One surprise makes many. The neighbourhood of Rickton had hardly recovered from its astonishment about the fact that Elfrida had thrown over Lord Ambert and accepted the curate, when a still greater piece of news descended upon them.

Old Reginald Greatorex died on the very evening of the day that saw Elfrida's emancipation, and a letter two days later from his solicitors told Dillwyn that the old man had made him his heir. Dillwyn went down to the funeral, and heard the will read. It was all true. There were no near relations, and no entail. Reginald was at liberty to leave his property as he chose—and he chose now to leave Medlands and three thousand a year to the son of the woman who had been the one love of his life.

To Mrs. Greatorex he left ten thousand pounds, to her immense astonishment. She had expected nothing from him. It made her feel quite rich, and on the spot she forgave him all.

Dillwyn, on his return, had an early interview with her. He was determined to see her even before seeing Agatha, though he wrote the latter an impassioned note out of the fullness of his heart. Mrs. Greatorex received him with open arms and without a touch of embarrassment. She told him in the frankest way that she had always liked him—nay, loved him; but, of course, he could see that Agatha must be considered. She had constituted herself her dear girl's guardian, and was it not her duty then to place her as well in life as possible? But that was all over now, of course, and her darling Agatha would be happy and comfortable as well. When he was going away she kissed him, and told him she was never so delighted in her life—she knew he was the only man in the world who could make her dearest girl happy.

He had to go off in a hurry to see old General Montgomery, who had had another slight attack last night, and who would allow no doctor but Dillwyn near him. He had chafed greatly at the young man's unavoidable absence during the past two days.

When he was gone, Mrs. Greatorex sent for Agatha. The girl quite expected that she would have said something about Jack, but there was no mention of him for some time; she dwelt largely on the difference the ten thousand pounds would make in her income, and then drifted off to Elfrida. She had behaved so wisely, she said.

"That is quite what I think," said Agatha. "She would have been wretched with Lord Ambert."

"Absolutely so."

"No wonder!" said Agatha earnestly. "Such an odious man!"

"My dear, it wasn't the man, it was the position that frightened her. A girl like that—of no family, whose people kept a store—to even dream of being a countess was the most outrageous presumption. At the last, you see, she shrank from it; she felt she could not with any propriety wear a coronet. Her brows were not formed for it by nature. It"—solemnly—"would drop off. Now you, Agatha, you will indeed be a fitting mistress for—Medlands!"

Agatha sat and stared. Mrs. Greatorex beamed back at her.

"I think," she said lightly, "you had better write a little line to Dr. Darkham to terminate that unfortunate engagement."

"There was no engagement," said the girl proudly, "except my engagement to Jack. I have had nothing to do with Dr. Darkham— nothing!"

"Well—very little, certainly," said Mrs. Greatorex. She smiled. "He has hardly anything to complain of, really. Hardly anything. I shall send him a little diplomatic, friendly line at once."

....

Under the trees it was charming, though many of them were now losing their leaves. Agatha and Dillwyn sat beneath a huge beech, and made sweet plans for their future. It was lovely to be alone, and to be able to say everything that came straight from their hearts without the necessity of whispering. Of course they could not tell that just behind them, kneeling in the shelter of a thick growth of young trees, was a man—a man whose face was the face of a devil at that moment.

They arranged that they should live at Medlands, and they named the day for their wedding. There was nothing to grieve them in old Reginald's death.

"I feel as if I ought to be sorry for him," said he, with a little self-reproach. "But somehow I can feel nothing but that I can claim you now before the world."

"I was yours, whether the world knew it or not," said she.

"I know—I know.... Mrs. Greatorex has written to Darkham?"

"Yes; immediately after you left. He knows by this time that even a question of an engagement is at an end."

The man behind smiled. There was a look on his face as though he were jotting down something in his memory.

Dillwyn looked at his watch, and suddenly sprang to his feet.

"By Jove!" said he, "it's just two."

"Well, but that is very early," in an aggrieved tone.

"Too early"—with disgust. "But that poor old fellow is very unstrung, and begged me to go back at two."

"The General?"

"Yes. I'll pull him through, I think; but he is very shaky and nervous. I am going to sleep there to-night."

"Are you? Oh, I'm glad," said Agatha quickly.

"Glad! Why?"

"I don't know"—she hesitated. "Don't despise me for it, Jack; but I do dread that horrible man, Dr. Darkham. Sometimes I think he is mad. However, at General Montgomery's you will be safe."

Dillwyn laughed gaily, and caught her to him and kissed her.

Darkham kneeling there in his purgatory, had seen and heard everything.... On such and such a day they were to be married. All their young lives were to be a dream of joy!

When they were gone he fell prone upon the earth—with his face to it, and so lay long without moving.

Then he raised himself and got slowly to his feet. He looked round him for a moment vaguely, as though earth and sky and place were strange to him. Then he turned and ran, crashing wildly through brambles and bracken and furze, as though there was a fiend out of hell pursuing him.... Perhaps there was.