I must confess I was staggered. The thought of Paul Edgecumbe falling in love had never entered my mind. I do not know why it should have been so, but so it was. He had seemed so far removed from all thoughts of the tender passion, and had been so indifferent to the society of women, that to think of him falling in love at first sight seemed pure madness. But I did not doubt his words; the intensity of his voice, the look in his eyes, the tremor of his lips, all told their tale. Of course it was madness, but the fact was patent enough.

'You can't be serious,' I said, although I knew I was speaking foolishly.

'Serious! It's a matter of life or death with me. Besides, there's that man. I know him, I say,—I know him.'

'Of course you know him,' I replied. 'You saved his life, and pretty nearly got killed yourself in doing it.'

'I wish I had been. But no, I don't; He must never have her, Luscombe, never! It would be a crime, and worse than a crime. Why, he is——' Then he stopped again, and with wild eyes seemed staring into vacancy.

'Come, come,' I said, 'this won't do. He has no thoughts about Lorna
Bolivick.'

'Did he tell you so?'

'Of course he didn't; there is no reason why he should; but Miss Blackwater told me it was as good as settled that she should marry young Buller.'

'No, the danger doesn't lie there. Why, you could see that, if you had eyes. Didn't you watch him while he was talking during the early part of the evening?—didn't you see how he looked at her? He's a bad man, I tell you! Have you ever seen a serpent trying to fascinate a bird? I have—where I don't know, but I have. He was just like that, and she yielded to his fascination, too; you must have noticed it! Buller is a nonentity, just a harmless, good-natured, weak boy. He could be a tool in another man's hands, though,—Springfield could make him do anything.'

He did not look at me while he spoke; he seemed to be staring at some far distant object.

'You say you know Springfield,' I said; 'what did you mean by that?'

'I mean,—I have met him before somewhere.'

'Where?'

'I don't know. I only know I have. Do you remember that time over in
France, when he made that strange noise?'

I nodded.

'It was an old Indian cry. It was a cry that always means vengeance. It was he who made it,—do you remember? Afterwards I saw his face. I knew then I had seen him somewhere, but where, I don't know. Oh, if only this thick veil of the past could be turned aside, and I could see! Oh, if I could only remember!—but I can't. I tell you, that man knows me—he remembers. Did you watch his eyes when he looked at me? And I am helpless, helpless!—and she is so young, so beautiful, so pure. I can't understand it at all, and yet, when I saw her this evening for the first time, as she stood in the doorway with the light of the setting sun upon her face—— I am so helpless,' he continued. 'I can do nothing. Besides——'

As I have said, I had learnt to love Paul Edgecumbe, and although I realized his madness as much as he did, I wanted to lift the weight of care from his life.

'If what you told me some months ago is true, there is no room for despair,' I urged.

'What did I tell you?'

'You told me you had found a great secret,' I replied; 'that you had become sure of Almighty God. If that is true, there is no room for hopelessness; despair's out of the question.'

He sat quietly for a few seconds, and then leapt to his feet. 'You are right,' he said; 'there is no chance in the world, there is no such thing as luck. I can't explain it a bit, but there isn't. God never makes a mistake. After all, I could not help falling in love with her, and my love has a meaning. Of course she is not for me,—I am not worthy of her; but I can defend her, I can see that no harm happens to her. Yes, I see, I see. Good night, Luscombe, I—I want to be alone now'; and without another word he passed back into his own room.

The next day was Saturday, and we spent the morning roaming through the countryside around Bolivick, and climbing a rugged tor which lay some distance at the back of the house.

As we neared the house after our long morning's walk, Lorna Bolivick broke out abruptly: 'I am disappointed in your friend, Captain Luscombe.'

'Why?' I asked.

'I don't know. I think I admire him—in fact I am sure I do. He possesses a strange charm, and, in a way, he's just splendid. But why does he dislike me?'

'Does he dislike you?' I asked.

'Can't you see? He avoids me. When for a few minutes we are together, he never speaks.'

'That doesn't prove he dislikes you.'

'Oh, but he does! He acts so strangely, too.'

'You must make allowances for him,' I said. 'You must remember his history. He told you last night that you were the first lady he ever remembered speaking to. It seemed an extravagant statement, but in a way it is true. What his past has been I don't know, but since I knew him his life has never been influenced by women. Think what that means to a man! Besides, he is sensitive and shy. I can quite understand his being uneasy in your presence.'

'Am I such an ogress, then?' And she looked into my face with a laugh.
'Besides, why should he be sensitive about me?'

'Might not his peculiar mental condition make him afraid of offending you?' I asked. 'Of course it is not for me to say, but I can quite understand his being very anxious to impress you favourably. And because he thinks he is awkward, and uninteresting, he is afraid to be natural, and to act as he would like to act.'

'I wish you could let him know,' said Lorna in her childlike outspokenness, 'that I admire him tremendously. I had no idea he had been such a hero. The way he saved Captain Springfield was just beyond words. Oh, it must have been horrible for you all!'

'In a way it was,' I replied. 'But do you know, in spite of the horror of everything, most of the men look upon it as great sport. You are altering your opinion of Captain Springfield, aren't you?'

'How do you know?' And I saw that her face flushed.

'When we met him over at Granitelands, you told me that he made you think of snakes.'

'Yes, but I was silly, and impulsive. Even you can't deny that he is fascinating. Besides, I always admire mysterious, strong men.'

'Will you promise me something, Lorna?' I ventured after an awkward silence.

'Of course I will if I can. What is it?'

But I had not time to tell her; we had come up to the house at that moment, and I saw both Springfield and Buller, who had come over to lunch, hurrying towards us.

Our greetings were scarcely over, when Edgecumbe and Norah Blackwater came up. Immediately Springfield saw them a change came over his face. He had met Lorna Bolivick with a laugh, but as he saw Edgecumbe the laugh died on his face, while the scar on his cheek became more pronounced.

As far as I can remember, nothing of special note happened during the afternoon, but in the evening, just before dinner, I saw a ghastly pallor creep over Edgecumbe's face, and then suddenly and without warning he fell down like one dead.