utterly destitute of fear?"

"Yes," said Hilda.

"I don't believe it," said Gualtier, rudely.

"That is because you think I have no alternative," said Hilda; "it is
a mistake into which a base and cowardly nature might naturally
fall."

"You have no alternative," said Gualtier. "It's impossible."

"I have," said Hilda, calmly.

"What?"

She whispered one word. It struck upon Gualtier's ear with fearful
emphasis. It was the same word which she had once whispered to him in
the park at Chetwynde. He recoiled with horror. A shudder passed
through him. Hilda looked at him with calm and unchanged contempt.

"You dare not," he cried.

"Dare not?" she repeated. "What I dare administer to others I dare
administer to myself. Go and perform your threats! Go with your
information--go and let loose the authorities upon me! Go! Haste!
Go--and see--see how quickly and how completely I will elude your
grasp! As for you--your power is gone. You made one effort to exert
it, and succeeded for the moment. But that has passed away.
Never--never more can any threats of yours move me in the slightest.
You know that I am resolute. Whether you believe that I am resolute
about this matter or not makes no difference whatever to me. You are
to go from this place at once--away from this place, and this town.
That is my mandate. I am going to stay; and, since you have refused
your assistance, I will do without it henceforth."

At these words Gualtier's face grew pale with rage and despair. He
knew well Hilda's resolute character. That her last determination
would be carried out he could scarcely doubt. Yet still his rage and
his pride burst forth.

"Hilda Krieff," said he, for the first time discarding the pretense
of respect and the false title by which he had so long addressed her,
"do you not know who you are? What right have you to order me away,
and stay here yourself--you with the Earl of Chetwynde--you, an
unmarried girl? Answer me that, Hilda Krieff."

"What right?" said Hilda, as loftily as before, utterly unmoved by
this utterance of her true name. "What right? The right of one who
comes in love to save the object of her love. That is all. By that
right I dismiss you. I drive you away, and stand myself by his
bedside."

"You are very bold and very reckless," said he, with his white face
turned toward her, half in rage, half in despair. "You are flinging
yourself into a position which it will be impossible for you to hold