Seton's escort. 

As time went on, it struck Merefleet that these two were a somewhatincongruous couple. They dined together and they usually boated togetherin the afternoon--this last item on account of Mab's passion for the sea;but beyond this they lived considerably apart. Neither seemed to seek theother's society, and if they met at lunch, it was never by preconceivedarrangement. 

Merefleet saw more of Mab when she was ashore than Seton did. They wouldmeet on the quay, in old Quiller's cottage, or in the hotel-garden, several times a day. Occasionally he would accompany them on the water, but not often. He had a notion that Seton preferred his absence, and hewould not go where he felt himself to be an intruder. 

Nevertheless, the primary fascination had not ceased to act upon him; theglamour of the girl's beauty was still in his eyes something more thanearthly. And there came a time when Bernard Merefleet listened withunconscious craving for the high, unmodulated voice, and smiled with atender indulgence over the curiously naïve audacity which once had madehim shrink. 

As for Mab, she was too eagerly interested in various matters to givemore than a passing thought to the fact that the man she called Big Bearhad laid aside his surliness. If she thought about it at all, it was onlyto conclude that their daily intercourse had worn away the outer crust ofhis shyness. 

She was always busy--in and out of the fishermen's cottages, where shewas welcomed as an angel--to and fro on a hundred schemes, all equallyinteresting and equally absorbing. And Merefleet was called upon toassist. She singled him out for her friendship because he was as oneapart and without interests. She drew him into her own bubbling life. Shelaughed at him, consulted him, enslaved him. 

All innocently she wove her spell about this man. He was lonely, sheknew; and she, in her ardent, great-souled pity for all such, was willingto make cheerful sacrifice of her own time and strength if thus she mightease but a little the burden that galled a fellow-traveller's shoulders. 

Merefleet came upon her once standing in the sunshine with Mrs. Quiller'sbaby in her arms. She beckoned him to speak to her. "Come here if youaren't afraid of babies!" she said, displaying her charge. "Look at him, Big Bear! He's three weeks old to-day. Isn't he fine?"

"What do you know about babies?" said Merefleet, with his eyes on herlovely flushed face. 

She nodded in her sprightly fashion, but her eyes were far away on thedistant horizon, and her soul with them. "I know a lot, Big Bear, " shesaid. 

Merefleet watched her, well pleased with the sight. She stood rocking toand fro. Her gaze was fixed and tender. 

"I wonder what you see, " Merefleet said, after a pause. 

Her eyes came back at once to her immediate surroundings. 

"Shall I tell you, Big Bear?" she said. 

"Yes, " said Merefleet, marvelling at the radiance of her face. 

And, her voice hushed to a whisper, she moved a pace nearer to him andtold him. 

"Just a little baby friend of mine who lives over there, " she said. "I'mgoing to see him some day. I guess he'll be glad, don't you?"

"Who wouldn't?" said Merefleet. "But that's not the West, you know. "

"No, " she said simply. "He's in the Land beyond the sea, Big Bear. " Andwith a strange little smile into his face, she drew the shawl closerabout the child in her arms and disappeared into Quiller's cottage. 

There was something in this interview that troubled Merefleetunaccountably. But when he saw her again, her mirth was brimming over, and he thought she had forgotten. 

CHAPTER IX

It was about a week after this conversation that Merefleet, invited bySeton, joined his two friends at _table d'hôte_ at their table. Thesuggestion came from Mab, he strongly suspected, for she seconded Seton'sproposal so vigorously that to decline would have been almost animpossibility. 

"You look so lonely there, " she said. "It's miles nicer over here. What'syour opinion?"

"I agree with you, of course, " said Merefleet, with a glance at Setonwhich discovered little. 

"Isn't he getting polite?" said the American girl approvingly. "Say, Bert! I guess you'll have to take lessons in manners or he'll get aheadof you. "

Seton smiled indulgently. He was this girl's watch-dog and protector. Heaspired to be no more. 

"My dear girl, you will never make a social ornament of me as long as youlive, " he said. 

And Mab patted his arm affectionately. 

"You're nicer as you are, dear boy, " she said. "You aren't smart, it'strue, but I give you the highest mark for real niceness. "

Seton's eyes met Merefleet's for a second. There was a touch ofuneasiness about him, as if he feared Merefleet might misconstruesomething. And Merefleet considerately struck a topic which hebelieved to be wholly impersonal. 

"By the way, " he said, "I had an American paper sent me to-day. It mayinterest you to hear that Ralph Warrender has resigned his seat inCongress and married again. "

"What?" said Seton. 

"My!" cried Mab, with a shrill laugh. "That is news, Mr. Merefleet!"

Merefleet glanced at her sharply, his attention arrested by something hedid not understand. Seton pushed a glass of sherry towards her, but hewas looking at Merefleet. 

"News indeed!" he said deliberately. "Is it actually an accomplishedfact?"

"According to the _New York Herald_, " said Merefleet. 

Mab's face was growing whiter and whiter. Seton still leant over thetable, striving with all his resolution to force Merefleet's attentionaway from her. But Merefleet would not allow it. He saw what Seton didnot stop to see; and it was he, not Seton, who lifted her to her feet amoment later and half-led, half-carried her out of the stifling room. 

With a practical commonsense eminently characteristic of him, Setonremained to pour out a glass of brandy; and thus armed he followed theminto the vestibule. Mab was lying back in an arm-chair when he arrived. Her eyes were closed, and she was breathing quickly. Merefleet waspropping open the door on to the terrace. The lights flickered in thedraught and gave a strange look to the colourless face on the cushion. Itwas like a beautifully carved marble. But for Merefleet the place wasdeserted. 

Seton knelt down and held the glass to his cousin's lips. 

Merefleet returned softly and paused behind her chair. 

"It's this confounded heat, " said Seton in a savage undertone. "She willbe all right directly. "

Merefleet said nothing. Again he was keenly conscious of the fact thatSeton wanted to get rid of him. But a stronger influence than Setonpossessed kept him standing there. 

Mab opened her eyes as the neat spirit burnt her lips. She tried to pushthe glass away, but Seton would not allow it. 

"Just a drain, my dear girl, " he said. "It will do you all the good inthe world. And then--Merefleet, " glancing up at him, "will you fetch somewater?"

Merefleet went as desired. 

When he returned, Mab was lying forward in Seton's arms, crying as he hadnever seen any woman cry before. And Seton was stroking her hair insilence. 

Merefleet set down the water noiselessly, and went softly out into thesummer dusk. But the great waves beating on the shore could not drownthe memory of a woman's bitter sobbing. And the man's heart was dumb andheavy with the trouble he could not fathom. 

Some hours later, returning from a weary tramp along the shore, heencountered Seton pacing to and fro on the terrace. 

"She is better, " he said, in answer to Merefleet's conventional enquiry. "It was the heat, you know, that upset her. "

"Yes, " said Merefleet quietly. "I know. "

Seton walked away restlessly, more as if he wished to keep on the movethan to avoid Merefleet. He came back, however, after a few seconds. 

"Look here, Merefleet, " he said abruptly, "you may take offence, but youcan't quarrel without my consent. For Heaven's sake, leave this place!You are doing more mischief than you have the smallest notion of. "

There was that in his manner which roused the instinct of opposition inMerefleet. 

"You will either tell me what you mean, " he said, "or you need not expectto gain your point. Veiled hints, like anonymous letters, do not deserveany man's serious consideration. "

Seton muttered something inaudible and became silent. 

Merefleet waited for some moments and then began to move off. But theyounger man instantly turned and detained him with an imperative hand. 

"What I mean is this, " he said, and the starlight on his face showed itto be very determined. "My cousin is not in a position to receive anyman's attentions. She is not free. I have tried to persuade myself intothinking you want nothing but ordinary friendship. I should infinitelyprefer to think that if you can assure me that I am justified in sodoing. "

"What is it to you?" said Merefleet. 

"To me personally it is more a matter of family honour than anythingelse. Moreover I am her sole protector, and as such I am bound to asserta certain amount of authority. "

"So you may, " said Merefleet quietly. "But I do not see that thatinvolves my departure. "

Seton struck the balustrade of the terrace with an impatient hand. "Can'tyou understand?" he said rather thickly. "How else can I put it?"

"I have no desire to pry into your affairs, Heaven knows, " Merefleetsaid, "but this I will say. If I can be of use to either of you inhelping to dispose of what appears to be a somewhat awkward predicamentyou may rely upon me with absolute safety. "

"Thanks!" Seton turned slowly and held out his hand. "There is only onething you can do, " he said, with an awkward laugh. "And that is preciselywhat you are not prepared to do. All right. I suppose it's human nature. I am obliged to you all the same. Good-night!"

CHAPTER X

"Say, Big Bear! Will you take me on the water?"

Merefleet, lounging on the shingle with a pipe and newspaper, looked upwith a start and hastened to knock out the half-burnt tobacco on the heelof his boot. 

His American friend stood above him, clad in the white linen costume shealways wore for boating. She looked very enchanting and very childlike. Merefleet who had seen her last sobbing bitterly in her cousin's arms, stared up at her with wonder and relief on his face. 

She nodded to him. Her eyes were marvellously bright, but he did notascribe their brilliance to recent tears. 

"You don't look exactly smart, " she said critically. "Hope I don'tintrude?"

"Not a bit. " Merefleet stumbled to his feet and raised his hat. "Pardonmy sluggishness! How are you this morning?"

"Fresh as paint, " she returned. "But I'm just dying to get on the water. And Bert has gone off somewhere by himself. I guess you'll help me, BigBear. Won't you?"

Merefleet glanced from the sea to the sun. 

"There's a change coming, " he said. "I will go with you with pleasure. But I think it would be advisable to wait till the afternoon as usual. Weshall probably know by then what sort of weather to expect. "

Mab pouted a little. 

"We shan't go at all if we wait, " she declared. "Why can't we go whilethe fine weather lasts? I believe you want to back out of it. It's reallazy of you, Big Bear. You shan't read, anyhow. "

She took his paper from his unresisting hands, dug a hole in the shinglewith vicious energy, and covered it over. 

"Now what?" she said, looking up at him with an impudent smile. 

"Now, " said Merefleet gravely, "I will take you for a row. "

"Will you? Big Bear, you're a brick. I'll put you into my will. No, Iwon't, because I haven't got anything to leave. And you wouldn't wantit if I had. Say, Big Bear! Haven't you got any friends?"

Merefleet looked surprised at the abrupt question. 

"I have one friend in England besides yourself, Miss Ward, " he replied. "His name is Clinton. But he is married and done for. "

"My! What a pity!" she exclaimed. "Isn't he happy?"

"Oh, yes, I think so. Still, you know, most fellows have to sacrificesomething when they marry. He was a war-correspondent. But he has spoilthimself for that. "

"I see. " Mab was prodding the shingle with the end of her sunshade, her face very thoughtful. Suddenly she looked up. "Never get married, Big Bear!" she said vehemently. "It's the most miserable state inChristendom. "

"Anyone would think you spoke from experience, " said Merefleet, smilinga little. 

But Mab did not smile. 

"I know a lot, Big Bear, " she said, with a sharp sigh. 

Merefleet was silent. His thoughts had gone back to the previous night. He was surprised when she suddenly alluded to the episode. 

"There's that man Ralph Warrender, " she said. "I guess the woman that'smarried him thinks he's A1 and gilt-edged now, poor soul. But he's just amiserable patchwork mummy really, and there isn't any white in him--no, not a speck. "

She spoke with such intense, even violent bitterness that Merefleet wasutterly astonished. He stood gravely contemplating her flushed, upturnedface. 

