; but your conduct of to-day, and
the wily manner in which you have sought to accuse me of being
implicated in this unfortunate mystery connected with my unhappy cousin,
have made me regret my forbearance. Be warned in time, cease to
persecute me about this matter, or--wretched woman that you are--I shall
certainly make it my business to investigate the entire matter, and
bring you to justice!"

He speaks with such an air of truth, of thorough belief in her guilt,
that Dora is dazed, bewildered, and, falling back from him, covers her
face with her hands. The fear of publicity, of having her late intrigue
brought into the glare of day, fills her with consternation. And then,
what will she gain by it? Nothing; she has no evidence on which to
convict this man; all is mere supposition. She bitterly feels the
weakness of her position, and her inability to follow up her accusation.

"Ah, how like a guilty creature you stand there!" exclaims Dynecourt,
regarding her bowed and trembling figure. "I see plainly that this must
be looked into. Miserable woman! If you know aught of my cousin, you had
better declare it now."

"Traitor!" cries Dora, raising her pale face and looking at him with
horror and defiance. "You triumph now, because, as yet, I have no
evidence to support my belief, but"--she hesitates.

"Ah, brazen it out to the last!" says Dynecourt insolently. "Defy me
while you can. To-day I shall set the blood-hounds of the law upon your
track, so beware--beware!"

"You refuse to tell me anything?" exclaims Dora, ignoring his words, and
treating them as though they are unheard. "So much the worse for you."

She turns from him, and leaves the room as she finishes speaking; but,
though her words have been defiant there is no kindred feeling in her
heart to bear her up.

When the door closes between them, the flush dies out of her face, and
she looks even more wan and hopeless than she did before seeking his
presence. She can not deny to herself that her mission has been a
failure. He has openly scoffed at her threats, and she is aware that she
has not a shred of actual evidence wherewith to support her suspicion;
the bravado with which he has sought to turn the tables upon herself
both frightens and disheartens her, and now she confesses to herself
that she knows not where to turn for counsel.

CHAPTER X.

In the meantime the daylight dwindles, and twilight descends. Even that
too departs, and now darkness