ly want to save you
from this crowning folly, and you need not be afraid of Copley. He is
powerless to do you any mischief. Of course, you will still owe the
money to somebody, but ere the law can make up its mind who is your
creditor, if we have any luck at Epsom, you will be independent of all
your creditors. Nobody need know of this. You may rest assured that not
a word of it will ever pass my lips, and not even May shall be told."

"I am afraid she knows already," Sir George rejoined. "It is useless, my
dear boy, for me to combat your statements farther. I thought I was an
honest English gentleman, and now I find that at a turn of the screw I
am only a pitiful scoundrel. I fear that May has found out all about it.
I was anxious she should marry Copley, for salvation seemed to lie that
way, and I was under great obligations to the man. I was so annoyed with
May that I said more than I should have done; indeed, I lost my temper
and, in the heat of the moment, told her that if she did not obey me in
this matter she was no longer a daughter of mine. Of course, I did not
mean it."

Fielden walked to the window and back before he ventured on a reply. Hot
words hovered on his lips and anger filled his heart, but he tried to
speak calmly.

"That, to say the least of it, was indiscreet," he said. "If I know May,
and I think I do, she is the last girl in the world to put up with
treatment like that."

"She didn't put up with it," Sir George confessed miserably. "She has
gone, taking with her nothing but her mother's jewels which she intends
to turn into money. In her letter to me she refuses to say where she is.
She says she is going to get her own living and will never come back to
Haredale. She must know what took place between Copley and me last
night, for she alludes to something she overheard in the library. I
wonder if you can help me?"

Fielden groaned aloud. He had not expected a bitter disappointment like
this. He was anxious to avoid scandal. Of course, the public would have
to hear the strange story which, like a romance, clothed the Blenheim
colt. But there was nothing in that to be ashamed of, nothing which
would reflect on the honour either of Sir George or himself. Nor would
the vast army of race-goers suffer. But the disappearance of May had
altered all that. People would ask questions and neighbours were sure to
talk. For the moment it seemed as if Fielden's efforts had been wasted,
then an inspiration