"What has he done to make you say that, I wonder?" he said. 

"Nothing to me, " she answered quickly. "Nothing at all to me. But I usedto know his first wife. She was a sort of friend of mine. They used tocall her the loveliest woman in U. S. , Mr. Merefleet. And she belonged tothat fiend. "

They began to walk towards the boats through the shifting shingle. Merefleet had nothing to say. There was something in her passionatespeech that disturbed him vaguely. She spoke as one whose most sacredpersonal interests had once been at stake. 

"Lucky for her she's dead, Big Bear, " she said presently, with aside-glance at him. "I've never regretted any of my friends less thanMrs. Ralph Warrender. Oh, she was real miserable. I've seen her withdiamonds piled high in her hair and her face all shining with smiles. AndI've known all the time that her heart was broken. And when I heard thatshe was dead, do you know, I was glad--yes, thankful. And I guessWarrender wasn't sorry. For she hated him. "

"I never cared for Warrender, " said Merefleet. "But I always took him fora gentleman. "

She laughed at his words with a gaiety that jarred upon him. "Do youknow, Big Bear, " she said, "I think they must have forgotten to teachyou your ABC when you went to school? You're such an innocent. "

Merefleet tramped by her side in silence. There was something in him thatshrank when she spoke in this vein. 

But quite suddenly her tone changed. She spoke very gently. "Still, it'sbetter to know too little than too much, " she said. "And oh, Big Bear, Iknow such a lot. "

Merefleet looked at her sharply and surprised an expression on her facewhich he did not easily forget. 

He knew in that moment that this woman had suffered, and his heart gavea wild, tumultuous throb. From that moment he also knew that she hadtaken his heart by storm. 

CHAPTER XI

Half-an-hour later they were out on the open sea beyond the harbour in acockleshell even frailer than Quiller's little craft which they had notbeen able to secure. 

The sea was very quiet, only broken by an occasional long swell thatdrove them southward like driftwood. Merefleet, who had been persuadedto quit the harbour against his better judgment, was not greatlydisturbed by this fact. He did not anticipate any difficulty inreturning. A little extra labour was the worst he expected, for he knewthat a southward course would bring him into no awkward currents. Away tothe eastward he was aware of treacherous streams and shoals. But he hadno intention of going in that direction, and Mab, who steered, knew thewater well. 

There was no sun, a circumstance which Mab deplored, but for whichMerefleet was profoundly grateful. 

"You're not nearly so lazy as you used to be, " she said to himapprovingly, as he rested his oars after a long pull. 

"No, " said Merefleet. "I am beginning to see the error of my ways. "

"I'm real glad to hear you say so, " she said heartily. "And I want totell you, Big Bear--that as I'm never going to New York again, I'vedecided to be an Englishwoman. And you've got to help me. "

Merefleet looked at her with undisguised appreciation, but he shookhis head at her words. She was marvellous; she was inimitable; she wasunique. She would never, never be English. His gesture said as much. But she was not discouraged. 

"I guess I'll try, anyhow, " she said with brisk determination. "You don'tlike American women, Mr. Merefleet. "

"Depends, " said Merefleet. 

And she laughed gaily. 

They were drifting in long sweeps towards the south. Imperceptibly alsothe distance was widening between the boat and the shore. The wind wasveering to the west. 

"My! Look at that oar!" Mab suddenly exclaimed. 

Merefleet started at the note of dismay in her tone. He had shipped hisoars. They were the only ones that had been provided. He glanced hastilyat the oar Mab indicated. It had been broken and roughly splicedtogether. The wood that had been used for the splicing was rotten, andthe friction in the rowlocks had almost worn it through. Merefleetexamined it in silence. 

The girl's voice, high, with a quiver in it that might have stood foreither laughter or consternation, broke in on him. 

"Well, " she said, "I guess we're in the suds this time, Big Bear; and nomistake about it. "

Merefleet glanced at her helplessly. He did not think she realised thegravity of the situation, but something in the little smile that twitchedher lips undeceived him. 

"The sea was full of boats a little while ago, " he said. "They haveprobably gone in for the lunch hour. But they will be out againpresently. We shall have to drift about for a while and then run upa distress signal. It will be all right. "

She nodded to him and laughed. 

"Splendid, Big Bear! You talk like an oracle. I guess we'll run up my redparasol on the end of an oar for a danger sign. Bert could see that fromthe terrace. " She glanced shorewards as she spoke, and he saw her facechange momentarily. "Why, " she said quickly, "I thought we were closein. What's happened?"

Merefleet looked round with sullen perception of a difficult situation. 

"The wind is blowing off shore, " he explained. "It was north when westarted. But it has gone round to the west. It will be all right, youknow. We can't drift very far in an hour. "

But he did not speak with conviction. The sea tumbled all around them, a mighty grey waste. And the shore seemed very far away. A dismal outlookin truth. Moreover it was beginning to rain. 

Mab sheltered herself under her sunshade and began to laugh. "It's justskittles to what it might be, " she said consolingly. 

But Merefleet did not respond. He knew that the wind was rising withevery second, and already the little boat tipped and tossed with perilousbuoyancy. 

Mab still held the rudder-lines. She sat in the stern, a serene andsmiling vision, while Merefleet toiled with one oar to counteract thegrowing strength of the off-shore wind. But she very soon put down hersunshade, and he saw that she must speedily be drenched to the skin. Forthe rain was heavy, drifting over the water in thick, grey gusts. Theywere being driven steadily eastwards out to sea. 

"I don't think my steering makes much difference, Big Bear, " she said, after a long silence. 

"No, " said Merefleet. "It would take all the strength of two rowers tomake headway against this wind. "

He shipped his oar with the words and began to take off his coat. Mabwatched him with some wonder. He was seated on the thwart nearest toher. He stooped forward at length very cautiously and, taking therudder-lines from her, made them fast. 

"Now get into this!" he said. "Mind you don't upset the boat!"

She stared at him for one speechless second. Then:

"No, I won't, Big Bear, " she declared emphatically. "Put it on again atonce! Do you suppose I'll sit here in your coat while you shiver innothing but flannels?"

"Do as I say!" said Merefleet, with a grim hardening of the jaw. 

And quite meekly she obeyed. There was something about him that inspiredher with awe at that moment. She felt as if she had run against someobstacle in the dark. 

The rain began to beat down in great, shifting clouds. The sea grewhigher at every moment. Flecks of white gleamed here and there on allsides. The boat was dancing like a cork. 

Mab sat in growing terror with her eyes on the roaring turmoil. Theminutes crawled by like hours. At length she turned to look shorewardsfor the boats. A driving, blinding mist of rain beat into her face. Shesaw naught besides. And suddenly her courage failed her. "Big Bear!"she cried wildly. "What shall we do? I'm so frightened. "

He heard her through the storm. He was still sitting on the middle thwartfacing her. He moved, bending towards her. 

"Come to me here!" he said. "It will be safer. "

She crept to his outstretched arm with a sense of going into refuge. Merefleet helped her over the thwart. There was a torn piece of sailclothin the bottom of the boat. He drew her down on to it and turned roundhimself so that his back was towards the storm. He was thus able toshelter her in some measure from the full fury of the blast. 

Mab shrank against him, terrified and quivering. 

"It looks so angry, " she said. 

"Don't be afraid!" said Merefleet. 

And he put his arms about her and held her close to him as if she hadbeen a little child afraid of the dark. 

CHAPTER XII

No pleasure-boats or craft of any sort put out from Silverstrand thatafternoon. The wind eventually blew away the clouds and revealed afoaming, sunlit sea. But the waves were immense at high tide, and thefishermen muttered among themselves and stared darkly out over the mightybreakers. 

It was known among them that a boat had put out to sea in the morning andhad not returned before the rising of the gale. There were heavy heartsin Old Silverstrand that day. But to launch another boat to search forthe missing one was out of the question. The great seas that came hurlinginto the little fishing-harbour were sufficient proof of that, even tothe most inexperienced landsman. 

Seton, learning the news when lunch was half over, rushed off to NewSilverstrand in the hope that the boat might have been driven in thatdirection by the strong current. But nothing had been seen from there ofthe missing craft, and though he traversed the entire distance by way ofthe cliffs, he saw nothing throughout his walk but flecks of foam hereand there over the tumbling expanse of water. 

He returned an hour or so later, reaching Old Silverstrand by five. Butnothing had been heard there. The fishermen shook their heads when hequestioned them. It was plain that they had given up hope. 

Seton raged up and down the quay in impotent agony of mind. Theoff-shore wind continued for some hours. There was not the smallest doubtthat the boat had been driven out to sea, unless--a still more awfulpossibility--she had been swamped and sunk long ago. As darkness fell, the gale at length abated, and Quiller the younger approached Seton. 

"Tell you what, sir, " he said. "There's a cruiser been up and down amatter of ten miles out. Me and my mates will put out at daybreak and seeif we can get within hail of her. There's the light-ship, too, offMorden's Shoal. 'Tain't likely as a boat could have slipped between 'emwithout being seen. For if she was just drifting, you know, sir, shewouldn't go very fast. "

"All right, " said Seton. "And thanks! I'll go with you in the morning. "

Quiller lingered, though there was dismissal in the tone. 

"Go in and get a rest, sir!" he said persuasively. "There ain't no goodin your wearing yourself out here. You can't do nothing, sir, except prayfor a calm sea. Given that, we'll start with the light. "

"Very well, " said Seton, and turned away. He knew that the man spokesense and he put pressure on himself to behave rationally. Nevertheless, he spent the greater part of the night in a fever of restlessness whichno strength of will could subdue; and he was down on the quay long beforethe first faint gleam of light shot glimmering over the quiet water. 

 * * * * *

It was during those first wonderful moments of a new day that Mab woke upwith a start shivering, and stretched out her arms with a cry of wonder. 

Hours before, Merefleet had persuaded her to try to rest, and she hadfallen asleep with her head against his knee, soothed by the calm that atlength succeeded the storm. He had watched over her with grim endurancethroughout the night, and not once had he seen a light or any otherobject to raise his hopes. 

They were out of sight of land; alone on the dumb waste. He had not thesmallest notion as to how far out to sea the boat had drifted. Only hefancied that they had been driven out of the immediate track of steamers, and in the great emptiness around him he saw no means of escape from thefate that seemed to dog them. 

The boat had lived miraculously, it seemed to him, through the awfulstorm of the day. Tossed ruthlessly and aimlessly to and fro, drenched tothe skin, hungry and forlorn, he and the woman who was to him the verydesire of life, had gone through the peril of deep waters. Merefleet wasbeginning to wonder why they had thus escaped. It seemed to him but aneedless prolonging of an agony already long drawn out. 

Nevertheless there was nothing of despair in his face as he stooped overthe girl who was crouching at his feet. 

"Glad you have been able to sleep, " he said gently. "Don't get up! Thereis no necessity if you are fairly comfortable. "

She smiled up at him with the ready confidence of a child and raisedherself a little. 

"Still watching, Big Bear?" she said. 

"Yes, " said Merefleet. 

His tone told her that he had seen nothing. She lay still for a fewmoments, then slowly turned her face towards the east. A deep pink glowwas rising in the sky. There was a rosy dusk on the sea about them. 

"My!" said Mab in a soft whisper. "Isn't that lovely?"

Merefleet said nothing. He was watching her beautiful face with a greathunger in his heart. 

Mab was also silent for a while. Presently she turned her face up to his. 

"The Gate of Heaven, " she said in a whisper. "Isn't it fine?"

He did not speak. 

She lifted a hand that felt like an icicle and slipped it into his. 

