'Why have you told us this now, and--and in such a way?' he asked, turning to my friend.

Jack hesitated a second before replying. He realized that nothing could prejudice his cause in Lorna's eyes more than by attacking his rival.

'Because I want to save Miss Bolivick,' he said.

'From what? Tell us plainly what you mean!'

'From promising to marry a man who is unworthy of her, and who would blacken her life.'

'Prove it. You have said too much or too little. Either prove what you have said, or withdraw it.'

Springfield laughed aloud. 'Surely,' he said, 'we have had enough of this! You see, after all his bl.u.s.ter, what it really amounts to.'

'Just a minute, please,' and Jack's voice became almost menacing. 'I am not in the habit of bl.u.s.tering. I have warned you to go away from here, and as you have forced me to go into details I will do so. You insist, then, that I lie when I say that I saw Maurice St. Mabyn alive in the July of 1914?'

'I do not say that, but I do say that you are suffering from an hallucination,' replied Springfield. 'You may have recovered your memory, but in doing so you suffer from remembering more than ever took place.'

'You insist on that?'

'Certainly I do. I can do no other. If you are not mentally deranged, you are a---- I would rather not use the word,' he added with a laugh.

'You see,' went on Jack, 'that he is very anxious to prove Maurice St.

Mabyn to have been killed in a native uprising. I'll tell you why. He tried to murder him, and it was only by the mercy of G.o.d that he failed to do so.'

'Murder him! How dare you say such a thing?' gasped Sir Thomas.

'Maurice told me so himself--told me in India in 1914.'

'Great G.o.d, you shall prove this!' and now Springfield was really aroused. 'If he was not dead in July, 1914, where has he been these three years? Why has he sent no word? What has become of him? Who has seen him since April of that year when he was killed?--I mean besides this madman?'

'General Gregory, to whom he reported himself.'

'Do you mean to say that he reported himself to General Gregory?' His voice was hoa.r.s.e, and I saw him reel as though some one had struck him.

'I do mean to say so. He told me so himself. If I have told a lie, you can easily prove it by communicating with him.'

Springfield laughed again, and in his laugh was a ring of triumph.

'It is easy to say that, because Gregory is dead. He died two years ago. A dead man is a poor witness.'

'I don't ask any one to accept my words without proof,' said Jack Carbis. 'Proof will not be wanting. You say that Maurice St. Mabyn was killed in a skirmish, that you saw his dead body, and that you had no hand whatever in it?'

'I _do_ say it,' cried Springfield hoa.r.s.ely. 'I swear by Almighty G.o.d that your charges are venomous lies, and----'

But he did not finish the sentence. At that moment I heard the murmur of voices outside the room, the door opened, and a tall, bronzed but somewhat haggard-looking man entered the room.

'Maurice!'

It was George St. Mabyn who uttered the word, but it was not like his voice at all.

The new-comer gave a quick glance around the room, as though he wanted to take in the situation, then he took a quick step towards Lady Bolivick.

'Will you forgive me for coming in this way, Lady Bolivick?' he said quietly. 'But I could not help myself. I only got back an hour or two ago, and the servants were so upset that they lost their heads entirely. But they did manage to tell me that George was here, so I took the liberty of an old friend and----; but what's this? Is anything the matter? George, old man, why--why----' and he looked at George St. Mabyn and Norah Blackwater inquiringly.

But George St. Mabyn did not speak; instead, he stood staring at his brother with terror-stricken eyes.

'You thought I was dead, eh?' and there was a laugh in Maurice St.

Mabyn's voice. 'I'm worth a good many dead men yet.'

Again he looked around the room until his eyes rested upon Springfield, who had been watching his face from the moment of his entrance.

'By Jove, St. Mabyn,' he cried, and I could see he was fighting for self-mastery; 'but you have played us a trick. Here have we all been wasting good honest grief on you. But--but--I am glad, old man.

I--I----'

His speech ended in a gasp. His words seemed to be frozen by the cold glitter of Maurice St. Mabyn's eyes. Never in my whole life have I seen so much contempt, so much loathing in a man's face as I saw in the face of the new-comer at that moment. But he did not speak. He simply turned on his heel, and addressed Sir Thomas Bolivick.

'You seem surprised, and something more than surprised at seeing me, Sir Thomas,' he said; 'but you are glad to see me, aren't you?'

'Glad!' cried the old man. 'Glad! Why, G.o.d bless my soul, Maurice!

I--I--but--but glad?'--and he began to mop his eyes vigorously.

'I think there'll be a lot of explanations by and by,' went on Maurice,' especially after I've had a chat with my old friend, Jack Carbis, over there. Jack, you rascal, you've a lot to tell me, haven't you? By the way, George,'--and he gave Springfield a glance,--'I understand that this fellow is a guest at St. Mabyn. Will you tell him, as you seem friendly with him, that my house is not good for his health.'

Springfield looked from one to another like a man in despair. The coming of Maurice St. Mabyn had been such a confirmation of all that Jack Carbis had said, that he saw no loophole of escape anywhere. But this was only for a moment. Even in his defeat the man's character as a fighter was evident.

'St. Mabyn,' he said hoa.r.s.ely, 'I swear by Heaven that you are mistaken! Of course I was mistaken--and--and no one is gladder than I--that you have turned up. Give me fair play,--give me a chance--give me time, and I'll clear up everything!'

'Will you tell the fellow,' and Maurice St. Mabyn still spoke to his brother, 'that a motor-car will be placed at his disposal to take him to any place he chooses to go. Tell him, too, that I do not propose to--to have anything to do with him in any way unless he persists in hanging on to you; but that if he does, the War Office and the world shall know what he is, and what he has done.'

Still Springfield did not give in. He turned again to Lorna Bolivick, and as he did so I realized, as I never realized before, that the man really loved her. I believed then, as I believe now, that all his hopes, all his plottings, were centred in one desire, and that was to win the love of this girl.

'Miss Bolivick, Lorna,' he said hoa.r.s.ely, 'you do not tell me to go, do you? You believe in me? I will admit that things look against me; but I swear to you that I am as innocent of their charges as you are; that--that----' He ceased speaking suddenly, as though his words were frozen on his lips, then he burst out like a man in agony, 'Why do you look at me like that?' he gasped.

But she did not speak. Instead, she stood still, and looked at him steadily. There was an unearthly expression in her eyes; she seemed to be trying to look into his soul, to read his innermost thoughts. For a few seconds there was a deathly silence, then with a quick movement she turned and left the room.

Again Springfield looked from face to face as if he were hoping for support; then I saw pride flash into his eyes.

'Lady Bolivick, Sir Thomas,' he said quietly, 'I am deeply sorry that this--this scene should have taken place. As you know I am not responsible. Thank you for your kind hospitality.' Then he turned and left the room, and a few seconds later we heard his footsteps on the gravel outside.

CHAPTER XL

MAURICE ST. MABYN'S GENEROSITY

Of what happened afterwards, and of the explanations which were given, it is not for me to write. They do not come within the scope of this history, and would be scarcely of interest to the reader. One thing, however; specially interested me, and that was the large-heartedness of Maurice St. Mabyn. He refused to allow his brother to attempt any explanation, although I felt sure he understood what his brother had done.

'Of course you could not help believing me dead, George,' he said with a laugh. 'That fellow Springfield sent home and brought home all sorts of circ.u.mstantial evidence, and you naturally took things over. No, not another word. The fellow has gone, and I'll see that he stays away.'