nless. He spoke to her, and his cold,
precise tone betrayed not the slightest sign of any emotion.

"Aynesworth," he remarked, "is going to tell you some interesting facts
about myself. Please listen attentively as afterwards you will be called
upon to make a somewhat important decision."

She looked at him a little wistfully and sighed. There was no trace
any longer of her companion of the last few weeks. It was the stern and
gloomy stranger of her earlier recollections who sat there with folded
arms.

"Is it really necessary?" she asked.

"Absolutely," Aynesworth answered hurriedly. "It won't take long, but
there are things which you must know."

"Very well," she answered, "I am listening."

Aynesworth inclined his head towards the place where Wingrave sat.

"I will admit," he said, "that the man there, whom I have served for the
last four years and more, never deceived me as to his real character and
intentions. He had been badly treated by a woman, and he told me plainly
that he entered into life again at war with his fellows. Where he could
see an opportunity of doing evil, he meant to do it; where he could
bring misery and suffering upon anyone with whom he came into contact,
he meant to grasp the opportunity. I listened to him, but I never
believed. I told myself that it would be interesting to watch his life,
and to see the gradual, inevitable humanizing of the man. So I entered
his service, and have remained in it until today."

He turned more directly towards Juliet. She was listening breathlessly
to every word.

"Juliet," he said, "he has kept his word. I have been by his side, and
I speak of the things I know. He has sought no one's friendship who has
not suffered for it, there is not a man or woman living who owes him the
acknowledgment of a single act of kindness. I have seen him deliberately
scheme to bring about the ruin of a harmless little woman. I have seen
him exact his pound of flesh, even at the cost of ruin, from a boy. I
tell you, Juliet, of my own knowledge, that he has neither heart nor
conscience, and that he glories in the evil that his hand finds to do.
Even you must know something of his reputation--have heard something of
his doings, under the name he is best known by in London--Mr. Wingrave,
millionaire."

She started back as though in terror. Then she turned to Wingrave, who
sat stonily silent.

"It isn't true," she cried. "You are not--that man?"

He raised his eyes and l