He was near enough to see her features distinctly, near enough to see the light sparkle in her eyes, but not near enough to hear anything she said. That, however, did not matter. He was content for the moment to look at her. He wanted nothing better.

How beautiful she was! She was no longer the squire's "little maid," she was a woman now. Nearly two years had pa.s.sed since he last saw her, and those years had ripened all her charms and rounded them into perfection.

He could look his fill without being observed. If she cast her eyes in his direction she would not recognise him--probably she had forgotten his existence.

His nerves were still thrilling with a strange ecstasy. His eyes drank in greedily every line and curve and expression of her face. In all this great London there was no other face, he was sure, that could compare with it, no other smile that was half so sweet.

She rose at length, slowly and with seeming reluctance, to her feet. Her companion at once sprang to her side. Ralph rose also, and faced them.

Why he did so he did not know. He was still following a blind and unreasoning impulse. She paused for a moment or two and looked steadfastly in his direction, then turned and quickly walked away, and a moment later was swallowed up in the mult.i.tude.

Ralph took one step forward, then turned back and sat down with a jerk.

He had come to himself at last.

"Well, I have played the fool with a vengeance," he muttered to himself.

"I have just pulled down all I have been trying for the last two years to build up."

The next moment he was unconscious of his surroundings again. Crowds of people pa.s.sed and re-pa.s.sed, but he saw one face only, the face that had never ceased to haunt him since the hour when, in her bright, imperious way, she commanded him to open the gate.

How readily and vividly he recalled every incident of that afternoon. He felt her arms about his neck even now. He was hurrying across the downs once more in the direction of St. Goram. His heart was thrilling with a new sensation.

He came to himself again after a while and sauntered slowly out of the Park. Beauty and wealth and fashion jostled him on every side, but it was a meaningless show to him. Had Ruth been with him she would have gone into ecstasies over the hats and dresses, for such creations were never seen in St. Goram, nor even dreamed of.

Men have to be educated to appreciate the splendours and glories of feminine attire, and, generally speaking, the education is a slow and disappointing process. The male eye is not quick in detecting the subtleties of lace and chiffon, the values of furs and furbelows.

"Women dress to please the men," somebody has remarked. That may be true in some cases. More frequently, it is to be feared, they dress to make other women envious.

Ralph's education in the particular line referred to had not even commenced. He knew nothing of the philosophy of clothes. He was vaguely conscious sometimes that some people were well dressed and others ill dressed, that some women were gowned becomingly and others unbecomingly, but beyond that generalisation he never ventured.

He had begun to dress well himself almost without knowing it. He instinctively avoided everything that was loud or noticeable. Nature had given him a good figure--tall, erect, and well proportioned. Moreover, he was free from the vanity which makes a man self-conscious, and he was sufficiently well educated to know what const.i.tuted a gentleman.

He got back to the small hotel at which he was staying in time for an early dinner, after which he strolled into the Embankment Gardens and listened to the band. Later still, he found himself sitting on one of the seats in Trafalgar Square listening to the splash of the fountains and dreaming of home, and yet in every dream stood out the exquisite face and figure of Dorothy Hamblyn.

Next morning, because he had nothing to do, and because he was already tired of sight-seeing, he made his way again into St. James's Park, and found a seat near the lake and in the shadow of the trees. He told himself that he came there in the hope that he might see Dorothy Hamblyn again.

He knew it was a foolish thing to do. But he had come to the unheroic conclusion during the night that it was of no use fighting against Fate.

He loved Dorothy Hamblyn pa.s.sionately, madly, and that was the end of it. He could not help it. He had tried his best to root out the foolish infatuation, and he had almost hoped that he was succeeding. But yesterday's experience had torn the veil from his eyes, and revealed to him the fact that he was more hopelessly in love than ever.

How angry he was with himself he did not know. The folly of it made him ashamed. His presumption filled him with amazement. If anyone else of his own cla.s.s had done the same thing he would have laughed him to scorn. In truth, he could have kicked himself for his folly.

Then, unconsciously, his mood would change, and self-pity would take the place of scorn. He was not to blame. He was the victim of a cruel and cynical Fate. He was being punished for hating her father so intensely.

It was the Nemesis of an evil pa.s.sion.

He spent most of the day in the Park, and kept an eager look-out in all directions; but the vision of Dorothy's face did not again gladden his eyes. A hundred times he started, and the warm blood rushed in a torrent to his face, then he would walk slowly on again.

On the following morning he met Sir John Liskeard, by appointment, in his chambers in the Temple.

"He had been going into the case," he explained to Ralph, "with considerable care, but even now he had not found out all he wanted to know. He had, however, discovered one or two facts which had an important bearing on the case."

He was careful to explain, again, that in equity he considered Ralph's claim incontestable, while nothing could be more honourable than the way in which he had tried to come to terms with the company. He spoke strongly of the high-handed and tyrannous way in which a rich and powerful company were trying to crush a poor man and rob him of the fruits of his skill and enterprise.

But, on the other hand, there was no doubt whatever that the company would be able to cite a clear case. To begin with, the agreement, or the concession, was very loosely worded. Moreover, no time limit had been set, which might imply that the company retained the right of withdrawing the concession at any moment. It was also contended by some of the shareholders that the company, as a whole, could not be held responsible for mistakes made by the chairman. That, however, he held was a silly contention, inasmuch as the agreement was stamped with the company's seal, and was signed by the secretary and two directors.

On the other hand, there could be no doubt that the concession had been hurriedly made, no one at the time realising that there was any value in the rubbish heap that had been acc.u.mulating for the biggest part of a century. On one point, however, the company had cleverly forestalled them. It had purchased, recently, the freehold of Daniel Rickard's farm.

This, no doubt, was a very astute move, and mightily strengthened the company's position.

"I am bound, also, to point out one other fact," the lawyer went on. "I have discovered that both Lord Probus and Lord St. Goram are considerable shareholders in the concern. They are both tremendously impressed by what I may term 'the potentialities of the tailing heap.'

In fact, they believe there's a huge fortune in it, and they are determined that the company shall reap the reward of your discovery."

"They need not be so greedy," Ralph said bitterly. "They have both far more than they know how to spend, and they might have been willing to give a beginner a chance."

"You know the old saying," Sir John said, with a smile. "'Much would have more.'"

"I've heard it," Ralph said moodily.

"You will understand I am not talking to you merely as a lawyer. There is no doubt whatever that you have a case, and a very clear case. I may add, a very strong case."

"And what, roughly speaking, would it cost to fight it in a court of law?"

Sir John shrugged his shoulders and smiled knowingly.

"I might name a minimum figure," he said, and he did.

Ralph started, and half rose from his chair.

"That settles the matter," he said, after a pause.

"It would be a very unequal contest," Sir John remarked.

"You mean----"

"I mean, they could take it from court to court, and simply cripple you with law costs."

"So, as usual, the weak must go to the wall?"

"To be quite candid with you, I could not advise you to risk what you have made."

"What I have made is very little indeed," Ralph answered.

"I thought you had made a small fortune."

"I could have made a little if I had been given time; but I have spent most of the profit in increasing and improving the plant."

"I am sorry. To say the least, it is rough on you."

"It is what I have been used to all my life," Ralph said absently. "The powerful appear to recognise no law but their own strength."

When Ralph found himself in the street again his thoughts immediately turned towards home.