Beatrice stared. At Vivian's grey drawn face, bereft of youth, and at Durban's savage green countenance, she looked spell-bound. A pause ensued. Beatrice did not know what to make of the men: Paslow's averted looks, and worn paleness; Durban's curse for Lady Watson. Would the fact that she did not inherit the money account for such emotions? She thought not, and so requested information.

"What is it?" she asked, looking from one to the other; but she looked longest at Vivian.

"You have heard, missy," said Durban, recovering himself somewhat. "We have lost the money."

"I can bear that, if I lose nothing else," said Beatrice, her eyes still on Paslow's grey face.

"But that she should get it!" cried Durban, shaking impotent fists in the air, "after all she has done. And I can do nothing to force her to be fair. Who would have thought the foul old thief would have squandered his gold on her silly face? I could----" Here he caught sight of the frightened looks of Beatrice, and let his hands fall. As he walked past Vivian towards the kitchen, he breathed a sentence in the young man's ear. "She may know much," said Durban imperatively, "but not all."

"Great Heaven! Could I tell her all, do you think?" groaned the man.

Beatrice caught the drift, if not the exact words of these whispers, and came towards Vivian. Durban was already within the kitchen, and had shut the door. The two were alone--she eager to know the worst; he silent, and tortured with much that he could not explain. "Vivian, Vivian," she continued, and laid her hand on his arm. He shook it off with a shudder. "My dear!" said Beatrice, shrinking back; "oh! my dear," and she stared with fast-locked hands.

"Not that," whispered the man, with dry lips. "You might have called me so when we stood under the Witches' Oak, but now"--he made a despairing gesture--"that is all at an end."

"Do you take back your proposal of marriage?" asked the girl, colouring.

"I do, because I must." Vivian looked at her hungrily, as though he would have given his life to take her in his arms--as was, indeed, the case. "If I did not love you so much," he said hoarsely, "I would lie; but loving you as I do, I must speak the truth."

"The whole of it?" she asked bitterly.

"So much as I may tell Miss Hedge."

"Miss Hedge?"

"I have no right to call you otherwise now," said Paslow sadly. "I told you of a bar which prevented my asking you to be my wife?"

"Yes; and you said that it had been removed."

"I was wrong. It is not removed. I had no right to speak."

"What is this bar?"

"I cannot tell you, Beatrice." He caught suddenly at her hands. "If I could lie down and die at your dear feet, I would, for my heart is sick within me. I have sinned, and bitterly I am paying for my sin. When I spoke to you under the oak, I was then able to be your true lover, and hoped to be your loving husband. But now"--he flung away her hands--"that barrier which I thought removed, is still between us. I am not a free agent. I dare not ask you to be my wife."

"But you have asked me, and I have consented," she panted, red with shame and anger. "Why are you playing with me like this?"

"Why are the gods playing with both of us, you mean," he said, with a mirthless laugh. "Were you and I on the other side of the world, we might be happy--and yet, even then it would be impossible. I love you, but you have every right to hate me."

"I don't understand one word you are talking about," said Beatrice sharply, and tried to resolve some sense out of his wild words. "Is it that you committed this crime?"

"I!" He started back amazed. "Beatrice, I may be bad, but I am not so evil as that. I hated Alpenny, and had every reason to hate him, but I never laid a finger on the poor wretch. I did not kill him myself, nor can I tell you who killed him. Ah," he went on, half to himself, "Durban said something of this--about the key of the small gate--but he explained."

"Is what he said true?"

"Perfectly true. I am innocent. It is not the murder that is a bar to divide us. I could face that out; but there are other things which prevent my being a free agent."

"Have you a master, then?"

"I have those about me who know too much," said Vivian fiercely, "and if anything would make me stain my hands with blood, it would be the knowledge that I am the sport of thieves and vagabonds. How it will all end I do not know--for me, that is. But for you, my best and dearest"--he made a step forward, but she evaded him.--"for you, I know the end. You must come to Convent Grange and----"

"Go to the Grange, after what you have said?" she flamed out.

"I shall not trouble you. I shall go to town. You can stay with Dinah and with Mrs. Lilly for a time. Then Durban and I will see if we cannot get you some money from Mrs.--that is, from Lady Watson."

