dress is quite clear; the time the telegram was
delivered is quite clear, too; and by the side of my father's body I
found the telegram, which could only have been dropped there by the
party to whom it was addressed. So that party knew that my father was
dead, and that party made no alarm. Why?"

"Why," Richford stammered. "Why, because,--well, you see it is quite
possible to explain----"

"It is not," Beatrice cried. "The telegram is addressed to _you_. It was
you who called on my father; you who found him dead. And in your
agitation you dropped that message. Then you grasped the fact that if
the marriage was postponed it would never take place, that I was in a
position to defy you. You locked my father's door; you said nothing; you
made up your mind to let the ceremony go on. That accounts for your
agitation, for the fact that you have been drinking. Cowardly scoundrel,
what have you to say to this!"

"What are you going to do?" Richford asked sullenly.

"Unless you release me here and now," Beatrice cried, "I swear by Heaven
that I am going to _tell the truth_!"

[Illustration: "Richford stood there shaking and quivering with
passion." _Page 49._]

CHAPTER VII

Richford stood there shaking and quivering with passion, and yet not
free from the vague terror that Beatrice had noticed all along. Beatrice
could not repress a shudder as she looked at that evil, scowling face.
To be with that man always, to share his home and his company, seemed to
her a most impossible thing. She had lost her father; the future was
black and hopeless before her, but she felt a strength and courage now,
that she had been a stranger to for a long time. There was hope, too,
which is a fine thing when allied with youth and vitality.

She need not live with this man; she had every excuse for not doing so.
Beatrice cared very little, for the moment, whether she was married or
not. It might possibly be that in the eyes of the law she was this man's
wife; the law might compel her to share his home. But now Beatrice had a
weapon in her hand and she knew how to use it.

"Give me that telegram," Richford said hoarsely. "Hand it over to me at
once."

He advanced in a manner that was distinctly threatening. Certainly he
would not have stopped at violence if violence would serve his end. But
Beatrice was not afraid.

"I shall do nothing of the kind," she said. "You may as well strike me
as look at me like that. If you use vio