s no fear
of her breaking down now. The fact of her father siding so entirely
with her cast-off lover was as a tonic. It hardened and braced her.

"Certainly I do. He gave you the right answer, and on your own showing
you insulted him--taking advantage of being a woman--several times over,
for the fun of a squalid rabble that I am fool enough to allow to come
and disport themselves on my property; but I'll have them all cleared
off tomorrow. Coward, indeed! Lamont a coward! No--no. That won't
do. I know men too well for that."

"Then he was a brute instead," retorted Violet, lashing herself into
additional anger, as a dismal misgiving assailed her that she might have
made a hideous and lifelong error of judgment. "A coldblooded,
calculating brute, and that's just as bad."

"I don't fancy you'll get many to agree with you as to the last, my
dear. Any man would rather be a brute than a coward," said the Squire
sneeringly. "And every man is a brute in the eyes of a woman if he
doesn't lie down flat and let her waltz over him, or fetch and carry,
and cringe like a well-trained water-spaniel. Well, that's neither here
nor there. You've been engaged to a strong, level-headed, sensible
man--one of the most sensible I've ever known--and you've publicly
insulted him and thrown him over for no adequate cause whatever, I
suppose if ever I see him again I shall have to apologise to him for the
way he's been treated."

Violet could hardly contain herself throughout this peroration.

"Apologise to him?" she flashed. "Good Heavens! if the man went down on
his knees to me, after what has happened, I wouldn't look at him."

"Well, you're not likely to get the chance. Lamont is no such imbecile
as to embark on any silliness of that kind. You've had such a chance as
you'll never get again, and you'll live to regret it, mark me."

The girl went from her father's presence in a whirlwind of passion,
but--it was mixed. Inwardly she raged against him for not sympathising
with--not applauding her action. He had thrown another light upon the
matter; hard, cynical, even brutal, but--still another light. And the
sting lay in his last words. She would live to regret it, he had said.
Why, she regretted it already.

CHAPTER ONE.

THE MOPANI FOREST.

The man could hardly drag one step behind the other. He could hardly
drag by the bridle the tottering horse, of which the same held good.

His brain was giddy and his