told him nothing," was her bold reply. "Not because I wished to
shield you, but because I did not wish to pain him unduly. He has
worries sufficient, in all conscience."

"Your devotion is really most charming," the man declared calmly,
leaning against the table and examining her critically from head to
foot. "Sir Henry believes in you. You are his dutiful daughter--pure,
good, and all that!" he sneered. "I wonder what he would say if
he--well, if he knew just a little of the truth, of what happened that
day at Chantilly?"

"The truth! Ah, and you would tell him--you!" she gasped in a broken
voice, her sweet, innocent face blanched to the lips in an instant. "You
would drag my good name into the mire, and blast my life for ever with
just as little compunction as you would shoot a rabbit. I know--I know
you only too well, Mr. Flockart! I stand in your way; I am in your way
as well as in Lady Heyburn's. You are only awaiting an opportunity to
wreck my life and crush me! Once I am away from here, my poor father
will be helpless in your hands!"

"Dear me," he sneered, "how very tragic you are becoming! That
dressing-gown really makes you appear quite like a heroine of provincial
melodrama. I ought now to have a revolver and threaten you, and then
this scene would be complete for the stage--wouldn't it? But for
goodness' sake don't remain here in the cold any longer, my dear little
girl. Run off to bed, and forget that to-night you've been walking in
your sleep."

"Not until I see that safe relocked and you give me the false key of
yours. If you will not, then you shall this very night have an
opportunity of telling the truth to my father. I am prepared to bear my
shame and all its consequences----"

The words froze upon her pale lips. On the lawn outside the half-open
glass door there was at that moment a light movement--the tapping of a
walking-stick!

"Hush!" cried Flockart. "Remember what I can tell him--if I choose!"

In an instant she saw the fragile figure of her father, in soft felt-hat
and black coat, creeping almost noiselessly past the window. He had been
out for one of his nocturnal walks, for he sometimes went out alone when
suffering from insomnia. He had just returned.

The blind man went forward only a few paces farther; but, finding that
he had proceeded too far, he returned and discovered the open door. Near
it stood the pair, not daring now to move lest the blind man's quick
ears should detect th