I had arranged to catch the afternoon train
to London, and then motor to the camp in time for duty.

About eleven o'clock I saw Lorna Bolivick leave the house and make her
way towards a rosery which had been made some little distance away.

'Lorna,' I said, 'I have to leave directly after lunch; you don't mind
my inflicting myself on you, do you?'

She looked at me with a wan smile.

'It's splendid about Maurice St. Mabyn, isn't it?'

'It's wonderful,' she replied, but there was no enthusiasm in her tones.

There was a silence between us for some seconds, then I said awkwardly,
'His--his--coming was a wonderful vindication of my friend, wasn't it?'

'Did he need any vindication?' she asked.

'I imagined you thought so last night--forgive me,' I replied, angry
with myself for having blurted out the words.

I saw the colour mount to her cheeks, and I thought her eyes flashed
anger.

'It might seem as though everything had been pre-arranged,' I went on,
'but I'm sure he could not help himself. Never did a man love a woman
more than Edgecumbe--that is Jack Carbis, loves you. He felt it to be
his duty to you to expose Springfield. He knew all along that he was
an evil fellow.'

She did not speak, and again I went on almost in spite of myself.

'I have thought a good deal about what you said. Surely you never
thought of marrying him?'

'Yes, I did.'

'Because you loved him?'

She shook her head. 'No, I never loved him,' she replied quickly,
angrily. 'The very thought of----' she stopped suddenly, and was
silent for a few seconds; and then went on, 'I cannot tell you. It
would----; no, I cannot tell you.'

'I know it's no business of mine,' I continued,' and yet it is. No man
had a better friend than Jack, and--and--owing to the peculiar way we
were brought together perhaps, no man ever felt a deeper interest in
another man than I feel in him. That is why----; I say, Lorna, I'm
afraid he'd be mad with me for telling you, but--but--he'd give the
world to marry you.'

'I shall never marry him,' and her words were like a cry of despair.

'But--but----'

'I shall never marry him,' she repeated, still in the same tones.

At that moment we heard Sir Thomas Bolivick's voice, and turning, saw
him coming towards us with a look of horror on his face.

'I say, this is ghastly,' he said.

'What is it, dad?' asked Lorna anxiously.

'It's terrible, simply terrible,--and yet--you see--Maurice St. Mabyn