Its cause--the countenance of him
standing _vis-a-vis_. A change in their relative positions has brought
his face full under the moonlight. He is _not_ the man she intended
meeting!

Who he really is can be gathered from his rejoinder:--

"You are mistaken, Miss Armstrong. My name is not Charles, but Richard.
I am _Richard Darke_."

CHAPTER TWELVE.

THE WRONG MAN.

Richard Darke instead of Charles Clancy!

Disappointment were far too weak a word to express the pang that shoots
through the heart of Helen Armstrong, on discovering the mistake she has
made. It is bitter vexation, commingled with a sense of shame. I or
her speeches, in feigned reproach, have terribly compromised her.

She does not drop to the earth, nor show any sign of it. She is not a
woman of the weak fainting sort. No cry comes from her lips--nothing to
betray surprise, or even the most ordinary emotion.

As Darke stands before her with arms upraised, she simply says,--

"Well, sir; if you _are_ Richard Darke, what then? Your being so
matters not to me; and certainly gives you no right thus to intrude upon
me. I wish to be alone, and must beg of you to leave me so."

The cool firm tone causes him to quail. He had hoped that the surprise
of his unexpected appearance--coupled with his knowledge of her
clandestine appointment--would do something to subdue, perhaps make her
submissive.

On the contrary, the thought of the last but stings her to resentment,
as he soon perceives.

His raised arms drop down, and he is about to step aside, leaving her
free to pass. Though not before making an attempt to justify himself;
instinct supplying a reason, with hope appended. He does so, saying,--

"If I've intruded, Miss Armstrong, permit me to apologise for it. I
assure you it's been altogether an accident. Having heard you are about
to leave the neighbourhood--indeed, that you start to-morrow morning--I
was on the way to your father's house to say farewell. I'm sorry my
coming along here, and chancing to meet you, should lay me open to the
charge of intrusion. I shall still more regret, if my presence has
spoiled any plans, or interfered with an appointment. Some one else
expected, I presume?"

For a time she is silent--abashed, while angered, by the impudent
interrogatory.

Recovering herself, she rejoins,--

"Even were it as you say, sir, by what authority do you question me?
I've said I wish to be alone."

"Oh, if tha