ended. Now that you have estranged me from my father and
my lover, I shall confess--confess all--before I make an end of my
life."

He saw from her pale, drawn face that she was desperate. He grew afraid.

"But, my dear girl, think--of what you are saying! You don't mean it;
you can't mean it. Your father has relented, and will welcome you back,
if only you will consent to return."

"I have no wish to be regarded as the prodigal daughter," was her proud
response.

"Not for Walter Murie's sake?" asked the crafty man. "I have seen him. I
was at the club with him last night, and we had a chat about you. He
loves you very dearly. Ah! you do not know how he is suffering."

She was silent, and he recognised in an instant that his words had
touched the sympathetic chord in her heart.

"He is not suffering any greater grief than I am," she said in a low,
mechanical voice, her brow heavily clouded.

"Of course I can quite understand that," he remarked sympathetically.
"Walter is a good fellow, and--well, it is indeed sad that matters
should be as they are. He is entirely devoted to you, Gabrielle."

"Not more so than I am to him," declared the girl quite frankly.

"Then why did you write breaking off your engagement?"

"He told you that?" she exclaimed in surprise.

The truth was that Murie had told Flockart nothing. He had not even seen
him. It was only a wild guess on Flockart's part.

"Tell me," she urged anxiously, "what did he say concerning myself?"

Flockart hesitated. His mind was instantly active in the concoction of a
story.

"Oh, well--he expressed the most profound regret for all that had
occurred at Glencardine, and is, of course, utterly puzzled. It appears
that just before Christmas he went home to Connachan and visited your
father several times. From him, I suppose, he heard how you had been
discovered."

"You told him nothing?"

"I told him nothing," declared Flockart--which was a fact.

"Did he express a wish to see me?" she inquired.

"Of course he did. Is he not over head and ears in love with you? He
believes you have treated him cruelly."

"I--I know I have, Mr. Flockart," she admitted. "But I acted as any girl
of honour would have done. I was compelled to take upon myself a great
disgrace, and on doing so I released him from his promise to me."

"Most honourable!" the man declared with a pretence of admiration, yet
underlying it all was a craftiness that surely was unsurpassed. That