"I guess we shall do this journey together, Big Bear, " she said. "I'mreal sorry I made you come if you didn't want to. "

"You needn't be sorry, " said Merefleet, with a huskiness he could nothave accounted for. 

"No?" she said, with a curious little thrill in her voice. "It's realhandsome of you, Big Bear. Because--you know--I ought to have died morethan a year ago. But you are different. You have your life to live. "

Merefleet's hand closed tightly upon hers. 

"Don't talk like that, child!" he said. "Heaven knows your life is worthmore than mine. "

Mab leant her elbow on his knee and gazed thoughtfully over the farexpanse of water. Merefleet knew that she was faint and exhausted, though she uttered no complaint. 

"Shall I tell you a secret, Big Bear?" she said, in the hushed tone ofone on the threshold of a sacred place. "I ended my life long ago. I wasvery miserable and Death came and offered me refuge. And it was such asafe hiding-place. I knew no one would look for me there. Only lately Ihave come to see that what I did was wicked. I think you helped to makeme see, Big Bear. You're so honest. And then a dreadful thing happened. Have you ever spoilt anyone's life besides your own, I wonder? I have. That is why I have got to die. There is no place left for me. I gave itup. And there is someone else there now. "

She stopped. Merefleet was bending over her with that in his face thatmight have been the reflected glory of the growing day. Mab saw it, andstretched up her other hand with a startled sob. 

"Big Bear, forgive me!" she whispered. "I--didn't--know. "

A moment later she was lying on his breast, and the first golden shimmerof the morning had risen above the sea. 

"I shan't mind dying now, " Mab whispered, a little later. "I was realfrightened yesterday. But now--do you know?--I'm glad--glad. It's justlike sailing into Paradise, isn't it? Are any of your people there, BigBear?"

"Perhaps, " said Merefleet. 

"Won't you be pleased to see them?" she said, with a touch of wonder atthe indifference in his tone. 

"I want nothing but you, my darling, " he said, and his lips were on herhair. 

He felt her fingers close upon his own. 

"I guess it won't matter in Heaven, " she said, as though trying toconvince herself of something. "My dear, shall I tell you something?I love you with all my heart. I never knew it till to-day. And if weweren't so near Heaven I reckon I couldn't ever have told you. "

Some time later she began to talk in a dreamy way of the Great Havenwhither they were drifting. The sun was high by then and beat in awonderful, dazzling glory on the pathless waters. 

"There's no sun There, " said Mab. "But I guess it will be very bright. And there will be crowds and crowds along the Shore to see us come intoPort. And I'll see my little baby among them. I told you about him, BigBear. Finest little chap in New York City. He'll be holding out his armsto me, just like he used. Ah! I can almost see him now. Look at hiscurls. Aren't they fine? And his little angel face. There isn't anyonelike him, I guess. Everybody said he was the cutest baby in U. S. Coming, darling! Coming!"

Mab's hands slackened from Merefleet's clasp, and suddenly she stretchedout her arms to the sky. The holiest of all earthly raptures was on herface. 

Then with a sharp sigh she came to herself and turned back to Merefleet. A piteous little smile hovered about her quivering lips. 

"I guess I've been dreaming, Big Bear, " she said. "Such a dream! Oh, sucha gorgeous, heavenly dream!"

And she hid her face on his breast and burst into tears. 

CHAPTER XIII

Before the sun set they were sighted by the cruiser returning to heranchorage outside the little fishing-harbour. Mab, worn out by hunger andexposure, had slipped back to her former position in the bottom of theboat. She was half asleep and seemed dazed when Merefleet told her oftheir approaching deliverance. But she clung fast to him when a boat fromthe cruiser came alongside; and he lifted her into it himself. 

"By Jove, sir, you've had a bad time!" said a young officer in the boat. 

"Thirty hours, " said Merefleet briefly. 

He kept his arm about the girl, though his brain swam dizzily. And Mab, consciously or unconsciously, held his hand in a tight clasp. 

Merefleet felt as if she were definitely removed out of his reach whenshe was lifted from his hold at length, and the impression remained withhim after he gained the cruiser's deck. He met with most courteoussolicitude on all sides and was soon on the high-road to recovery. 

Later in the evening, when Mab also was sufficiently restored to appearon deck, the cruiser steamed into Silverstrand Harbour, and the twovoyagers were landed by one of her boats, in the midst of great rejoicingon the quay. 

Seton, who had long since returned from a fruitless search for tidings, was among the crowd of spectators. He said little by way of greeting, and there was considerable strain apparent in his manner towardsMerefleet. He hurried his cousin back to the hotel with a haste notwholly bred of the moment's expediency. Merefleet followed at a moreleisurely pace. He made no attempt to join them, however. He had done hispart. There remained no more to do. With a heavy sense of irrevocableloss he went to bed and slept the dreamless sleep of exhaustion for manyhours. 

The adventure was over. It had ended with a tameness that gave it analmost commonplace aspect. But Merefleet's resolution was of stoutmanufacture. 

The consequences of that night and day of peril involved his wholefuture. Merefleet recognised this and resolved to act forthwith, indefiance of Seton or any other obstacle. He did not realise till laterthat there was opposed to him a strength which even his will waspowerless to overcome. He did not even take the possibility of thisinto consideration. 

He was very sure of himself and confident of success when he descendedlate on the following morning to a solitary breakfast--sure of himself, sure of the smile of that fickle goddess Fortune--sure, thrice sure, ofthe woman he loved. 

And he watched for her coming with a rapture that deprived him of hisappetite. 

But Mab did not come. 

Instead, Herbert Seton presently strolled into the room, greeted him, andpaused by his table. 

"Be good enough to join me on the terrace presently, will you?" he saidabruptly. 

And Merefleet nodded with a chill sense of foreboding. But his resolutionwas unalterable. This young man should not, he was determined, by anymeans cheat him now of his heart's desire. Matters had gone too far forthat. He followed Seton almost at once and found him in a quiet corner, smoking. Merefleet sat down beside him and also began to smoke. There wasa touch of hostility about Seton that he was determined to ignore. 

"Well, " said Seton at length, with characteristic bluntness, "so you havedone it in spite of my warning the other night. "

Merefleet looked at him. Was he expected to render an account of hisdoings to this man who was at least ten years his junior, he wondered, with faint amusement?

Seton went on with strong indignation. 

"I told you in the first place not to be too intimate with her. I toldyou again two nights ago that she was not free to accept any man'sattentions. But you went on. And you have made her miserable simply forthe gratification of your own unreasonable fancy. Do you call that manlybehaviour, I wonder?"

Merefleet sat in absolute silence for several seconds. Finally he wheeledround in his chair and faced Seton. 

"If I were you, " he said quietly, "I should postpone this interview forhalf-an-hour. I think you may possibly regret it if you don't. "

Seton tossed away a half-smoked cigarette and rose. 

"In half-an-hour, " he said, "I shall have left this place, and my cousinwith me. I asked to speak to you because I detest all underhand dealings. You apparently have not the same scruples. "

Merefleet also rose. 

"You will apologise for that, " he said, in a tone of conviction. "I don'tquestion your motives, but to fetch me out here and then insult me wasnot a wise proceeding on your part. "

Seton's hand clenched involuntarily. But he had put himself in the wrong, and he knew it. 

"Very well, " he said at length, with a shrug. "I apologise for theexpression. But my opinion of you remains unaltered. "

Merefleet ignored the qualification. He was bent on something moreimportant than the satisfaction of his own personal honour. "And now, " hesaid, with deliberate purpose, "I am going to have a private interviewwith your cousin. "

Seton started. 

"You are going to do nothing of the sort, " he said instantly. 

Merefleet looked him over gravely. 

"Look here, Seton!" he said. "You're making a fool of yourself. Take afriend's advice--don't!"

Seton choked back his anger with a great effort. In spite of this therewas a passionate ring in his voice when he spoke that betrayed theexceeding precariousness of his self-control. 

"I can't let you see her, " he said. "She is upset enough already. I havepromised her that she shall not be worried. "

"Have you promised her to keep me from speaking to her?" Merefleet grimlyenquired. 

"No. " Seton spoke reluctantly. 

"Then do this, " said Merefleet. "Go to her and ask her if she will see mealone. If she says 'No, ' I give you my word that I will leave this placeand trouble neither of you any further. "

Seton seemed to hesitate, but Merefleet was sure of his acquiescence. After a pause of several seconds he fulfilled his expectations and went. 

Merefleet sat down again and waited. Seton returned heavy-footed. 

"She will see you, " he said curtly. "You will find her in thebilliard-room. "

"Alone?" said Merefleet, rising. 

"Alone. "

And Merefleet walked away. 

CHAPTER XIV

He found her sitting in a great arm-chair at one end of the emptybilliard-room. She did not rise to meet him. He thought she looked tiredout and frightened. 

He went to her and stooped over her, taking her hands. She did not resisthim, but neither did she welcome. Her lips were quivering painfully. 

"What have I done that you should run away from me?" Merefleet asked hervery gently. 

She shook her head with a helpless gesture. 

"Mr. Merefleet, " she whispered, "try--try not to be cross any! I'm afraidI've made a big mistake. "

"My dear, we all make them, " Merefleet said with grave kindliness. 

"I know, " she faltered. "I know. But mine was a real bad one. "

"Never mind, child!" he said tenderly. "Why should you tell me?"

She threw a swift look into his face. She was trembling violently. 

"Big Bear, " she cried with sudden vehemence, "you don't understand. "

He knelt down beside her and put his arm about her. 

"Listen to me, my darling, " he said, and she shrank at the deep thrill inhis voice. "To me you are all that is beautiful and good and holy. I donot want to know what lies behind you. I know you have had trouble. Butit is over. You may have made mistakes. But they are over, too. Tell menothing! Leave the past alone! Only give me your present and your future. I shall be quite content. "

He paused. She was shivering within his encircling arm. He could hear herbreath coming and going very quickly. 

"You love me, darling, " he said. "And is it necessary for me to tell youthat I worship you as no one ever has worshipped you before?"

He paused again. But Mab did not speak. The beautiful face was workingpainfully. Her hands were tightly clasped in his. 

"Child, what is it?" Merefleet said, conscious of a hidden barrierbetween them. "Can't you trust yourself to me? Is that it? Are you afraidof me? You didn't shrink from me yesterday. "

She bowed her head. Yesterday she had wept in his arms. But to-day notears came. Only a halting whisper, a woman's cry of sheer weakness. 

"Don't tempt me, Big Bear!" she murmured. "Oh, don't tempt me! I amnot--free!"

Merefleet's face grew stern. 

"You did not say that yesterday, " he said. 

She heard the change in his tone, and looked up. She was better able tomeet this from him. 

"I know, " she said. "And I guess that was where I went wrong. I ought tohave waited till we were dead. But, you see, I didn't know. "

"Then do you tell me you are not free?" Merefleet said. "Do you meanliterally that? Are you the actual property of another man?"

She shook her head with baffling promptitude. 

"I guess I'm just Death's property, Big Bear, " she said, with a wistfullittle smile. "But he doesn't seem over-keen on having me. "

"Stop!" said Merefleet harshly. "I won't have you talk like that. It'smadness. Tell me what you mean!"

"I can't, " Mab said. "I can't tell you. It wouldn't be fair. Don't beangry, Big Bear! It's just the price I've got to pay. And it's no usesquirming. I've worried it round and round. But it always comes back tothat. I'm not free. And no one but Bert must ever know why. "

Merefleet sprang to his feet with an impatience by no meanscharacteristic of him. 

