"That you Agatha?"

A cheerful voice came to her over the gate. It was the voice of Mr. Browne. Now, Dicky's voice, though good enough of its kind, had never up to this been likened to music; to Agatha, however at this moment it sounded like sweet harmony. She drew her breath quickly; with difficulty, indeed, she suppressed a sob. She held out her hand to him.

"Dicky, is it you? Come—come here. Come quickly!"

She did her best to suppress her agitation, but it mastered her; and Mr. Browne lifted the latch of the small gate, and in a seemingly leisurely manner was at her side almost immediately. He took her hand and held it in a good firm clasp. He was very fond of Agatha, and she was very fond of him, too. Agatha, however, never said that after that night.

Of course, he saw at a glance that something was wrong. He nodded to Darkham, who was in the shadow.

"Heavenly night, isn't it?" Mr. Browne raised his eyes ecstatically to the sky above, now literally besprinkled with the lamps of heaven. "But there's a dew falling. Mrs. Greatorex not ill again, I hope?"

He looked directly at Darkham, compelling an answer.

"No," said Darkham.

"So glad!" said Dicky. "Then you came—-"

His manner was delightful; not a suspicion in it; yet Darkham felt he must answer.

"I was merely passing by here, and saw Miss Nesbitt, and came to ask her a question," said he doggedly. He was quite master of himself again, and spoke naturally.

"Which Miss Nesbitt, of course, didn't answer," said Dicky airily. "I never answer questions myself. You always get let in if you do. Agatha, I hope you stood firm. Always resist the questioner."

He was making light of the situation. The babe unborn could not have seemed more innocent than Dicky at this moment. Yet Darkham, listening, cursed him in his heart.

"Miss Nesbitt, I am afraid, does not follow your lines," said he, in a suave tone. "She—you came a little late you see—she did answer."

"More shame for you!" said Dicky to Agatha. "See now how you encourage Darkham."

He laughed.

There were times when Mr. Browne thoroughly enjoyed himself, and this was one of them. He could see that Agatha did not understand him, but that Darkham did. He thought Darkham a common sort of fellow, with a slight veneer, and he didn't like him.

"I encourage him!" said Agatha.

"Why, of course. To answer the questioner is to lead him to worse mischief in the future. He will continue his persecution." He laughed quite gaily here, and brought down his hand with a resounding slap on Darkham's shoulder. It seemed the friendliest slap, but Darkham didn't seem to care about it. "Look here, Darkham, I sympathise with you. I do, indeed. People who ask questions are bores. Yet a doctor must ask them. About one's tongue, for example, or one's—better not go into it. What were you asking Miss Nesbitt about? Not her tongue, I hope. Agatha! You know I often warned you about it. The tongue is an unruly member—who have you been abusing now?"

"Ask Dr. Darkham," said Agatha, who had recovered all her courage on the advent of Dicky.

"My dear girl, I think I should rather ask the rector. He would be the true physician in this case. An unruly tongue, you know. You have nothing to do with those, have you, Dr. Darkham? Don't you think Miss Nesbitt had better see the rector? Come now, your advice.... Advice is what one wants from you!"

"Miss Nesbitt, I am sure, does not want it," said Darkham slowly, as his eyes met Agatha's. "She knows all I can tell her. I have given her my advice."

"Did it include the fact that the dew is falling? Agatha, my dear girl, you ought to go in, or else get a hat or a shawl or something. You ought to have warned her"—to Darkham.

"I have warned her!" said the latter, in a strange meaning tone.

He went towards her and held out his hand. "Good-night!" He so stood between her and Dicky that the latter could not see that she refused to give her hand in return. "Remember," said Darkham in a low tone, "the warning!"

He stepped quietly past Dicky, who nodded to him cheerfully, and went out of the gate and down the small avenue, and into the road that led him homewards.

"Now, what on earth is it all about?" asked Mr. Browne, as the last sound of his footsteps died away.

"Oh, Dicky!" said Agatha. She had a kind of theory that a woman ought to be above surprises or fears, but lately she had begun to doubt the truth of it. She enlarged her doubts at this moment by covering her face with her hands and bursting into tears. Mr. Browne waited a moment.

"That's right," said he. "It will do you good. Nothing like tears. But look here: why waste 'em? The weather has been awfully dry of late; just stand over those asters, will you, and give them a shower."

It was horrid of him, Agatha told herself, but in spite of that she began to laugh, and when Mr. Browne had gone into the house and brought her out a little sherry-and-soda she felt almost herself again. She was still frightened, however—though not for herself.

"You're awfully done," said Mr. Browne presently. "You ought to be in your bed instead of out here."

"I couldn't sleep," said she. "I am too miserable. Oh, Dicky, I am so frightened; and I haven't a single person to speak to."

"That's what a woman always says when she has the person near her," said Mr. Browne. "Go on"—resignedly. "I'm the person on this occasion. Start fair, and tell me all about it."

She did. She told him everything.

"Fancy his wanting to marry me, when his poor wife is only three months dead! Fancy his forgetting her so soon!"

"I feel it brings me within the pale of crime," said Mr. Browne mournfully. "But I feel sure that I could have forgotten her a good deal sooner."

"Oh, but, Dicky, you weren't married to her."

