She threw back her head with a quick movement, as if quivering beneath the torture.

"My former promise, Arthur. You remember," and averting her face, again she shuddered from head to foot. "He is not--dead--as I thought."

"And then--?"

"I cannot break it. I thought him dead--but now--I cannot break it.

G.o.d help me!--help us both!"

A devil took possession of Claverton's heart, and the fixed, vengeful look in his face was awful to behold as he murmured to himself: "G.o.d help _him_. If he is not dead he soon will be--or I." Then aloud: "Lilian, you vowed once that nothing ever should part us. You remember, darling."

The voice was even more gentle than before. Had it been otherwise she could almost better have borne it--and yet not. A fraction of a second and she had yielded, had thrown herself into his arms; but again the savage threats of Truscott and the diabolical malice of his tones and looks rose up before her, and she felt strong again. In a paroxysm of that love, which was at once her strength and her weakness, she cried:

"I cannot--I cannot, Arthur. I am too weak, and that you must see. I cannot break that promise. You must go--go and curse my name and memory--if it be worth cursing, to the end of your days. And I--O G.o.d!

let me die!"

The forced, unnatural hardness which she had thrown into her voice, struck upon his ear, filling him with amazement and dismay. It was all like a bad dream. He could hardly realise that she was actually trying to cast him off. From any other living soul guilty of such vacillating treachery, he would have turned away in scarcely surprised scorn. To this woman, rather than speak one word of anger, reproach, or blame--and what is harder--rather than think it, he would have died a thousand deaths. How he loved her! Her very weakness was sacred to him. It was thrown upon his tenderness, now; it was for him to handle it tenderly, not to crush it--and her. And a curious thrill of ghastly comfort shot through him in the thought that even at this fearful moment, when his heart was sick with bitter despair, he was really proving the strength of his love by something more than words. Three times now had she repulsed him, each under circ.u.mstances more cruel than the previous one--but the loyal love of the man never flinched--never swerved by a single hair's breadth. And he must be very gentle and indulgent with her now.

"Lilian, my sweet, you hardly know what you are saying," he answered, imprinting a shower of pa.s.sionate kisses on the trembling, ashy lips.

"I'm not going to take what you tell me, in earnest at all."

"Spare me--spare me," she moaned, shuddering in his embrace. "I meant it--all, and--"

"Hi--Halloa! Here's some fellow's horse got into the garden!" cried a man's voice outside. "Yek--yek! Hi! Jafta. Turn the infernal brute out. He's broken down the fence in two places--confound it--which means a claim for five pounds from old Cooke next door. Out, you brute!" and a sound was heard of a stone, launched by an incensed hand, striking violently against the paling, while the offending quadruped, tearing his way through and carrying with him two yards of fence, bolted off, snorting and kicking, down the road.

"What'll the owner do, George?" said another voice approaching the front door. "Goodness knows where that horse'll bolt to, now."

"Blazes, I hope--and his owner after him," replied Payne, surveying resentfully the receding form of the trespa.s.ser. "Why the deuce can't fellows tie their horses up when they leave 'em in the streets? O Lord!"

This last e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n was caused by the sight of Claverton, who had come quickly to the door to meet them and to give Lilian time to recover herself, and at whom the speaker stood staring open-mouthed and somewhat dismayed.

"Was that _your_ horse, old chap?" he asked, dubiously, shaking hands with the new arrival and experiencing a sensation of huge relief because of his presence.

"It was; but it may be the possession of some one else by now. Bother the horse, though. I say, Payne, I want to talk to you."

"One minute, old chap. Here, Jafta--Jafta," he called out to his boy.

"Go and catch that horse again. Look sharp--run like the devil. If you bring him back within a quarter of an hour I'll give you a shilling."

Away went Jafta, and Payne, glad of the momentary delay, returned to Claverton sorely perplexed. He had sent for him, indeed, but didn't know what the deuce to say to him now that he had come. It was more within a woman's province, he thought; and there and then his spouse came to the rescue, taking the affair into her own hands.