"This is intolerable!" he exclaimed. "You are wrecking your life for aninsane scruple. Child, listen! Tell me nothing whatever! Give yourselfto me! No one shall ever take you away again. That I swear. And I willmake you so happy, dear. Only trust me!"

But Mab covered her face as if to shut out a forbidden sight. 

"Big Bear, I mustn't, " she said, with a sharp catch in her voice. "I'vedone very wrong already. But I mustn't do this. Indeed I mustn't. It'sreal good of you. And I shall remember it all my life. I think you arethe most charitable man I ever met, considering what you must think ofme. "

"Think!" said Merefleet, and there was a note of deep passion in hisvoice. "I don't think. I want you just as you are, --just as you are. Don't you know yet that I love you enough for that?"

Mab rose slowly at the words. She was very pale, and he could see hertrembling as she stood. 

"Big Bear, " she said, "I've got something to say to you. What I told youyesterday was quite true. And I'm in great trouble about it. I thought wewere going to Heaven together. That was how I came to say it. But it wasvery wicked of me to be so impulsive. I've done other things that werewicked in just the same way. It's just my nature. And p'r'aps you'll tryto forgive me when you think how I truly meant it. I'm telling you thisbecause I want you to do something for me. It'll be real difficult, BigBear. Only you're so strong. "

She faltered a little and paused to recover herself. Merefleet wasstanding close to her. He could have taken her into his arms. Butsomething held him back. Moreover he knew the nature of her requestbefore she uttered it. 

"Will you do what I ask you?" she said suddenly, facing him directly. "Will you, Big Bear?"

Merefleet did not answer her. 

She went on quickly. 

"My dear, it's hard for me, too, though I'm bad and I deserve to suffer. "

Her voice broke and Merefleet made a convulsive movement towards her. Buthe checked himself. And Mab ended in a choked whisper with an appealinghand against his breast. 

"Just go right away!" she said. "Take up your life where it was beforeyou met me! Will you, dear? It--will make it easier for me if you will. "

A dead silence followed the low words. Then, moved by a marvellousinfluence which worked upon him irresistibly, Merefleet stooped and putthe slight hand to his lips. He did not understand. He was as far fromreading the riddle as he had been when he entered. But his love for thiswoman conquered his desire. He had thought to win an empire. He left theroom a beaten slave. 

CHAPTER XV

Men said that Bernard Merefleet, the gold-king, was curiously changedwhen once more he went among them. Something of the old grimness whichhad earned for him his _sobriquet_ yet clung to his manner. But he wasundeniably softer than of yore. There was an odd gentleness about him. Women said that he was marvellously improved. Among such as had known himin New York he became a favourite, little as he attempted to courtfavour. 

Towards the end of the year he went down to the Midlands to stay with hisfriend Perry Clinton. They had not met for several years, and Clinton, who had married in the interval, also thought him changed. 

"Is it prosperity or adversity that has made you so tame, dear fellow?"he asked him, as they sat together over dessert one night. 

"Adversity, " said Merefleet, smiling faintly. "I'm getting old, Perry;and there's no one to take care of me. And I find that money is vanity. "

Clinton understood. 

"Better go round the world, " he said. "That's the best cure for that. "

But Merefleet shook his head. 

"It's my own fault, " he said presently. "I've chucked away my life to thegold-demon. And now there is nothing left to me. You were wise in yourgeneration. You may thank your stars, Perry, that when I wanted you tojoin me, you had the sense to refuse. When I heard you were marriedI called you a fool. But--I know better now. "

He paused. He had been speaking with a force that was almost passionate. When he continued his tone had changed. 

"That is why you find me a trifle less surly than I used to be, " he said. "I used to hate my fellow-creatures. And now I would give all my money inexchange for a few disinterested friends. I'm sick of my lonely life. Butfor all that, I shall live and die alone. "

"You make too much of it, " said Clinton. 

"Perhaps. But you can't expect a man who has been into Paradise to beexactly happy when he is thrust outside. "

Clinton took up the evening paper without comment. Merefleet had neverbefore spoken so openly to him. He realised that the man's lonelinessmust oppress him heavily indeed thus to master his reserve. 

"What news?" said Merefleet, after a pause. 

"Nothing, " said Clinton. "Plague on the Continent. Railway mishap on theGreat Northern. Another American Disaster. "

"What's that?" said Merefleet with a touch of interest. 

"Electric car accident. Ralph Warrender among the victims. "

"Warrender! What! Is he dead?"

"Yes. Killed instantaneously. Did you know him?"

"I have met him in business. I wasn't intimate with him. "

"Isn't he the man whose first wife was killed in a railway accident?"said Clinton reflectively, glad to have diverted Merefleet's thoughts. "Ithought so. I met her once and was so smitten with her that I purchasedher portrait forthwith. The most marvellous woman's face I ever saw. Theman I got it from spoke of her with the most appalling enthusiasm. 'MabWarrender!' he said. 'If she is not the loveliest woman in U. S. , I guessthe next one would strike us blind. ' Here! I'll show it you. Netta wantsme to frame it. "

Clinton got up and took a book from a cupboard. Merefleet was watchinghim with strained eyes. His heart was thumping as if it would choke him. He rose as Clinton laid the picture before him, and steadied himselfunconsciously by his friend's shoulder. 

Clinton glanced at him in some surprise. 

"Hullo!" he said. "A friend of yours, was she? My dear fellow, I'm sorry. I didn't know. "

But Merefleet hung over the picture with fascinated eyes. And his answercame with a curiously strained laugh, that somehow rang exultant. 

"Yes, a friend of mine, old chap, " he said. "It's a wonderful face, isn'tit? But it doesn't do her justice. I shouldn't frame it if I were you. "

CHAPTER XVI

"Isn't he a monster?" said Mab, as she sat before the kitchen fire inQuiller's humble dwelling with Mrs. Quiller's three months' old baby inher arms. "I guess he'd fetch a prize at a baby show, Mrs. Quiller. Isn'the just too knowing for anything?"

"He's the best of the bunch, miss, " said Mrs. Quiller proudly. "The othereight, they weren't nothing special. But this one, he be a beauty, thoughit ain't me as should say it. I'm sure it's very good of you, miss, tospend the time you do over him. He'd be an ungrateful little rogue if hedidn't get on. "

"It's real kind of you to make me welcome, " Mab said, with her cheekagainst the baby's head, "I don't know what I'd do if you didn't. "

"Ah! Poor dear! You must be lonesome now the gentleman's gone, " said Mrs. Quiller commiseratingly. 

"Oh, no, " said Mab lightly. "Not so very. I couldn't ask my cousin togive up all his time to me you know. Besides, he would come to see me atany time if I really wanted him. "

"Ah!" Mrs. Quiller shook her head. "But it ain't the same. You wants ahome of your own, my dear. That's what it is. What's become of t'othergentleman what used to be down here?"

Mab almost laughed at the artlessness of this query. 

"Mr. Merefleet, you mean? I don't know. I guess he's making some moremoney. "

At this point old Quiller, who had been toddling about in the Novembersunshine outside, pushed open the door in a state of breathlessexcitement. 

"Here's Master Bernard coming, missie, " he announced. 

Mab started to her feet, her face in a sudden, marvellous glow. 

"There now!" said Mrs. Quiller, relieving her of her precious burden. "Who'd have thought it? You'd better go and talk to him. "

And Mab stepped out into the soft sunshine. It fell around her in a floodand dazzled her. She stood quite still and waited, till out of thebrilliance someone came to her and took her hand. The waves were dashingloudly on the shore. The south wind raced by with a warm rushing. Thewhole world seemed to laugh. She closed her eyes and laughed with it. 

"Is it you, Big Bear?" she said. 

And Merefleet's voice answered her. 

"Yes, " it said. "I have come for you in earnest this time. You won't sendme away again?"

Mab lifted her face with a glad smile. 

"I guess there's no need, " she said. "My dear, I'll come now. "

And they went away together in the sunlight. 

 * * * * *

"And now I guess I'll tell you the story of the first Mrs. RalphWarrender, " said Mab, some time later. "I won't say anything about him, because he's dead, and if you can't speak well of the dead, --well it'sbetter not to speak at all. But she was miserable with him. And after herbaby died--it just wasn't endurable. Then came that railway accident, andshe was in it. There were a lot of folks killed, burnt to death most ofthem. But she escaped, and then the thought came to her just to lie lowfor a bit and let him think she was dead. 

"Oh, it was a real wicked thing to do. But she was nearly demented withtrouble. And she did it. She managed to get away, too, in spite of herlovely face. An old negro woman helped her. And she came to England andwent to a cousin of hers who had been good to her, whom she knew shecould trust--just a plain, square-jawed Englishman, Big Bear, like you insome respects--not smart, oh no--only strong as iron. And he kept hersecret, though he didn't like it a bit. And he gave her some money ofhers that he had inherited, to live on. Which was funny, wasn't it?"

Mab paused to laugh. 

"And then another man came along, a great, surly, fogheaded Englishman, who made love to her till she was nearly driven crazy. For thoughWarrender had married again before she could stop him, she wasn't free. But she couldn't tell him so for the other woman's sake. It doesn'tmatter now. It was a dreadful tangle once. And she felt real bad aboutit. But it's come out quite simply. And no one will ever know. 

"Now, I'll tell you a secret, Big Bear, about the woman you know of. Youmust put your head down for I'll have to whisper. That's the way. Now!She's just madly in love with you, Big Bear. And she is quite, quite freeto tell you so. There! And I reckon she's not Death's property any more. She's just--yours. "

The narrative ended in Merefleet's arms. 

 * * * * *

A few weeks later Quiller the younger looked up from a newspaper with agrin. 

"Mr. Merefleet's married our little missie, dad, " he announced. "I saw itcoming t'other day. "

And old Quiller looked up with a gleam of intelligence on his wrinkledface. 

"Why!" he said, with slow triumph. "If that ain't what I persuaded himfor to do, long, long ago! He's a sensible lad, is Master Bernard. "

A measure of approval which Merefleet would doubtless have appreciated. 

 * * * * *

 The Sacrifice

CHAPTER I

It had been a hot day at the Law Courts, but a faint breeze had sprung upwith the later hours, blowing softly over the river. It caught the tasselof the blind by which Field sat and tapped it against the window-frame, at first gently like a child at play, then with gathering force andinsistence till at last he looked up with a frown and rose to fasten itback. 

It was growing late. The rose of the afterglow lay upon the water, tipping the silvery ripples with soft colour. It was a magic night. Butthe wonder of it did not apparently reach him. A table littered withpapers stood in front of him bearing a portable electric lamp. He wasobviously too engrossed to think of exterior things. 

For a space he sat again in silence by the open window, only thefaint rustling of the lace curtain being audible. His somewhat hard, clean-shaven face was bent over his work with rigid concentration. His eyelids scarcely stirred. 

Then again there came a tapping, this time at the door. The frownreturned to his face. He looked up. 

"Well?"

The door opened. A small, sharp-faced boy poked in his head. "A lady tosee you, sir. "

"What?" said Field. His frown deepened. "I can't see any one. I told youso. "

"Says she won't go away till she's seen you, sir, " returned the boyglibly. "Can't get her to budge, sir. "

"Oh, tell her--" said Field, and stopped as if arrested by a suddenthought. "Who is it?" he asked. 

A grin so brief that it might have been a mere twitch of the featurespassed over the boy's face. 

"Wouldn't give no name, sir. But she's a nob of some sort, " he said. "Gota shiny satin dress on under her cloak. "

Field's eyes went for a moment to his littered papers. Then he picked upa newspaper from a chair and threw it over them. 

