It seemed to Dick that nothing could have happened more unfortunately. Painfully aware as he was that Anthony Riggleton was standing by his side, and devouring every detail of the girl's appearance, he felt ashamed that she should see him. He wanted to run away, longed to disown all knowledge of the vulgar creature who accompanied him.

"No, I've not forgotten, Lady Blanche," he managed to say.

"And we may expect you?" There was eagerness in her voice, expectancy in the gladness of her bright eyes.

"I—I'm afraid not," he stammered.

The girl flashed a quick look upon him—a look partly of questioning, partly of disappointment. "Really, Mr. Faversham——" she protested, and then stopped. Perhaps she felt that something untoward had taken place.

"You see," he went on confusedly, "while I'd just love to come, things have happened since I saw you. I did not know——" and almost unconsciously he glanced towards Riggleton.

"I say, Faversham," and Riggleton put on his most fascinating smile, "introduce me to your lady friend, won't you? I don't think, when I've been in the neighbourhood before, that I've had the pleasure of meeting the young lady."

But Dick was silent. He simply could not speak of the fellow as his cousin. Evidently, too, Riggleton felt something of what was passing in Dick's mind; perhaps, too, he noticed the haughty glance which the girl gave him, for an angry flush mounted his cheeks, and his small eyes burnt with anger.

"Oh, you don't feel like it!" he exclaimed aloud. "And no wonder. Well, miss, I'll tell you who I am. I'm the owner of this place, that's what I am. My name's Anthony Riggleton, and I'm what the lawyers call next-of-kin to old Charles Faversham. That's why I'm boss here. There's been a big mistake, that's what there's been, and Dick Faversham got here, not under false pretences—I don't say that—but because people thought I was dead. But I ain't dead by a long chalk. I'm jolly well alive, and I'm the heir. That's the situation, miss. I thought I'd tell you straight, seeing we may be neighbours. As for Dick here, of course he's jolly well disappointed. Not that I mayn't do the handsome thing by him, seeing he means to be reasonable. I may make him my steward, or I might make him an allowance. See?"

The girl made no response whatever. She listened in deadly silence to Riggleton, although the flush on her cheek showed that the man's words had excited her. Also she looked at Dick questioningly. She seemed to be demanding from him either an affirmation or a denial of what the man said. But Dick remained silent. Somehow he felt he could not speak.

"You don't seem to take me, miss," went on Riggleton, who might have been under the influence of the champagne he had been drinking, "but what I'm telling you is gospel truth. And it may interest you to know that I mean to paint this part of the country red. Oh, I'll shake things up, never fear. Might you be fond of hunting, and that kind of thing, miss? Because after the war I mean to go in for it strong."

Still Lady Blanche did not speak to him. The only reply she made was to get into her car and turn on the engine. "Good afternoon, Mr. Faversham," she said. "Then must I tell my father that you'll not be able to come to-morrow?"

"Perhaps you'd better," replied Dick, "but—I'll explain later."

Almost unconsciously he lifted his hat, while the car passed out of sight.

"By gosh!" exclaimed Riggleton, "she's a stunner, she is!—a regular stunner. Who is she?"

But Dick turned and hurried up the drive towards the house. He felt that he could no longer bear to be near the creature who had robbed him of everything worth living for.

"I say, you needn't be so huffy," cried Riggleton, who again joined him. "Why didn't you introduce me? I don't know when I've seen such a stunning bit of fluff. She looks regular top-hole stuff too! And hasn't she got a figure? And I say, Faversham, seeing that I said I was prepared to do the handsome by you, you might have done the correct thing. What! Oh, I suppose you were riled because I told her how things are. But the truth was bound to come out, man! Do you think I would be such a ninny as not to let her know I was the bloomin' owner of this show? Tell me, who is she?"

"Lady Blanche Huntingford."

He uttered the name curtly, savagely. He was angry with himself for having spoken at all.

"Whew! She's Lord Huntingford's daughter, is she?" and he gave a hoarse laugh. "Well, she's a beauty, she is—just a beauty!"

He laughed again in high good-humour, indeed, he seemed to be enjoying himself vastly.

