"I have been very unfortunate, Lady Angela," I said. "Your father is displeased with me. I think that but for Colonel Ray I should have been dismissed yesterday."

"Is it about--the Prince of Malors?" she asked in a low tone.

"Partly. I was forced to tell what I knew." She hesitated for a moment, then she turned impulsively toward me.

"You were right to tell them, Mr. Ducaine," she said. "I have hated myself ever since the other night when I seemed to side against you.

There are things going on about us which I cannot fathom, and sometimes I have fears, terrible fears. But your course at least is a clear one.

Don't let yourself be turned aside by any one. My father has prejudices which might lead him into grievous errors. Trust Colonel Ray--no one else. Yours is a dangerous position, but it is a splendid one. It means a career and independence. If there should come a time even--"

She broke off abruptly in her speech. I could see that she was agitated, and I thought that I knew the cause.

"Lady Angela," I said slowly, "would it not be possible for you and Colonel Ray to persuade Lord Blenavon to go abroad?"

She swayed for a moment as though she would have fallen, and her eyes looked at me full of fear.

"You think--that it would be better?"

"I do."

"It would break my father's heart," she murmured, "if ever he could be brought to believe it."

"The more reason why Lord Blenavon should go," I said. "He is set between dangerous influences here. Lady Angela, can you tell me where your brother was last night?"

"How should I?" she answered slowly. "He tells me nothing."

"He was not at home?"

"He dined at home. I think that he went out afterwards."

I nodded.

"And if he returned at all," I said, "I think you will find that it was after three o'clock."

She came a little nearer to me, although indeed we were in a spot where there was no danger of being overheard.'

"What do you know about it?"

"Am I not right?" I asked.

"He did not return at all," she answered. "He is not home yet."

I had believed from the first that Blenavon was one of my two a.s.sailants. Now I was sure of it.

"When he does come back," I remarked grimly, "you may find him more or less damaged."

"Mr. Ducaine," she said, "you must explain yourself."

I saw no reason why I should not do so. I told her the story of my early morning adventure. She listened with quivering lips.

"You were not hurt, then?" she asked eagerly.

"I was not hurt," I a.s.sured her. "I was fortunate."

"Tell me what measures you are taking," she begged.

"What can I do?" I asked. "It was pitch dark, and I could identify no one. I am writing Colonel Ray. That is all."

"That hateful woman," she murmured. "Mr. Ducaine, I believe that if Blenavon is really concerned in this, it is entirely through her influence."

"Very likely," I answered. "I have heard strange things about her. She is a dangerous woman."

We were both silent for a moment. Then Lady Angela, whose eyes were fixed seawards, suddenly turned to me.

"Oh," she cried, "I am weary of all these bothers and problems and anxieties. Let us put them away for one hour of this glorious morning.

Dare you play truant for a little while and walk on the sands?"

"I think so," I answered readily, "if you will wait while I go and put Grooton in charge."

"I will be scrambling down," she declared. "It is not a difficult operation."

I joined her a few minutes later, and we set our faces toward the point of the bay. Over our heads the seagulls were lazily drifting and wheeling, the quiet sea stole almost noiselessly up the firm yellow sands. Farther over the marshes the larks were singing. Inland, men like tiny specks in the distance were working upon their farms. We walked for a while in silence, and I found myself watching my companion.

Her head was thrown slightly back, she walked with all the delightful grace of youth and strength, yet there was a cloud which still lingered upon her face.

"These," I said abruptly "should be the happiest days of your life, Lady Angela. After all, is it worth while to spoil them by worrying about other people's doings?"

"Other people's doings?" she murmured.

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Selfishness, you know, is the permitted vice of the young--and of lovers."

"Blenavon can scarcely rank amongst the other people with me," she said.

"He is my only brother."

"Colonel Ray is to be your husband," I reminded her, "which is far more important."

She turned upon me with flaming cheeks.

"You do not understand what you are talking about, Mr. Ducaine," she said, stiffly. "Colonel Ray and I are not lovers. You have no right to a.s.sume anything of the sort."

"If you are not lovers," I said, "what right have you to marry?"

She seemed a little staggered, as indeed she might be by my boldness.

"You are very mediaeval," she remarked.

"The mediaeval sometimes survives. It is as true now as then that loveless marriages are a curse and a sin," I answered. "It is the one thing which remains now as it was in the beginning."