"Show her in!" he said briefly. 

He got up with the words, and stood with his back to the window, watchingthe half-open door. 

There came a slight rustle in the passage outside. The small boyreappeared and threw the door wide with a flourish. A woman in a darkcloak and hat with a thick veil over her face entered. 

The door closed behind her. Field stood motionless. She advanced withslight hesitation. 

"I hope you will forgive me, " she said, "for intruding upon you. "

Her voice was rich and deep. It held a throb of nervousness. Field camedeliberately forward. 

"I presume I can be of use to you, " he said. 

His tone was dry. There was scant encouragement about him as he drewforward a chair. 

She hesitated momentarily before accepting it, but finally sat down witha gesture that seemed to indicate physical weakness of some sort. 

"Yes, I want your help, " she said. 

Field said nothing. His face was the face of the trained man of law. Itexpressed naught beyond a steady, impersonal attention. 

He drew up another chair and seated himself facing her. 

She looked at him through her veil for several seconds in silence. Finally, with manifest effort, she spoke. 

"It was so good of you to admit me--especially not knowing who I was. Yourecognise me now, of course? I am Lady Violet Calcott. "

"I should recognise you more easily, " he said in his emotionless voice, "if you would be good enough to put up your veil. "

His tone was perfectly quiet and courteous, yet she made a rapid movementto comply, as if he had definitely required it of her. She threw back theobscuring veil and showed him the face of one of the most beautiful womenin London. 

There was an instant's pause before he said. 

"Yes, I recognise you, of course. And--you wanted to consult me?"

"No!" She leaned forward in her chair with white hands clasped. "I wantedto beg you to tell me--why you have refused to undertake BurleighWentworth's defence!"

She spoke with a breathless intensity. Her wonderful eyes were lifted tohis--eyes that had dazzled half London, but Field only looked down intothem as he might have regarded one of his legal documents. A slight, peculiar smile just touched his lips as he made reply. 

"I have no objection to telling you, Lady Violet. He is guilty. That iswhy. "

"Ah!" It was a sound like the snapped string of an instrument. Herfingers gripped each other. "So you think that too! Indeed--indeed, youare wrong! But--is that your only reason?"

"Isn't it a sufficient one?" he said. 

Her fingers writhed and strained against each other. "Do you mean that itis--against your principles?" she said. 

"To defend a guilty man?" questioned the barrister slowly. 

She nodded two or three times as if for the moment utterance were beyondher. 

Field's eyes had not stirred from her face, yet still they had that legallook as if he searched for some hidden information. 

"No, " he said finally. "It is not entirely a matter of principle. As youare aware, I have achieved a certain reputation. And I value it. "

She made a quick movement that was almost convulsive. 

"But you would not injure your reputation. You would only enhance it, "she said, speaking very rapidly as if some obstruction to speech had verysuddenly been removed. "You are practically on the top of the wave. Youwould succeed where another man would fail. And indeed--oh, indeed he isinnocent! He must be innocent! Things look black against him. But he canbe saved somehow. And you could save him--if you would. Think what theawful disgrace would mean to him--if he were convicted! And he doesn'tdeserve it. I assure you he doesn't deserve it. Ah, how shall I persuadeyou of that?" Her voice quivered upon a note of despair. "Surely you arehuman! There must be some means of moving you. You can't want to see aninnocent man go under!"

The beautiful eyes were blurred with tears as she looked at him. Shecaught back a piteous sob. The cloak had fallen from about her shoulders. They gleamed with an exquisite whiteness. 

The man's look still rested upon her with unflickering directness. Againthat peculiar smile hovered about his grim mouth. 

"Yes, I am human, " he said, after a pause. "I do not esteem myself asabove temptation. As you probably know, I am a self-made man, of veryordinary extraction. But--I do not feel tempted to take up BurleighWentworth's defence. I am sorry if that fact should cause you anydisappointment. I do not see why it should. There are plenty of othermen--abler than I am--who would, I am sure, be charmed to oblige LadyViolet Calcott or any of her friends. "

"That is not so, " she broke in rapidly. "You know that is not so. Youknow that your genius has placed you in what is really a unique position. Your name in itself is almost a mascot. You know quite well that youcarry all before you with your eloquence. If--if you couldn't get himacquitted, you could get him lenient treatment. You could save his lifefrom utter ruin. "

She clasped and unclasped her hands in nervous excitement. Her face waspiteous in its strain and pathos. 

And still Field looked unmoved upon her distress. 

"I am afraid I can't help you, " he said. "My eloquence would need a verystrong incentive in such a case as this to balance my lack of sympathy. "

"What do you mean by--incentive?" she said, her voice very low. "Iwill do anything--anything in my power--to induce you to change yourmind. I never lost hope until--I heard you had refused to defend him. Surely--surely--there is some means of persuading you left!"

For the first time his smile was openly cynical. 

"Don't offer me money, please!" he said. 

She flushed vividly, hotly. 

"Mr. Field! I shouldn't dream of it!"

"No?" he said. "But it was more than a dream with you when you firstentered this room. "

She dropped her eyes from his. 

"I--didn't--realise--" she said in confusion. 

He bent forward slightly. It was an attitude well known at the LawCourts. "Didn't realise--" he repeated in his quiet, insistent fashion. 

She met his look again--against her will. 

"I didn't realise what sort of man I had to deal with, " she said. 

"Ah!" said Field. "And now?"

She shrank a little. There was something intolerably keen in his calmutterance. 

"I didn't do it, " she said rather breathlessly. "Please remember that!"

"I do, " he said. 

But yet his look racked her. She threw out her hands with a sudden, desperate gesture and rose. 

"Oh, are you quite without feeling? What can I appeal to? Does positionmean a great deal to you? If so, my brother is very influential, and Ihave influential friends. I will do anything--anything in my power. Tellme what--incentive you want!"

Field rose also. They stood face to face--the self-made man and the girlwho could trace her descent from a Norman baron. He was broad-built, grim, determined. She was slender, pale, and proud. 

For a moment he did not speak. Then, as her eyes questioned him, heturned suddenly to a mirror over the mantelpiece behind him and showedher herself in her unveiled beauty. 

"Lady Violet, " he said, and his speech had a steely, cutting quality, "you came into this room to bribe me to defend a man whom I believe to bea criminal from the consequences of his crime. And when you found I wasnot to be so easily bought as you imagined, you asked me if I were human. I replied to you that I was human, and not above temptation. Since thenyou have been trying--very hard--to find a means to tempt me. But--sofar--you have overlooked the most obvious means of all. You have toldme twice over that you will do anything in your power. Do youmean--literally--that?"

He was addressing the face in the glass, and still his look was almostbrutally emotionless. It seemed to measure, to appraise. She met it fora few seconds, and then in spite of herself she flinched. 

"Will you tell me what you mean?" she said in a low voice. 

He turned round to her again. 

"Why did you come here yourself?" he said. "And at night?"

She was trembling. 

"I had to come myself--as soon as I knew. I hoped to persuade you. "

"You thought, " he said mercilessly, "that, however I might treat others, I could never resist you. "

"I hoped--to persuade you, " she said again. 

"By--tempting--me?" he said slowly. 

She gave a great start. "Mr. Field--"

He put out a quiet hand, and laid it upon her bare arm. 

"Wait a moment, please! As I said before, I am not abovetemptation--being human. You take a very personal interest in BurleighWentworth, I think?"

She met his look with quivering eyelids. 

"Yes, " she said. 

"Are you engaged to him?" he pursued. 

She winced in spite of herself. 

"No. "

He raised his brows. 

"You have refused him, then?"

Her face was burning. 

"He hasn't proposed to me--yet, " she said. "Perhaps he never will. "

"I see. " His manner was relentless, his hold compelling. "I will defendBurleigh Wentworth, " he said, "upon one condition. "

"What is that?" she whispered. 

"That you marry me, " said Percival Field with his steady eyes upon herface. 

She was trembling from head to foot. 

"You--you--have never seen me before to-day, " she said. 

"Yes, I have seen you, " he said, "several times. I have known your faceand figure by heart for a very long while. I haven't had the time to seekyou out. It seems to have been decreed that you should do that part. "

Was there cynicism in his voice? It seemed so. Yet his eyes never lefther. They held her by some electric attraction which she was powerlessto break. 

She looked at him, white to the lips. 

"Are you--in--earnest?" she asked at last. 

Again for an instant she saw his faint smile. 

"Don't you know the signs yet?" he said. "Surely you have had ampleopportunity to learn them!"

A tinge of colour crept beneath her pallor. 

"No one ever proposed to me--like this before, " she said. 

His hand was still upon her arm. It closed with a slow, remorselesspressure as he made quiet reply to her previous question. 

"Yes. I am in earnest. "

She flinched at last from the gaze of those merciless eyes. 

"You ask the impossible, " she said. 

"Then it is all the simpler for you to refuse, " he rejoined. 

Her eyes were upon the hand that held her. Did he know that its grasp hadalmost become a grip? It was by that, and that alone, that she was madeaware of something human--or was it something bestial--behind that legalmask?

Suddenly she straightened herself and faced him. It cost her all thestrength she had. 

"Mr. Field, " she said, and though her voice shook she spoke withresolution, "if I were to consent to this--extraordinary suggestion; ifI married you--you would not ask--or expect--more than that?"

"If you consent to marry me, " he said, "it will be without conditions. "

"Then I cannot consent, " she said. "Please let me go!"

He released her instantly, and, turning, picked up her cloak. 

But she moved away to the window and stood there with her back to him, gazing down upon the quiet river. Its pearly stillness was like a dream. The rush and roar of London's many wheels had died to a monotone. 

The man waited behind her in silence. She had released the blind-cord, and was plucking at it mechanically, with fingers that trembled. 

Suddenly the blast of a siren from a vessel in mid-stream shattered thestillness. The girl at the window quivered from head to foot as if it hadpierced her. And then with a sharp movement she turned. 

"Mr. Field!" she said, and stopped. 

He waited with absolute composure. 

She made a small but desperate gesture--the gesture of a creature trappedand helpless. 

"I--will do it!" she said in a voice that was barely audible. "But if--ifyou ever come--to repent--don't blame me!"

"I shall not repent, " he said. 

She passed on rapidly. 

"And--you will do your best--to save--Burleigh Wentworth?"

"I will save him, " said Field. 

She paused a moment; then moved towards him, as if compelled against herwill. 

He put the cloak around her shoulders, and then, as she fumbled with ituncertainly, he fastened it himself. 

"Your veil?" he said. 

She made a blind movement. Her self-control was nearly gone. Withabsolute steadiness he drew it down over her face. 

"Have you a conveyance waiting?" he asked. 

"Yes, " she whispered. 

He turned to the door. He was in the act of opening it when she stayedhim. 

"One moment!" she said. 

He stopped at once, standing before her with his level eyes lookingstraight at her. 

She spoke hurriedly behind her veil. 

"Promise me, you will never--never let him know--of this!"

He made a grave bow, his eyes unchangeably upon her. 

"Certainly, " he said. 

She made an involuntary movement; her hands clenched. She stood as if shewere about to make some further appeal. But he opened the door and heldit for her, and such was the finality of his action that she was obligedto pass out. 

He followed her into the lift and took her down in unbroken silence. 

A taxi awaited her. He escorted her to it. 

"Good night!" he said then. 

She hesitated an instant. Then, without speaking, she gave him her hand. For a moment his fingers grasped hers. 

"You may depend upon me, " he said. 

She slipped free from his hold. "Thank you, " she said, her voice verylow. 