"You are a deep one, Faversham, you are," he shouted, as he slapped Dick on the back. "Here was I calling you a fool for staying in this hole instead of going to London and gay Paree. But I see the reason now. Dining with her to-morrow night, were you? And it seems that I've spoilt your little game. Well, she's a bit of all right, that's what she is. A regular bit of all right. I don't know but after all I shall do the country squire touch, and make up to her. What are you looking like that for?"

For Dick's face was crimson with rage. The fellow's coarse vulgarity was driving him mad.

"Are you in love with her?" persisted Riggleton. "Is that it?"

Still Dick did not speak. He was walking rapidly towards the house—so rapidly that Riggleton had difficulty in keeping up with him.

"I say, don't be huffy," went on Tony. "I'm sorry if I didn't do the correct thing. I didn't mean anything wrong, and I'm not up to the ways of the swells. As I told you, I ran away from school, and got in with a rough set. That was why, when I came back here, Uncle Charlie cleared me out. But I don't believe in grudges, I don't, and I'm sorry if I've put your nose out. I can't say fairer than that, can I?"

Dick felt slightly ashamed of himself. He was beginning to understand Riggleton better now, and to appreciate his coarse kindness.

"It's all right, Riggleton," he said, "and no doubt you've done the natural thing. But—but I don't feel like talking."

"Of course you don't," said Tony, "and of course my coming is a regular knock-out blow to you. If it was me, I'd have—well, I don't know what I wouldn't have done. But I'm not such a bad chap after all. And look here, I meant what I said, and I'm prepared to do the handsome thing. You play fair with me, and I'll play fair with you. See? I shall make an unholy mess of things if I'm left alone, and if you like I'll keep you on here. You shall be my steward, and I'll make you a good allowance. Then you can stay here, and I'll give you my word of honour that I'll not try to cut you out with Lady Blanche, although she takes the fancy of yours truly more than any bit of fluff I've seen for years."

"For Heaven's sake, drop it!" cried Dick, exasperated.

"All right," laughed Tony. "I don't mind. There's plenty of girls to be had. Besides, she's not my sort. She's too high and mighty for me. Besides," and he laughed raucously, "it all comes back to me now. Once when I was here before, I nearly got into trouble with her. I was trespassing on her father's grounds, and she came along and saw me. She told me to clear out or she'd set the dogs on me. Good Lord! I'd forgotten all about it, and I never thought I'd see her again. So if you're gone on her, I'll give you a clear field, my boy. I can't say fairer than that, now can I?"

They had reached the house, and Dick again, almost unconsciously, looked at the great doorway. He dreaded, yet he almost longed to see the great haunting eyes of the figure which, whether imaginary or real, had become such a factor in his existence.

But there was nothing. No suggestion of the luminous form appeared.

Of course it was all a mad fancy—all the result of exciting and disturbing experiences.

"Riggleton," he said, when they had reached the library, "I want to be quiet; I want to think. You don't mind, do you? I'll explain presently."

"As you like, my boy. Think as much as you bloomin' well want to. I see the servant hasn't taken away the fizz, so I'll have another drink."

Dick threw himself on a chair and covered his face with his hands. He tried to think, tried to co-ordinate events, tried to understand the true bearings of the situation. But he could not. His mind was either a blank or it was filled with mad, confusing thoughts.

What should he do?

He thought he had decided on his course of action before Riggleton's advent, but now everything was a wild chaos; he seemed to be in a maelstrom. Should he accept Riggleton's offer? The fellow was a fool; there could be no doubt about that—a coarse-minded, vulgar, gullible fool. With careful treatment, he, Dick, could still remain master of Wendover Park; he could have all the money he wanted; he could—and a vista of probabilities opened up before him. He was sure he could play with his cousin as a cat plays with a mouse. He could get him in his power, and then he could do what he liked with him.

And why not?

Perhaps, perhaps——He turned towards Riggleton, who was pouring out a glass of champagne and humming a popular music-hall song. Yes; he could mould the fellow like clay; he could make him do anything—anything!

He was on the point of speaking, of starting a conversation which would naturally lead to the thing he had in his mind, but no words passed his lips. It seemed to him as though two distinct, two antagonistic forces were in the room. Almost unconsciously he took Romanoff's telegram from his pocket, and as he did so, he felt as though the sender was by his side; but even while he thought of the man he remembered something else. He remembered the night when he had unfolded his plans to him, and when he had pointed to the paper which he had prepared for him.

