l not stay another day in Chetwynde Castle. Go!
or I will order the servants to put you out."

"There will be no occasion for that," said Gualtier, coolly. "I am
going to leave you this very night to join Lord Chetwynde."

"It is too late now; your valuable services are no longer needed,"
said Hilda, with a sneer. "You may spare yourself the trouble of such
a journey. Let me know what is due you, and I will pay it."

"You will pay me only one thing, and that is _yourself_," said
Gualtier. "If you do not choose to pay _that_ price you must take the
consequences. I am going to join Lord Chetwynde, whether you wish me
to or not. But, remember this!"--and Gualtier's voice grew menacing
in its intonations--"remember this; it depends upon you in what
capacity I am to join him. You are the one who must say whether I
shall go to him as his enemy or his friend. If I go as his enemy,
you know what will happen; if I go as his friend, it is you who must
fall. Now, Lady Chetwynde, do you understand me?"

As Gualtier said this there was a deep meaning in his words which
Hilda could not fail to understand, and there was at the same time
such firmness and solemn decision that she felt that he would
certainly do as he said. She saw at once the peril that lay before
her. An alternative was offered: the one was, to come to terms with
him; the other, to accept utter and hopeless ruin. That ruin, too,
which he menaced was no common one. It was one which placed her under
the grasp of the law, and from which no foreign land could shelter
her. All her prospects, her plans, her hopes, were in that instant
dashed away from before her; and she realized now, to the fullest
extent, the frightful truth that she was indeed completely in the
power of this man. The discovery of this acted on her like a shock,
which sobered her and drove away her passion.

She said nothing in reply, but sat down in silence, and remained a
long time without speaking. Gualtier, on his part, saw the effect of
his last words, but he made no effort to interrupt her thoughts. He
could not yet tell what she in her desperation might decide; he could
only wait for her answer. He stood waiting patiently.

At last Hilda spoke:

"You've told me bitter truths--but they are truths. Unfortunately, I
am in your power. If you choose to coerce me I must yield, for I am
not yet ready to accept ruin."

"You promise then?"

"Since I must--I do."

"Thank you," said Gualtier; "an