A few seconds later Field sat again at his table by the window. The windwas blowing in from the river in rising gusts. The blind-tassel tappedand tapped, now here, now there, like a trapped creature seekingfrantically for escape. For a space he sat quite motionless, gazingbefore him as though unaware of his surroundings. Then very suddenly butvery quietly he reached out and caught the swaying thing. A moment heheld it, then pulled it to him and, taking a penknife from the table, grimly, deliberately, he severed the cord. 

The tassel lay in his hand, a silken thing, slightly frayed, as ifconvulsive fingers had torn it. He sat for a while and looked at it. Then, with that strange smile of his, he laid it away in a drawer. 

CHAPTER II

The trial of Burleigh Wentworth for forgery was one of the sensations ofthe season. A fashionable crowd went day after day to the stifling Courtto watch its progress. The man himself, nonchalant, debonair, borehimself with the instinctive courage of his race, though whether hisbearing would have been as confident had Percival Field not been at hisback was a question asked by a good many. He was one of the best-knownfigures in society, a general favourite in sporting circles, anduniversally looked upon with approval if not admiration wherever he went. He had the knack of popularity. He came of an old family, and hisrumoured engagement to Lady Violet Calcott had surprised no one. LordCulverleigh, her brother, was known to be his intimate friend, and therumour had come already to be regarded as an accomplished fact when, likea thunder-bolt, had come Wentworth's arraignment for forgery. 

It had set all London talking. The evidence against him was far-reachingand overwhelming. After the first shock no one believed him innocent. The result of the trial was looked upon before its commencement as aforegone conclusion until it became known that Percival Field, the risingman of the day, had undertaken his defence, and then like the swing of aweather cock public opinion veered. If Field defended him, there must besome very strong point in his favour, men argued. Field was not the sortto touch anything of a doubtful nature. 

The trial lasted for nearly a week. During that time Lady Violet went dayafter day to the Court and sat with her veil down all through the burninghours. People looked at her curiously, questioning if there really hadbeen any definite understanding between the two. Did she really care forthe man, or was it mere curiosity that drew her? No one knew with anycertainty. She wrapped herself in her reserve like an all-envelopinggarment, and even those who regarded themselves as her nearest friendsknew naught of what she carried in her soul. 

All through the trial she sat in utter immobility, sphinx-like, unapproachable, yet listening with tense attention to all that passed. Field's handling of the case was a marvel of legal ingenuity. There weremany who were attracted to the trial by that alone. He had made his mark, and whatever he said carried weight. When he came at last to make hisspeech for the defence, men and women listened with bated breath. It wasone of the greatest speeches that the Criminal Court had ever heard. 

He flung into it the whole weight of his personality. He grappled like agiant with the rooted obstacles that strewed his path, flinging themhither and thither by sheer force of will. His scorching eloquenceblasted every opposing power, consumed every tangle of adverse evidence. It was as if he fought a pitched battle for himself alone. He wrestledfor the mastery rather than appealed for sympathy. 

And he won his cause. His scathing attacks, his magnetism, his ruthlessinsistence left an indelible mark upon the minds of the jury--such a markas no subsequent comments from the judge could efface or even moderate. The verdict returned was unanimous in spite of a by no means favourablesumming-up. The prisoner was Not Guilty. 

At the pronouncement of the verdict there went up a shout of applausesuch as that Court had seldom heard. The prisoner, rather white but stillaffecting sublime self-assurance, accepted it with a smile as a tributeto himself. But it was not really directed towards him. It was for theman who had defended him, the man who sat at the table below the dock andturned over a sheaf of papers with a faint, cynical smile at the cornersof his thin lips. This man, they said, had done the impossible. He haddragged the prisoner out of his morass by sheer titanic effort. ObviouslyPercival Field had believed firmly in the innocence of the man he haddefended, or he had not thus triumphantly vindicated him. 

The crowd, staring at him, wondered how the victory affected him. It hadcertainly enhanced his reputation. It had drawn from him such a displayof genius as had amazed even his colleagues. Did he feel elated at allover his success? Was he spent by that stupendous effort? No one knew?

Now that it was over, he looked utterly indifferent. He had fought andconquered, but it seemed already as if his attention were turningelsewhere. 

The crowd began to stream out. The day was hot and the crush had beenvery great. On one of the benches occupied by the public a woman hadfainted. They carried her out into the corridor and there gradually sherevived. A little later she went home alone in a taxi with her veilclosely drawn down over her face. 

CHAPTER III

The season was drawing to a close when the announcement of Lady VioletCalcott's engagement to Percival Field took the world by storm. 

It very greatly astonished Burleigh Wentworth, who after his acquittalhad drifted down to Cowes for rest and refreshment before the advent ofthe crowd. He had not seen Lady Violet before his departure, she havinggone out of town for a few days immediately after the trial. But he tookthe very next train back to London as soon as he had seen theannouncement, to find her. 

It was late in the evening when he arrived, but this fact did not daunthim. He had always been accustomed to having his own way, and he had arooted belief, which the result of his trial had not tended to lessen, inhis own lucky star. He had dined on the train and he merely waited tochange before he went straight to Lord Culverleigh's house. 

He found there was a dinner-party in progress. Lady Culverleigh, Violet'ssister-in-law, was an indefatigable hostess. She had the reputation forbeing one of the hardest-working women in the West End. 

The notes of a song reached Wentworth as he went towards thedrawing-room. Lady Violet was singing. Her voice was rich and low. Hestood outside the half-open door to listen. 

He did not know that he was visible to any one inside the room, but a mansitting near the door became suddenly aware of his presence and got upbefore the song was ended. Wentworth in the act of stepping back to lethim pass stopped short abruptly. It was Percival Field. 

They faced each other for a second or two in silence. Then Field's handcame quietly forth and grasped the other man's shoulder, turning himabout. 

"I should like a word with you, " he said. 

They descended the stairs together, Burleigh Wentworth leading the way. 

Down in the vestibule they faced each other again. There was antagonismin the atmosphere though it was not visible upon either man'scountenance, and each ignored it as it were instinctively. 

"Hullo!" said Wentworth, and offered his hand. "I'm pleased to meet youhere. "

Field took the hand after a scarcely perceptible pause. His smile wasopenly cynical. 

"Very kind of you, " he said. "I am somewhat out of my element, I admit. We are celebrating our engagement. "

He looked full at Wentworth as he said it with that direct, unflickeringgaze of his. 

Wentworth did not meet the look quite so fully, but he faced thesituation without a sign of discomfiture. 

"You are engaged to Lady Violet?" he said. "I saw the announcement. I congratulate you. "

"Thanks, " said Field. 

"Rather sudden, isn't it?" said Wentworth, with a curious glance. 

Field's smile still lingered. 

"Oh, not really. We have kept it to ourselves, that's all. The wedding isfixed for the week after next--for the convenience of Lady Culverleigh, who wants to get out of town. "

"By Jove! It is quick work!" said Wentworth. 

There were beads of perspiration on his forehead, but the night waswarm. He held himself erect as one defying Fate. So had he held himselfthroughout his trial; Field recognised the attitude. 

The song upstairs had ended. They heard the buzz of appreciation thatsucceeded it. Field turned with the air of a man who had said his say. 

"I don't believe in long engagements myself, " he said. "They must bea weariness to the flesh. "

He began to mount the stairs again, and Wentworth followed him insilence. 

At the drawing-room door Field paused and they entered together. It wasalmost Wentworth's first appearance since his trial. There was a momentor two of dead silence as he sauntered forward with Field. Then, with alittle laugh to cover an instant's embarrassment, Lady Culverleigh cameforward. She shook hands with Wentworth and asked where he had been inretreat. 

Violet came forward from the piano very pale but quite composed, andshook hands also. Several people present followed suit, and soon therewas a little crowd gathered round him, and Burleigh Wentworth was againthe popular centre of attraction. 

Percival Field kept in the background; it was not his way to asserthimself in society. But he remained until Wentworth and the last guesthad departed. And then very quietly but with indisputable insistence hedrew Lady Violet away into the conservatory. 

She was looking white and tired, but she held herself with a proudaloofness in his presence. While admitting his claim upon her, she yetdid not voluntarily yield him an inch. 

"Did you wish to speak to me?" she asked. 

He stood a moment or two in silence before replying; then:

"Only to give you this, " he said, and held out to her a small packetwrapped in tissue paper on the palm of his hand. 

She took it unwillingly. 

"The badge of servitude?" she said. 

"I should like to know if it fits, " said Field quietly, as if she had notspoken. 

She opened the packet and disclosed not the orthodox diamond ring she hadexpected, but a ring containing a single sapphire very deep in hue, exquisitely cut. She looked at him over it, her look a question. 

"Will you put it on?" he said. 

She hesitated an instant, then with a tightening of the lips she slippedit on to her left hand. 

"Is it too easy?" he said. 

She looked at him again. 

"No; it is not easy at all. "

He took her hand and looked at it. His touch was cool and strong. Heslipped the ring up and down upon her finger, testing it. It was as ifhe waited for something. 

She endured his action for a few seconds, then with a deliberate movementshe took her hand away. 

"Thank you very much, " she said conventionally. "I wonder what made youthink of a sapphire. "

"You like sapphires?" he questioned. 

"Of course, " she returned. Her tone was resolutely indifferent, yetsomething in his look made her avert her eyes abruptly. She turned themupon the ring. "Why did you choose a sapphire?" she said. 

If she expected some compliment in reply she was disappointed. He stoodin silence. 

Half-startled she glanced at him. In the same moment he held out his handto her with a formal gesture of leave-taking. 

"I will tell you another time, " he said. "Good night!"

She gave him her hand, but he scarcely held it. The next instant, with abrief bow, he had turned and left her. 

CHAPTER IV

Burleigh Wentworth looked around him with a frown of discontent. 

He ought to have been in good spirits. Life on the moors suited him. Theshooting was excellent, the hospitality beyond reproach. But yet he wasnot satisfied. People had wholly ceased to eye him askance. He had comehimself to look back upon his trial as a mere escapade. It had been anunpleasant experience. He had been a fool to run such a risk. But it wasover, and he had come out with flying colours, thanks to Percival Field'sgenius. A baffling, unapproachable sort of man--Field! The affair of hismarriage was still a marvel to Wentworth. He had a strong suspicion thatthere was more in the conquest than met the eye, but he knew he wouldnever find out from Field. 

Violet was getting enigmatical too, but he couldn't stand that. He wouldput a stop to it. She might be a married woman, but she needn't imagineshe was going to keep him at a distance. 

She and her husband had joined the house-party of which he was a memberthe day before. It was the end of their honeymoon, and they werereturning to town after their sojourn on the moors. He grimaced tohimself at the thought. How would Violet like town in September? He hadasked her that question the previous night, but she had not deigned tohear. Decidedly, Violet was becoming interesting. He would have topenetrate that reserve of hers. 

He wondered why she was not carrying a gun. She had always been such anardent sportswoman. He would ask her that also presently. In fact, hefelt inclined to go back and ask her now. He was not greatly enjoyinghimself. It was growing late, and it had begun to drizzle. 

His inclination became the more insistent, the more he thought of it. Yes, he would go. He was intimate enough with his host to do as he likedwithout explanation. And he and Violet had always been such pals. Besides, the thought of sitting with her in the firelight while herhusband squelched about in the rain was one that appealed to him. He hadno liking for Field, however deeply he might be in his debt. That latentantagonism between them was perpetually making itself felt. He hated theman for the very ability by which he himself had been saved. He hatedhis calm superiority. Above all, he hated him for marrying Violet. Itseemed that he had only to stretch out his hand for whatever he wanted. Still, he hadn't got everything now, Wentworth said to himself, as hestrode impatiently back over the moor. Possibly, as time went on, hemight even come to realise that what he had was not worth very much. 

