ew one day at Chippenham market that he never
came down again, and sold the place soon after. I don't suppose the
gentry ever heard anything about it. If they had, Lady Greendale
would surely never let her daughter marry him."

"No, I feel sure she would not; but still, George, I don't see that
I can possibly interfere in the matter. The story is three years
old now, and even if it had only happened yesterday, I, after what
has occurred between us, could not come forward as his accuser. It
would have the appearance of spite on my side; and besides, I have
no proof whatever. He would, of course, deny the whole thing. I do
not mean that he would deny that she said so--he could not do
that--but he might declare that she had spoken falsely, and might
even say that it was an attempt to put another's sin on his
shoulders. Moreover, as I told you, I have other reasons for
disliking the man, and, on the face of it, it would seem that I had
raked up this old story against him, not only from jealousy, but
from personal malice.

"No, it is out of the question that I should interfere. I would
give everything that I am worth to be able to do so, but it is
impossible. If I had full and unquestionable proofs I would go to
Lady Greendale and lay the matter before her. But I have no such
proofs. There is nothing whatever except that poor girl's word
against his."

George's lips closed, and an expression of grim determination came
over his face.

"I dare say you are right, Major," he said, after a pause; "but it
seems to me hard that Miss Greendale should be sacrificed to a man
like that."

Frank did not reply. He had already thought the matter over and
over again, and had reached the opinion that he could not
interfere. If he had not himself proposed to her, and been refused,
he might have moved. Up to that time he had stood in the position
of an old friend of the family, and as such could well have spoken
to Lady Greendale on a matter that so vitally concerned Bertha's
happiness. Now his taking that step would have the appearance of
being the interference of a disappointed rival, rather than of a
disinterested friend. He went up on deck, sat there for a time, and
at last arrived at a conclusion.

"It is my duty. There can be no doubt about that," he said to
himself. "If Bertha really loves Carthew, she will believe his
denial rather than my accusation, unsupported as it is by a scrap
of real evidence. In that case, she will p