"Why should she give it to me?" asked Beatrice, shrugging.

"Because"--he began, then ended abruptly--"I cannot tell you."

"Vivian"--Beatrice moved swiftly forward and laid a firm hand on his shoulder--"I do not understand all this. Mr. Alpenny, poor wretch, hinted at crimes on your part."

"Do you believe him?" asked Vivian, turning his haggard young face towards her.

"No," she said firmly. "I love you too well for that."

"God bless you!" A tear dropped on the hand, which he kissed.

She drew it away. "But you are not open with me; you are not honest with me. If you have troubles, I have a right to share them. Tell me of this barrier."

"No," said Vivian firmly. "I cannot. I dare not. All I can say is that the barrier may be removed in time. Only trust me."

"Has the barrier to do with this crime?"

"In some ways."

"And with the death of Colonel Hall?"

"What do you know of that?" asked Paslow, amazed.

"Very little; but Mrs. Snow hinted----"

"That woman! She'll make mischief if she can. Don't trust her. She hates you, Beatrice."

"Why should she? I hardly know her."

"But she knows you--that is, she knows of you. To explain what it all means would be to tell you much that I would rather you did not know--that you must never know."

"I am not a child----"

"You are the woman I love, and therefore I shall not allow your mind to be tainted with--with--with what I could tell you," he ended rather weakly.

Beatrice reflected for a few minutes. Apparently Vivian was in some trouble connected with other people; possibly--as she guessed--with those scoundrels who surrounded Alpenny, and of whom Durban had talked. For some reason, which she could not guess, he was trying to keep from her things which were vile and evil. She could not think how a young country squire could be involved in Alpenny's rogueries--which it seemed he was. And then his--but she gave up trying to solve the problem on such evidence as was before her. It only remained that she should use her own eyes, her own intelligence, and maybe, sooner or later, she would arrive at an understanding of things. Then, perhaps, she would be enabled to remove this barrier which stood between them. Strange though Paslow's conduct was, and open to dire suspicion, she still loved him, and knew in her heart of hearts that she would love him until he died. This being the case, she made up her mind with the swiftness of a woman who is fighting for what she loves best, and looked at him searchingly. He was watching her with anxious eyes, but shifted his gaze to the ground when she looked at him.

"Will you answer me a few questions?" she asked quietly.

"If I can," he replied, hesitating.

Her lip curled in spite of herself. "You need not be afraid. I shall respect your secret, whatever it is--for the present, that is. Meanwhile, perhaps you will tell me if you know who killed Mr. Alpenny?"

"No. I told you before that I did not know."

"Have you any suspicion?"

"Not even a suspicion," he answered frankly, and he looked at her as he spoke, so serenely, that she believed him.

"Will you tell me about Colonel Hall's murder?"

"I know very little about it. I was a child at the time. Mrs. Lilly can tell you anything you wish to know. Why do you ask?"

"Because, from what Mrs. Snow said, I believe that the first murder of Colonel Hall is connected with the second murder of Mr. Alpenny."

"I don't believe that," muttered Vivian, uneasily.

"I do. The murders--both of them--were committed by the man with the black patch. What do you know of that?"

"Nothing, save that I used the words to frighten Alpenny, and found them on the paper laid on my desk."

"Do you know who laid that paper there?"

"I have not the least idea. The desk is near the window, and that was open. Any one could have passed the paper through the window. I asked Dinah and Mrs. Lilly, but neither one of them knew how the paper came to be there."

"If you remember," continued Beatrice slowly, "Mr. Alpenny muttered something about it being the third time. Well, then, I truly believe that the words you used unconsciously were a warning. Twice he was warned, and on the third warning he expected to be killed. That was why, I believe, he arranged to go up to town, when he was struck down. You were used by someone as the unconscious instrument to give him the warning."

"I might have been, but----"

"That is," she added, coming so close to him that he felt her breath on his cheek, "if you really and truly are ignorant of the meaning of the words."

"I swear that I am," stammered Vivian, turning red. "Then your secret has nothing to do with the black patch?"

"No. I am as puzzled as you are over that. Well?"

"Well," said Beatrice, looking over her shoulder--she had moved towards the door of her bedroom as he............