aye
heiress--and least of all Rupert Landale.

And this, though the scoundrel had been thoroughly shown up; though he
had started upon his illegal venture and was gone, never to return if
he valued his neck, after murdering four officers of the crown and
sinking a king's vessel; though he had carried away with him (ah!
there was consolation in that excellent jest which had so far
developed into Sir Adrian's wild goose chase to France and might still
hold some delicate denouement), had carried with him no less a person
than Lady Landale herself (the fellow had good taste, and either of
the sisters was a dainty morsel), he still left the baneful trail of
his influence behind him upon the girl he had deluded and beguiled!

Rupert Landale, who, for motives of his own had pleased himself by
hunting down Madeleine's lover, had felt, in the keenness of his
blood-hound work, something of the blood-hound instinct of destruction
and ferocity spring up within him before he had even set eyes on his
quarry. And the day they had stood face to face this instinctive
hatred had been intensified by some singular natural antagonism. Added
to this there was now personal injury and the prey was out of reach.
Impotence for revenge burned into the soul of him like a corrosive
poison. Oh, let him but come within his grip again and he should not
escape so easily.

Sits the wind still in that quarter?

The burthen droned in his head, angry conclusion to each long spell of
inconclusive thought, as he still paced the garden, till the noon hour
began to wane. And it was in this mood, that, at length, returning to
his study, he crossed in one of the back passages a young woman
enveloped in a brilliant scarlet and black shawl, who started in
evident dismay on being confronted with him.

Rupert knew by sight and name every wench of kitchen and laundry, as
well as every one of the buxom lasses or dames whom business brought
periodically to the great hall. That this person was neither of the
household nor one of the usual back-door visitors, he would have seen
at a glance, even had not her own embarrassment drawn his closer
attention. He looked keenly and recognised the gatekeeper's daughter
Moggie.

Having married Sir Adrian's servant and withdrawn to take up her abode
in the camp of the enemy, so to speak, she was not one whom Mr.
Landale would have regarded with favour in any case; but now,
concentrating his thoughts from their aimless whirl