He reached and entered the old grey house well ahead of any of the othersportsmen. He was determined to find Violet somehow, and he made instantenquiry for her of one of the servants. 

The reply served in some measure to soothe his chafing mood. Her ladyshiphad gone up into the turret some little time back, and was believed to beon the roof. 

Without delay he followed her. The air blew chill down the stonestaircase as he mounted it. He would have preferred sitting downstairswith her over the fire. But at least interruptions were less probable inthis quarter. 

There was a battlemented walk at the top of the tower, and here he foundher, with a wrap thrown over her head, gazing out through one of the deepembrasures over the misty country to a line of hills in the far distance. The view was magnificent, lighted here and there by sunshine strikingthrough scudding cloud-drifts. And a splendid rainbow spanned it like amulti-coloured frame. 

She did not hear him approaching. He wondered why, till he was so closethat he could see her face, and then very swiftly she turned upon him andhe saw that she was crying. 

"My dear girl!" he exclaimed. 

She drew back sharply. It was impossible to conceal her distress all in amoment. She moved aside, battling with herself. 

He came close to her. "Violet!" he said. 

"Don't!" she said, in a choked whisper. 

He slipped an arm about her, gently overcoming her resistance. "Isay--what's the matter? What's troubling you?"

He had never held her so before. Always till that moment she hadmaintained a delicate reserve in his presence, a barrier which he hadnever managed to overcome. He had even wondered sometimes if she wereafraid of him. But now in her hour of weakness she suffered him, albeitunder protest. 

"Oh, go away!" she whispered. "Please--you must!"

But Wentworth had no thought of yielding his advantage. He pressed her tohim. 

"Violet, I say! You're miserable! I knew you were the first moment I sawyou. And I can't stand it. You must let me help. Don't anyhow try to keepme outside!"

"You can't help, " she murmured, with her face averted. "At least--only bygoing away. "

But he held her still. "That's rot, you know. I'm not going. What is it?Tell me! Is he a brute to you?"

She made a more determined effort to disengage herself. "Whatever he is, I've got to put up with him. So it's no good talking about it. "

"Oh, but look here!" protested Wentworth. "You and I are such oldfriends. I used to think you cared for me a little. Violet, I say, whatinduced you to marry that outsider?"

She was silent, not looking at him. 

"You were always so proud, " he went on. "I never thought in the old daysthat you would capitulate to a bounder like that. Why, you might have hadthat Bohemian prince if you'd wanted him. "

"I didn't want him!" She spoke with sudden vehemence, as if stung intospeech. "I'm not the sort of snob-woman who barters herself for a title!"

"No?" said Wentworth, looking at her curiously. "But what did you barteryourself for, I wonder?"

She flinched, and dropped back into silence. 

"Won't you tell me?" he said. 

"No. " She spoke almost under her breath. He relinquished the matter withthe air of a man who has gained his point. "Do you know, " he said, in adifferent tone, "if it hadn't been for that fiendish trial, I'd have beenin the same race with Field, and I believe I'd have made better running, too?"

"Ah!" she said. 

It was almost a gasp of pain. He stopped deliberately and looked into herface. 

"Violet!" he said. 

She trembled at his tone and thrust out a protesting hand. "Ah, what isthe use?" she cried. "Do you--do you want to break my heart?"

Her voice failed. For the first time her eyes met his fully. 

There followed an interval of overwhelming stillness in which neither ofthem drew a breath. Then, with an odd sound that might have been a laughstrangled at birth. Burleigh Wentworth gathered her to his heart and heldher there. 

"No!" he said. "No! I want to make you--the happiest woman in the world!"

"Too late! Too late!" she whispered. 

But he stopped the words upon her lips, passionately, irresistibly, withhis own. 

"You are mine!" he swore, with his eyes on hers. "You are mine! No man onearth shall ever take you from me again!"

CHAPTER V

Violet was in her room ready dressed for dinner that evening, when therecame a knock upon her door. She was seated at a writing-table in a cornerscribbling a note, but she covered it up quickly at the sound. 

"Come in!" she said. 

She rose as her husband entered. He also was ready dressed. He came up toher in his quiet, direct fashion, looking at her with those steady eyesthat saw so much and revealed so little. 

"I just came in to say, " he said, "that I am sorry to cut your pleasureshort, but I find we must return to town to-morrow. "

She started at the information. "To-morrow!" she echoed. "Why?"

"I find it necessary, " he said. 

She looked at him. Her heart was beating very fast. "Percival, why?" shesaid again. 

He raised his eyebrows slightly. "It would be rather difficult for me toexplain. "

"Do you mean you have to go on business?" she said. 

He smiled a little. "Yes, on business. "

She turned to the fire with a shiver. There was something in theatmosphere, although the room was warm, that made her cold from headto foot. With her back to him she spoke again:

"Is there any reason why I should go too?"

He came and joined her before the fire. "Yes; one, " he said. 

She threw him a nervous glance. "And that?"

"You are my wife, " said Field quietly. 

Again that shiver caught her. She put out a hand to steady herselfagainst the mantelpiece. When she spoke again, it was with a greateffort. 

"Wives are sometimes allowed a holiday away from their husbands. "

Field said nothing whatever. He only looked at her with unvaryingattention. 

She turned at last in desperation and faced him. "Percival! Why do youlook at me like that?"

He turned from her instantly, without replying. "May I write a notehere?" he said, and went towards the writing-table. "My pen has run dry. "

She made a movement that almost expressed panic. She was at the tablebefore he reached it. "Ah, wait a minute! Let me clear my things outof your way first!"

She began to gather up the open blotter that lay there with feverishhaste. A sheet of paper flew out from her nervous hands and flutteredto the floor at Field's feet. He stooped and picked it up. 

She uttered a gasp and turned as white as the dress she wore. "That ismine!" she panted. 

He gave it to her with grave courtesy. "I am afraid I am disturbing you, "he said. "I can wait while you finish. "

But she crumpled the paper in her hand. She was trembling so much thatshe could hardly stand. 

"It--doesn't matter, " she said almost inaudibly. 

He stood for a second or two in silence, then seated himself at thewriting-table and took up a pen. 

In the stillness that followed she moved away to the fire and stoodbefore it. Field wrote steadily without turning his head. She stoopedafter a moment and dropped the crumpled paper into the blaze. Then shesat down, her hands tightly clasped about her knees, and waited. 

Field's quiet voice broke the stillness at length. "If you are writingletters of your own, perhaps I may leave this one in your charge. "

She looked round with a start. He had turned in his chair. Their eyes metacross the room. 

"May I?" he said. 

She nodded, finding her voice with an effort. "Yes--of course. "

He got up, and as he did so the great dinner-gong sounded through thehouse. He came to her side. She rose quickly at his approach, movingalmost apprehensively. 

"Shall we go down?" she said. 

He put out a hand and linked it in her arm. She shrank at his touch, butshe endured it. She even, after a moment, seemed to be in a measuresteadied by it. She stood motionless for a few seconds, and during thoseseconds his fingers closed upon her, very gentle, very firmly; thenopened and set her free. 

"Will you lead the way?" he said. 

CHAPTER VI

A very hilarious party gathered at the table that night. BurleighWentworth was in uproarious spirits which seemed to infect nearlyeveryone else. 

In the midst of the running tide of joke and banter Violet sat as oneapart. Now and then she joined spasmodically in the general merriment, but often she did not know what she laughed at. There was a great fear ather heart, and it tormented her perpetually. That note that she hadcrumpled and burnt! His eyes had rested upon it during the moment he hadheld it in his hand. How much had they seen? And what was it that hadinduced him in the first place to declare his intention of curtailingtheir visit? Why had he reminded her that she was his wife? Surely hemust have heard something--suspected something! But what?

Covertly she watched him during that interminable dinner, watched hisclear-cut face with its clever forehead and intent eyes, his slightlyscornful, wholly unyielding lips. She cast her thoughts backwards overtheir honeymoon, trying somehow to trace an adequate reason for the fearthat gripped her. He had been very forbearing with her throughout thatdifficult time. He had been gentle; he had been considerate. Though hehad asserted and maintained his mastery over her, though his will hadsubdued hers, he had never been unreasonable, never so much as impatient, in his treatment of her. He had given her no cause for the dread that nowconsumed her, unless it were that by his very self-restraint he hadinspired in her a fear of the unknown. 

No, she had to look farther back than her honeymoon, back to the days ofBurleigh Wentworth's trial, and the almost superhuman force by which hehad dragged him free. It was that force with which she would have verysoon to reckon, that overwhelming, all-consuming power that had wrestledso victoriously in Wentworth's defence. How would it be when she foundherself confronted by that? She shivered and dared not think. 

The stream of gaiety flowed on around her. Someone--Wentworth she knewlater--proposed a game of hide-and-seek by moonlight in and about the oldruins on the shores of the loch. She would have preferred to remainbehind, but he made a great point of her going also. She did not know ifPercival went or not, but she did not see him among the rest. The fun wasfast and furious, the excitement great. Almost in spite of herself shewas drawn in. 

And then, how it happened she scarcely knew, she found herself hidingalone with Wentworth in a little dark boat-house on the edge of thewater. He had a key with him, and she heard him turn it on the inside. 

"I think we are safe here, " he said, and then in the darkness his armswere round her. He called her by every endearing name that he could thinkof. 

Why was it his ardour failed to reach her? She had yielded to him onlythat afternoon. She had suffered him to kiss away her tears. But nowsomething in her held her back. She drew herself away. 

"Come and sit in the boat!" he said. "We will go on the water as soon asthe hue and cry is over. Hush! Don't speak! They are coming now. "

They sat with bated breath while the hunt spread round theirhiding-place. The water lapped mysteriously in front of them with anoccasional gurgling chuckle. The ripples danced far out in the moonlight. It was a glorious night, with a keenness in the air that was like thetouch of steel. 

Violet drew her cloak more closely about her. She felt very cold. 

Someone came and battered at the door. "I'm sure they're here, " cried avoice. 

"They can't be, " said another. "The place is locked, and there's no key. "

"Bet you it's on the inside!" persisted the first, and a match waslighted and held to the lock. 

The man inside laughed under his breath. The key was dangling between hishands. 

"Oh, come on!" called a girl's voice from the distance. "They wouldn'thide in there. It's such a dirty hole. Lady Violet is much toofastidious. "

And Violet, sitting within, drew herself together with a little shrinkingmovement. Yes, that had always been their word for her. She wasfastidious. She had rather prided herself upon having that reputation. She had always regarded women who made themselves cheap with scorn. 

The chase passed on, and Wentworth's arm slipped round her again. "Now weare safe, " he said. "By Jove, dear, how I have schemed for this! It wasreally considerate of your worthy husband to absent himself. "

Again, gently but quite decidedly, she drew herself away. "I think Fredais right, " she said. "This is rather a dirty place. "

He laughed. "A regular black hole! But wait till I can get you out on tothe loch! It's romantic enough out there. But look here, Violet! I'vegot to come to an understanding with you. Now that we've found eachother, darling, we are not going to lose each other again, are we?"

She was silent in the darkness. 

He leaned to her and took her hand. "Oh, why did you go and complicatematters by getting married?" he said. "It was such an obvious--sucha fatal--mistake. You knew I cared for you, didn't you?"

"You--had never told me so, " she said, her voice very low. 

"Never told you! I tried to tell you every time we met. But you werealways so aloof, so frigid. On my soul, I was afraid to speak. Tell menow!" His hand was fast about hers. "When did you begin to care?"

