f that objectionable
type; for that she could be in that situation without coercion was not to
be believed. The reason for Henshaw's prolonged and rather puzzling stay
in the place was now accounted for. Moreover, to Gifford's bitter
reflection the whole business seemed clear enough. Henshaw had been
caught and fascinated by Edith Morriston's beauty, and being, as was
obvious, a man of energy and determination, was now in some subtle way
making use of the tragedy as a means of forcing his unwelcome attentions
on her. How otherwise could this astounding familiarity be arrived at?
Sick with disgust and indignation, Gifford turned away and retraced his
steps through the wood, dismissing, as likely to lead to a false
position, his first impulse to appear on the scene and stop, at any rate
for that day, Henshaw's designs. He felt that to act precipitately might
do less good than harm. He was, after all, on private ground there, and
had no right to intrude upon what in all likelihood Miss Morriston wished
to be a secluded interview. What course he would take in the future was
another matter, and one which demanded instant and serious consideration.
The right line to adopt was indeed a perplexing problem.

Gifford recalled Morriston's story of having met Henshaw hanging about
more or less mysteriously in the plantation, and the annoyance he had
expressed at the encounter. The reason was plain enough now. Of course
the man was waiting either to waylay Edith Morriston or to meet her by
appointment. It was not a pleasant reflection; since the fact showed that
these clandestine meetings had probably been going on for some days past.
That Henshaw's object was more or less disreputable could not be doubted,
and to Gifford the amazing and troubling part of it was that Edith
Morriston, the very last woman he would have suspected of consenting to
such a course, who had professed an absolute dislike and repugnance to
Henshaw, and fear of his annoying presence, should be meeting him thus
willingly. Had he not seen them with his own eyes he would have scoffed
at the idea as something inconceivable.

Now what was he to do? For it was clear that, justified or not as he
might be thought in interfering in matters which did not concern him,
something must be done. The one obvious course which it seemed he ought
to take was to give Richard Morriston a hint of what was on foot, if not
a stronger and more explicit statement. For that Morriston co