Again he felt the grip of the hand upon his wrist, again he felt a presence which he could not explain—a presence which forbade him to sign away his liberty—his soul.

He thought, too, how immediately afterwards that guileless child Beatrice Stanmore had rushed into the room, and had told him that she had been impelled to come to him.

Suddenly a prayer came to his lips: "O God, help me! For Christ's sake, help me!"

It was strange, bewildering. He was not a praying man. He had not prayed for years, and yet the prayer, unbidden, almost unthought of, had come into his heart.

"Well, have you made up your mind?"

It was Tony Riggleton's voice, and he felt like a man wakened out of a trance.

"Yes."

"Good. You take me on, eh? We'll be pals, and you'll stay on here as my steward?"

"No."

"What are you going to do, then?"

"I'm going to London."

"To London, eh? But when?"

"To-night."

"To-night! Well, I'm——But—but, all right. I'll drive you there in my car, and we'll make a night of it."

"No, thank you. Look here, Riggleton, I'm very much obliged to you, and I appreciate all you have said; but our paths must lie apart."

"Lie apart?" Tony's mind was a little confused. "You mean to say that you don't accept the allowance I'm willing to make you?"

"I mean that. I thank you very much, but I don't accept."

"But—but what are you going to do?"

"I don't know."

"Have you any money?"

"No. Yes, I have, though. I've a few pounds which I saved before I thought I—I was——"

"Old Uncle Charlie's heir," concluded Tony as Dick hesitated. "But what about the estate?"

"The lawyer must settle all that. I'm sorry I'm intruding here. I'll go and pack my things right away. Some day I'll repay you for the money I've spent while I've been here."

"Look here," and Tony came to Dick's side, "don't you be a fool. You just take things sensibly. Pay me money! Money, be blowed! You just——"

"No, thank you. I'll go now if you don't mind."

He left the room as he spoke, and a few minutes later he had packed a small suit-case. He returned to the room where Tony still remained.

"Good-bye, Riggleton; I'm off."

"But you—you're mad."

"I think I am. Good-bye."

"But where are you going?"

"To the station. If I make haste I shall catch the next train to London."

Riggleton looked at him in open-mouthed wonder. "Well, you are a fool!" he gasped.

Dick rushed out of the house without a word to the servants. He felt as though he dared not speak to them. Something in his heart—something which he could not explain—was telling him to fly, and to fly quickly.

When he reached the doorway he turned and looked. He wanted to see if—if——But there was nothing. The westering sun shed its bright rays not only on the house, but on the flowers which bloomed in glorious profusion; but there was no suggestion of anything beyond the ordinary to be seen.

"Of course I am a fool," he reflected; "perhaps I am mad," and then he again tried to understand the experiences which had so bewildered him. But he could not. All was confusion.

He hurried along the drive which led to the lodge near which Beatrice Stanmore lived. He had a strange longing to see once more the home of the child who had come to him in the hour of his dire temptation.

When he had gone some distance he turned to have a last look at the house. Never had it seemed so fair; never as now did he realise what he was leaving. What a future he was giving up! What a life he was discarding! Yes; he had been a fool—an egregious fool! Oh, the folly of his actions!—the mad folly!

"Holloa, Mr. Faversham!"

He turned and saw Beatrice Stanmore.

"You are going away?"

"Yes; I'm going to London."

"And walking to the station? Why?"

"Because I've no conveyance."

The girl looked at him wonderingly. Questions seemed to hang upon her lips—questions which she dared not ask.

"I'm going away," he went on, "because nothing is mine. There's been a great mistake—and so I'm going away. Do you understand?"

She looked at him with childlike wonder. In years she was nearly a woman, but she was only a child in spirit.

"But surely you need not go and leave everything?" she queried.

"No; I need not go." He hardly knew what he was saying. He seemed like a man under a spell.

"Then what makes you go?"

"You," he replied. "Don't you remember? Good-bye."

He hurried on without another word. He felt he was going mad, even if he were not mad already. And yet he had a kind of consciousness that he was doing right.

"But I will come back some day," he said between his set teeth. "I'll not be beaten! Somehow—somehow I'll make my way. I'll conquer—yes, I'll conquer! At all hazards, I'll conquer!"

There was a grim determination in his heart as he set his face towards the unknown.