went to the library and opened the safe. Do you deny that?"

"What you allege, Gabrielle, is perfectly correct," he replied. "I know
that I was a blackguard to shield myself behind you--to tell the lie I
did that night. But how could I avoid it?"

"Suppose I had, in retaliation, spoken the truth?" she asked, looking
the man straight in the face.

"Ah! I knew that you would not do that."

"You believe that I dare not--dare not for my own sake, eh?"

He nodded in the affirmative.

"Then you are much mistaken, Mr. Flockart," she said in a hard voice.
"You don't understand that a woman may become desperate."

"I can understand how desperate you have become, living in this 'Sleepy
Hollow.' A week of it would, I admit, drive me to distraction."

"Then if you understand my present position you will know that I am
fearless of you, or of anybody else. My life has ended. I have neither
happiness, comfort, peace of mind, nor love. All is of the past. To
you--you, James Flockart--I am indebted for all this! You have held me
powerless. I was a happy girl once, but you and your dastardly friends
crossed my path like an evil shadow, and I have existed in an inferno of
remorse ever since. I----"

"Remorse! How absurdly you talk!"

"It will not be absurd when I speak the truth and tell the world what I
know. It will be rather a serious matter for you, Mr. Flockart."

"You threaten me, then?" he asked, his eyes flashing for a second.

"I think it is as well for us to understand one another at once," she
said frankly.

They had halted upon a small bridge close to the entrance to Apethorpe
village.

"Then I'm to understand that you refuse my proffered assistance?" he
asked.

"I require no assistance from my enemies," was her defiant and dignified
reply. "I suppose Lady Heyburn is at the villa at San Remo as usual, and
that it was she who sent you to me, because she recognises that you've
both gone a little too far. You have. When the opportunity arises, then
I shall speak, regardless of the consequences. Therefore, Mr. Flockart,
I wish you good-evening;" and she turned away.

"No, Gabrielle," he cried, resolutely barring her path. "You must hear
me. You don't grasp the point of my argument."

"With me none of your arguments are of any avail," was her response in a
bitter tone. "I, alas! have reason to know you too well. For you--by
your clever intrigue--I committed a crime; but God knows I am innocent
of what was int