"I had no intention of seeing you," Lady Dashwood said. "To think that you are the son of my dearest friend! It is well that she died before she knew. I came here to see Mary, because I knew exactly how you had played on her feelings. For purposes of your own, you have been diving into the family history. Many things you have discovered, but many things remain a secret to this day. Clever as you are, you have no inkling of the shameful truth. If I chose to speak now, I could disperse several of your pleasant dreams. I took an oath by the bedside of a dying man to say nothing, and I have regretted my promise ever since. A promise like that is a sacred thing; to break it is a deadly sin. Yet there are some promises that God never intends one to keep. Mine is one of them. So long as I alone suffer, it matters little. But when others are to suffer for my silence, others whom I love more than I love myself, then it is time to break the vow and let the world know everything. By my silence I doom yonder beloved child to lifelong misery. If you cared for her----"

"Pardon me," Mayfield interrupted, "that is what I am trying to prove. My methods may not commend themselves to you, but I hold that everything is fair in love and----"

"Hold," Lady Dashwood cried; "you pollute the word with your tongue. What can you know of love in its better and higher sense? Would you be standing here tonight if Mary were a pauper instead of heiress to Dashwood Hall?"

Mayfield had no reply for the moment. Clever man of the world as he was, the question found him dumb. He could only fall back on the commonplace.

"Why put an impossible case?" he asked. "If it comes to that, why are you here at all? Miss Mary and myself have come to an understanding--the understanding will be complete as soon as I have dispatched this telegram. We are going to stifle the voice of scandal between us. Where is the young footman who was going to take the message to Longtown?"

"The message is not going to Longtown," Lady Dashwood whispered hoarsely. "I can guess what that message means to my beloved child. Mary, fetch your father here. The hour has come when God tells me that I may break my word and speak."

The flimsy telegram form crumpled in Mayfield's grip. His face had turned deadly white with baffled fury. He fought down the anger in his heart and forced a smile to his lips.

"I am afraid we are all going too far," he said. "Let us wait till the morning. Lady Dashwood gives me no credit for magnanimity, I know. I am going to prove that she wrongs me. After all, I have other resources. There are other ways than this."

He tore up the telegram deliberately, and dropped the fragments on the terrace. He must conciliate the old woman at any cost. It would not be difficult, once she had gone, to get Mary to pledge her word. Deep down in his heart, Mayfield was angrily wondering what secret Lady Dashwood had to disclose. He could tell by the expression of her face that it was something dramatic. He turned to Mary who was regarding the fragments of the telegram with anxious eyes.

"I am afraid I do not understand," she said, "I am so worn out and tired that my brain seems incapable of grasping anything. I thought that that telegram was going to be the means of removing those men and averting scandal. If there is any other way of saving our house from such a calamity----"

"That can be managed," Mayfield smiled, "nothing easier. Come with me a moment and I will show you how it is done. Perhaps Lady Dashwood would also like to see----"

"No, I am quite satisfied for the present," Lady Dashwood said coldly. "Thank God, I have been able to save the situation. I understand that you are staying at Swainson's Farm for tonight. As the farm is on my way home, I shall be glad of your company so far, as there is something that I wish to say to you. I will wait for you at the bottom of the rose garden. Come along, Patience."

The old bent woman muttered something and shook her head. She stood there with her cunning, beady eyes fixed on the noble fa?ade of the old house. There broke from her a dry chuckle, as if her inmost thoughts were not displeasing.

"You let me alone, my lady," she said. "It isn't often as my mind is as clear and bright as it is tonight. And don't you worry about Miss Mary. I'm an old woman, and I'm not good for much, but I can prevent that."

A haggard, shaking hand was pointed to the entrance of the drawing-room where Mary's figure stood out under the soft light of the shaded lamps. Then Patience turned away and plunged into the bushes. Again and again Lady Dashwood called softly, but no answer cam............