She sat unyielding in his hold. "I--imagined I cared--a very long timeago, " she said, with an effort. 

"What! Before that trial business?" he said. "I wish to Heaven I'dknown!"

"Why?" she said. 

"Because if I'd known I wouldn't have been such a fool, " he said withabrupt vehemence. "I would never have run that infernal risk. "

"What risk?" she said. 

He laughed, a half-shamed laugh. "Oh, I didn't quite mean to let thatout. Consider it unsaid! Only a man without ties is apt to risk more thana man who has more to lose. I've had the most fantastic ill-luck thisyear that ever fell any man's lot before. "

"At least you were vindicated, " Violet said. 

"Oh, that!" said Wentworth. "Well, it was beginning to be time my luckturned, wasn't it? It was rank enough to be caught, but if I'd beenconvicted, I'd have hanged myself. Now tell me! Was it Field's brilliantdefence that dazzled you into marrying him?"

She did not answer him. She turned instead and faced him in the darkness. "Burleigh! What do you mean by risk? What do you mean by being--caught?You don't mean--you can't mean--that you--that you were--guilty!"

Her voice shook. The words tumbled over each other. Her hand wrencheditself free. 

"My dear girl!" said Wentworth. "Don't be so melodramatic! No man isguilty until he is proved so. And--thanks to the kindly offices ofyour good husband--I did not suffer the final catastrophe. "

"But--but--but--" Her utterance seemed suddenly choked. She rose, feelingblindly for the door. 

"It's locked, " said Wentworth, and there was a ring of malice in hisvoice. "I say, don't be unreasonable! You shouldn't ask unnecessaryquestions, you know. Other people don't. For Heaven's sake, let's enjoywhat we've got and leave the past alone!"

"Open the door!" gasped Violet in a whisper. 

He rose without haste. Her white dress made her conspicuous in thedimness. Her cloak had fallen from her, and she seemed unaware of it. 

He reached out as if to open the door, and then very suddenly hisintention changed. He caught her to him. 

"By Heaven, " he said, and laughed savagely, "I'll have my turn first!"

She turned in his hold, turned like a trapped creature in the first wildmoment of capture, struggling so fiercely that she broke through his gripbefore he had made it secure. 

He stumbled against the boat, but she sprang from him, sprang for theopen moonlight and the lapping water, and the next instant she was gonefrom his sight. 

CHAPTER VII

The water was barely up to her knees, but she stumbled among slipperystones as she fled round the corner of the boat-house, and twice shenearly fell. There were reeds growing by the bank; she struggled throughthem, frantically fighting her way. 

She was drenched nearly to the waist when at last she climbed up thegrassy slope. She heard the seekers laughing down among the ruins somedistance away as she did so, and for a few seconds she thought she mightescape to the house unobserved. She turned in that direction, her wetskirts clinging round her. And then, simultaneously, two things happened. 

The key ground in the lock of the boat-house, and, ere Wentworth couldemerge, a man walked out from the shadow of some trees and met her on thepath. She stopped short in the moonlight, standing as one transfixed. Itwas her husband. 

He came to her, moving more quickly than was his won't. "My dear child!"he ejaculated. 

Feverishly she sought to make explanation. "I--I was hiding--downon the bank. I slipped into the lake. It was very foolish of me. But--but--really I couldn't help it. "

Her teeth were chattering. He took her by the arm. 

"Come up to the house at once!" he said. 

She looked towards the boat-house. The door was ajar, but Wentworth hadnot shown himself. With a gasp of relief she yielded to Field's insistenthand. 

Her knees were shaking under her, but she made a valiant effort tocontrol them. He did not speak further, and something in his silencedismayed her. She trembled more and more as she walked. Her wet clothesimpeded her. She remembered with consternation that she had left hercloak in the boat-house. In her horror at this discovery she stopped. 

As she did so a sudden tumult behind them told her that Wentworth hadbeen sighted by his pursuers. 

In the same moment Field very quietly turned and lifted her in his arms. She gave a gasp of astonishment. 

"I think we shall get on quicker this way, " he said. "Put your arm overmy shoulder, won't you?"

He spoke as gently as if she had been a child, and instinctively sheobeyed. He bore her very steadily straight to the house. 

CHAPTER VIII

In the safe haven of her own room Violet recovered somewhat. Field lefther in the charge of her maid, but the latter she very quickly dismissed. She sat before the fire clad in a wrapper, still shivering spasmodically, but growing gradually calmer. 

"I believe there is a letter on the writing-table, " she said to the maidas she was about to go out. "Take it with you and put it in the boxdownstairs!"

The girl returned and took up the letter that Field had written thatevening. "It isn't stamped my lady, " she began; and then in a tone ofsurprise: "Why, it is addressed to your ladyship!"

Violet started. "Give it to me!" she commanded "That will do. I shall notbe wanting you again to-night. "

The girl withdrew, and she crouched lower over the fire, the letter inher hand. 

Yes, it was addressed to her in her husband's clear, strongwriting--addressed to her and written in her presence!

Her hands were trembling very much as she tore open the envelope. Abaffling mist danced before her eyes. For a few seconds she could seenothing. Then with a great effort she commanded herself, and read:

 "My own Beloved Wife, "If I have made your life a misery, may I be forgiven! I meant otherwise. I saw you on the ramparts this evening. That is why I want you to leave this place to-morrow. But if you do not wish to share my life any longer, I will let you go. Only in Heaven's name choose some worthier means than this!

 "I am yours to take or leave. P. F. "

Hers--to take--or leave! She felt again the steady hold upon her arm, theequally steady release. That was what he had meant. That!

She sat bowed like an old woman. He had seen! And instead of being angryon his own account, he was concerned only on hers. She was his ownbeloved wife. He was--hers to take or leave!

Suddenly a great sob broke from her. She laid her face down upon the noteshe held.... 

There came a low knock at the door that divided her room from the oneadjoining. She started swiftly up as one caught in a guilty act. 

"Can I come in?" Field said. 

She made some murmured response, and he opened the dividing door. Amoment he stood on the threshold; then he came quietly forward. Hecarried her cloak upon his arm. 

He deposited it upon the back of a chair, and came to her. "I hoped youwould be in bed, " he said. 

"I am trying--to get warm, " she muttered almost inarticulately. 

"Have you had a hot drink since your accident?" he asked. 

She shook her head. "I told West--I couldn't. "

He turned and rang the bell. He must have seen his note tightly graspedin her hand, but he made no comment upon it. 

"Sit down again!" he said gently, and, stooping, poked the sinking fireinto a blaze. 

She obeyed him almost automatically. After a moment he laid down thepoker, and drew the chair with her in it close to the fender. Then hepicked up the cloak and put it about her shoulders, and finally movedaway to the door. 

She heard him give an order to a servant, and sat nervously awaiting hisreturn. But he did not come back to her. He went outside and waited inthe passage. 

There ensued an interval of several minutes, and during that time she satcrouched over the fire, holding her cloak about her, and shivering, shivering all over. Then the door which he had left ajar closed quietly, and she knew that he had come back into the room. 

She drew herself together, striving desperately to subdue her agitation. 

He came to her side and stooped over her. "I want you to drink this, " hesaid. 

She glanced up at him swiftly, and as swiftly looked away. "Don't botherabout me!" she said. "I--am not worth it. "

He passed the low words by. "It's only milk with a dash of brandy, " hesaid. "Won't you try it?"

Very reluctantly she took the steaming beverage from him and began todrink. 

He remained beside her, and took the cup from her when she had finished. 

"Now, " he said, "wouldn't it be wise of you to go to bed?"

She made a movement that was almost convulsive. She had his note stillclasped in her hand. 

After a moment, without lifting her eyes, she spoke. "Percival, why didyou--what made you--write this?"

"I owed it to you, " he said. 

"You--meant it?" she said, with an effort. 

"Yes. I meant it. " He spoke with complete steadiness. 

"But--but--" She struggled with herself for an instant; then, "Oh, I'vegot to tell you!" she burst forth passionately. "I'm--very wicked. "

"No, " he said quietly, and laid a constraining hand upon her as she sat. "That is not so. "

She contracted at his touch. "You don't know me. I wrote you a note thisevening, trying to explain. I told you I meant to leave you. But--Ididn't mean you to read it till I was gone. Did you read it?"

"No, " he said. "I guessed what you had done. "

Desperately she went on. "You've got to know the worst. I was ready to goaway with him. We--were such old friends, and I thought--I thought--Iknew him. " She bowed herself lower under his hand. Her face was hidden. "I thought he was at least a gentleman. I thought I could trust him. I--believed in him. "

"Ah!" said Field. "And now?"

"Now"--her head was sunk almost to her knees--"I know him--for what--heis. " Her voice broke in bitter weeping. "And I had given so much--somuch--to save him!" she sobbed. 

"I know, " Field said. "He wasn't worth the sacrifice. " He stood for amoment or two as though in doubt; then knelt suddenly down beside her anddrew her to him. 

She made as if she would resist him, but finally, as he held her, impulsively she yielded. She sobbed out her agony against his breast. Andhe soothed her as he might have soothed a child. 

But though presently he dried her tears, he did not kiss her. He spoke, but his voice was devoid of all emotion. 

"You are blaming the wrong person for all this. It wasn't Wentworth'sfault. He has probably been a crook all his life. It wasn't yours. Youcouldn't be expected to detect it. But"--he paused--"don't you realisenow why I am offering you the only reparation in my power?" he said. 

She was trembling, but she did not raise her head or attempt to move, though his arms were ready to release her. 

"No. I don't, " she said. 

Very steadily he went on: "You have not wronged me. It was I who did thewrong. I could have made you see his guilt. It would have been infinitelyeasier than establishing his innocence before the world. But--I havealways wanted the unattainable. I knew that you were out of reach, and soI wanted you. Afterwards, very soon afterwards, I found I wanted evenmore than what I had bargained for. I wanted your friendship. That waswhat the sapphire stood for. You didn't understand. I had handicappedmyself too heavily. So I took what I could get, and missed the rest. "

He stopped. She still lay against his breast. 

"Why did you want--my friendship?" she whispered. 

He made a curious gesture, as if he faced at last the inevitable. When heanswered her his voice was very low. He seemed to speak against his will. "I--loved you. "

"Ah!" It was scarcely more than a breath uttering the words. "And younever told me!"

He was silent. 

She raised herself at last and faced him. Her hands were on hisshoulders. "Percival, " she said, and there was a strange light shiningin the eyes that he had dried. "Is your love so small, then--as to benot--worth--mentioning?"

For the first time in her memory he avoided her look. "No, " he said. 

"What then?" Her voice was suddenly very soft and infinitely appealing. 

He opened his arms with a gesture of renunciation "It is--beyond words, "he said. 

She leaned nearer. Her hands slipped upwards, clasping his neck. 

"It is the greatest thing that has ever come to me, " she said, and in hervoice there throbbed a new note which he had never heard in it before. "Do you think--oh, do you think--I would cast--that--away?"

He did not speak in answer. It seemed as if he could not. That which laybetween them was indeed beyond words. Only in the silence he took heragain into his arms and kissed her on the lips. 

 * * * * *

By Ethel M. Dell

The Way of an EagleThe Knave of DiamondsThe Rocks of ValpréThe SwindlerThe Keeper of the DoorBars of IronThe Hundredth ChanceThe Safety CurtainGreatheartThe Lamp in the DesertThe Tidal WaveThe Top of the WorldRosa Mundi and Other StoriesThe Obstacle RaceThe Odds and Other StoriesCharles RexTetherstones