"True," said Dicky thoughtfully. "That's a point. There are things one should be thankful for, after all." He sighed. "And was it to-night that he laid his charms at your feet?"

"No—the day before yesterday. At least, I think it was the day before yesterday, but"—dejectedly—"it seems like a century ago. I've gone through so much since."

"And in the meantime?"

"Jack has asked me to marry him." She glanced up at Dicky and smiled. He thought he had never seen her look so pretty. Love had gilded her beauty. There was quite an air of triumph about her.

"If you expect me to be surprised," said he, "you're out of it. To ask you to marry him is the sort of thing that any fellow would want to do in a second. I may as well tell you, now that hope is at an end for ever, that I myself often had a desire to ask you that great question myself."

"I wish, Dicky, you would try to be sensible for even a little while," said she impatiently. "I'm so unhappy. I've told you that Aunt Hilda has set her heart on my accepting Dr. Darkham."

"I shouldn't do that if I were you," said Mr. Browne.

"No, no, of course not! Nothing would induce me. Not now, when Jack has told me that he—he—-"

"I know," said Mr. Browne confidentially. "You needn't go into it. I've done it myself. Usual taradiddle. Told you you were the 'only woman in the world.' It's extraordinary how a lie like that takes, when one has only to look round and see a lot more women than one wants. But it never fails."

"He never said anything like that to me," said Agatha indignantly. "Do you think he is so stupid as that?"

"I never thought him stupid till this moment," said Mr. Browne unabashed. "What on earth did he say to you?"

"Just that he loved me—and enough, too. But, oh! Dicky, I told you I was frightened, and I am. That dreadful man said that, rather than see me married to Jack, he would destroy him!" Her voice began to tremble. "He'll do it, too; I feel he will."

"Nonsense, my good child! People can't go about destroying people nowadays. There is always the convenient hangman. And besides, though I can't exactly say I dote on Darkham, still, he seems to me a most respectable person."

"To me," said Agatha in a low tone, "he seems a murderer! Yes; I mean it. I am afraid of him, and I really do think, Dicky"— bursting into tears—"that he will try to kill Jack. His face was frightful when he said it. Oh, perhaps he is devising some scheme now—now, this moment! I could not be deceived; there was meaning in his eyes. Dicky"—turning to him with a touch of passion—"I want to see Jack—to warn him."

"To-morrow?"

"Oh no! Now—now! Can't I see him now? I shall go mad with thinking if I have to pass this night without giving him a word of warning."

"Look here, Agatha! It's late, you know, and Mrs. Greatorex will be home shortly, and—-"

He paused. The girl knew well what he meant. Of course it was unconventional to go to her—to Dr. Dillywn's house now; but for the sake of conventionality was she to let the man she loved be murdered? She was a little unstrung, and at this moment she firmly believed that Darkham was bent on a swift destruction of her lover. In the slow, solemn passing of the light to darkness fears grow thick, and Agatha's became unbearable.

Jack was there, in his lonely house, and unwarned! What fitter time to take a person unawares? The poor child was weakened by the events of the past few days, and could see nothing but her one sole possession cruelly done to death. That man—Darkham— had looked murderous. Oh, to go to Jack for a second only—to tell him! What could it matter what the world said, if he still lived!

"I don't care when she is home—" She spoke vehemently, but then checked herself. "No, no; she won't be—can't be at home for a long time. It is only half-past eight now, and she will not be home till ten."

"But Dillywn's house is half a mile away."

"But if I ran through the wood no one would see me—and—you only would know of it. I want just to tell him to be on his guard. It wouldn't take me a moment. Don't you think"— feverishly—"that I might go?"

"Not alone, certainly. If you must see him, I'll go with you."

"Oh, Dicky, how good of you! Will you, really? Then come— come!"

"Without a hat?"

"Yes. What does a hat matter? And we haven't a moment to lose."

"Well, here goes!" said Dicky. He pulled her arm through his and together they went out of the gate, and, turning, ran down a slope that led to the wood on their left. Through this they went at full speed, the path being well defined, and Agatha's agitation giving her the speed of an Atalanta.

As they pulled up at the gate of Dillywn's cottage, a tiny establishment, standing by itself about a quarter of a mile from the village, Dicky pulled out his watch.

"We've beaten the record," said he; "I don't believe any one ever did the distance in so short a time. But, talking of time, Agatha —it's flying. I shall stay here, and give you just five minutes by this"—tapping his watch—"to rejoin me."

"Five minutes! I shan't be one," said Agatha.

"You had better tell him that I brought you here, and that I shall take you back. Though"—resignedly—"he will no doubt shoot me when you do so."

"Dicky! He will be so grateful."

"That"—gloomily—"is not the way of lovers. And I have two to contend with. Darkham is probably sitting in a tree at this moment taking aim."

"Oh, Dicky, don't!."

"And even if I escape these two, there is still Mrs. Greatorex to slay me with her tongue. There, go on, dear Agatha. If not here on your return, I trust you to put up a fitting monument to my many virtues."

Agatha turned towards the house—he was really too frivolous for anything.

"I say!" called Mr. Browne after her. "Five minutes, you know— not a second more."

She ran noiselessly across the grass to the lighted window where she fancied Dillwyn must be sitting, and knocked gently at the window-pane. In a moment the blind was drawn up; there was a sharp ejaculation; then the window was thrown up.