"Come inside, Mr Claverton," she said. "I'm so glad you're here." And then, when they were alone, she told him everything that had happened, from the day they had first seen Truscott until the moment of their going out that afternoon just before his arrival.

He listened quietly. A deadly resolve was shaping itself within his heart.

"What sort of a man is this Truscott--I mean what sort of a looking man?" he asked.

She described him, and the listener immediately recognised the portrait.

The whole scheme was clear to him now. There was no question of money at the bottom of this man's hostility towards him. Either the mulatto was lying when he had told him this, or, more probably, the other had given such a reason in order to conceal the real one. No. It was to rob him of Lilian that his would-be a.s.sa.s.sin was plotting. He was wise, indeed, to hire the bravo's steel in the shape of Sharkey--for he might have been sure that only death would part him from Lilian. Ralph Truscott, look to yourself now. It is no woman, weak in the very helplessness of her love, with whom you have to deal this time. You have, indeed, cause to meditate.

"He's gone to the front, has he?" continued Claverton. "Whereabouts?

Do you know?"

Annie Payne looked at him with a troubled air. She knew well her interlocutor's determination and daring, and she saw breakers ahead.

"But it will be all right now that you are back again," she ventured.

She greatly feared otherwise; still, one must hope for the best.

The dark look deepened over his features. He hardly seemed to hear her, but stood gazing through the open window.

"I must go," he exclaimed, suddenly. "Where is Lilian?" and with three strides he gained the other room. It was empty. "Ah, better so, perhaps," he muttered to himself. "Mrs Payne, tell her, with my love, that a very few days will see me back here again, and everything will come right then. Now I must not lose another moment. Good-bye, for a few days."

"What are you going to do?" was the reply, spoken in a tone of alarm.

"Wait. Don't be in such a hurry. You can't rush off at once. You must off-saddle if only for an hour. Anyhow, wait until George comes back.

Ah, there he is."

For at that moment George appeared, leading the runaway by the bridle.

The joint exertions of himself and his stable-boy had availed to catch the trespa.s.ser just in time to prevent his doing further damage.

Claverton was firm in his refusal. He had his own reasons for wishing to leave that house. Not even the smallest risk would he run of being tempted to forego the purpose he had in hand, for a single instant.

"Here's your critter, old chap," cried Payne, panting from the effects of his ran. "Je--rusalem! What a chevvy we had after the beggar--Eh?

What? Going away! Not to be thought of."

"But I am!" replied the other in a tone of settled resolve, as he prepared to fling the bridle over the animal's neck. "Shall be back again in four or five days. Hold on. Just walk a little way down the street with me."

They walked on. Payne's brow growing more and more serious as he listened. He had a great regard for this man, who had stepped in to his rescue twice at a very critical moment.

"My dear Claverton, be careful what you are about," he said, gravely.

"It's a devilish awkward business, and at any other time than during the war it would be impossible."

"Oh, I've served my apprenticeship in a good school for caution, never fear. But, you'll see me again in a few days or--you'll never see me at all."

Payne made no reply. Suddenly he looked up at a house they were pa.s.sing. It was a small house standing back from the street.

"By the way. We were awfully sorry to hear about that poor fellow Armitage," he said. "His wife is staying there."

"Staying there? In that house? Why, I thought she was in 'King.'"

"No. She came down here about a week ago--she only heard about the poor fellow the day before yesterday."

"Is she very much cut up?"

"Dreadfully, I'm told. She is staying with another friend of yours-- Mrs Hicks."

"Then she's in good hands. Look here, Payne. I'll go in for a moment and ask after her--poor little thing. And if I'm not out in five minutes, just take my horse round to Wood's and make them off-saddle him and give him a feed. It's all on my way and it'll save time. I'll join you there, if you don't mind waiting."

Quickly walking up the little gravel path bordered with orange-trees, and shaded with trellised vines, Claverton knocked gently at the door.

A subdued footstep in the silent pa.s.sage, and it was opened--by Laura.

She stared at him in amazement.