y Vanderpoel, holding her whip in a clenched
hand and showing to his eagerness such hunted face and eyes as were
barely human. He caught her unsteadiness to support it, and felt her
fingers clutch at the tweed of his coatsleeve and move there as if the
mere feeling of its rough texture brought heavenly comfort to her and
gave her strength.

"Yes, they are lies, Lord Mount Dunstan," she panted. "He said that he
meant to get what he called 'even' with me. He told me I could not get
away from him and that no one would hear me if I cried out for help. I
have hidden like some hunted animal." Her shaking voice broke, and she
held the cloth of his sleeve tightly. "You are alive--alive!" with a
sudden sweet wildness. "But it is true the bell tolled! While I was
crouching in the dark I called to you--who died to-day--to stand between
us!"

The man absolutely shuddered from head to foot.

"I was alive, and you see I heard you and came," he answered hoarsely.

He lifted her in his arms and carried her into the cottage. Her cheek
felt the enrapturing roughness of his tweed shoulder as he did it. He
laid her down on the couch of hay and turned away.

"Don't move," he said. "I will come back. You are safe."

If there had been more light she would have seen that his jaw was set
like a bulldog's, and there was a red spark in his eyes--a fearsome one.
But though she did not clearly see, she KNEW, and the nearness of the
last hours swept away all relenting.

Nigel Anstruthers having discreetly waited until the two had passed into
the house, and feeling that a man would be an idiot who did not remove
himself from an atmosphere so highly charged, was making his way toward
the lane and was, indeed, halfway through the gate when heavy feet were
behind him and a grip of ugly strength wrenched him backward.

"Your horse is cropping the grass where you left him, but you are not
going to him," said a singularly meaning voice. "You are coming with
me."

Anstruthers endeavoured to convince himself that he did not at that
moment turn deadly sick and that the brute would not make an ass of
himself.

"Don't be a bally fool!" he cried out, trying to tear himself free.

The muscular hand on his shoulder being reinforced by another, which
clutched his collar, dragged him back, stumbling ignominiously through
the gooseberry bushes towards the cart-shed. Betty lying upon her bed of
hay heard the scuffling, mingled with raging and gasping curs