opportunity to win her to
his cause, to asphyxiate her high senses, her quixotic justice, by that
old flood of eloquence and compelling persuasion of the emotions with
which he had swept her to the altar--an altar of sacrifice. He had
not even done what he had left London to do--make sure of her, by an
alluring flattery and devotion, no difficult duty with one so beautiful
and desirable; though neither love of beauty nor great desire was strong
enough in him to divert him from his course for an hour, save by his own
initiative. His mother's letter had changed it all. A few hours before
he had had a struggle with Soolsby, and now another struggle on the
same theme was here. Fate had dealt illy with him, who had ever been its
spoiled child and favourite. He had not learned yet the arts of defence
against adversity.

"Luke Claridge is dead," he answered sharply. "But you will tell--him,
you will write to Egypt and tell your brother?" she said, the conviction
slowly coming to her that he would not.

"It is not my duty to displace myself, to furnish evidence against
myself--"

"You have destroyed the evidence," she intervened, a little scornfully.

"If there were no more than that--" He shrugged his shoulders
impatiently.

"Do you know there is more?" she asked searchingly. "In whose interests
are you speaking?" he rejoined, with a sneer. A sudden fury possessed
him. Claridge Pasha--she was thinking of him!

"In yours--your conscience, your honour."

"There is over thirty years' possession on my side," he rejoined.

"It is not as if it were going from your family," she argued.

"Family--what is he to me!"

"What is any one to you?" she returned bitterly.

"I am not going to unravel a mystery in order to facilitate the cutting
of my own throat."

"It might be worth while to do something once for another's sake than
your own--it would break the monotony," she retorted, all her sense
tortured by his words, and even more so by his manner.

Long ago Faith had said in Soolsby's but that he "blandished" all with
whom he came in contact; but Hylda realised with a lacerated heart that
he had ceased to blandish her. Possession had altered that. Yet how had
he vowed to her in those sweet tempestuous days of his courtship when
the wind of his passion blew so hard! Had one of the vows been kept?

Even as she looked at him now, words she had read some days before
flashed through her mind--they had burnt themselves into he