enoy, because she's coming home to you to-morrow. That I should have
lived to say such a thing of Henry Churchill's daughter! When I rode
away to-night, she was singing." He burst into spasmodic and grating
laughter. "It was that song of Lovelace's! By God, sir, she must have
had you in mind.

"I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honour more.

"Yes, by God, she was thinking of you! Ha ha, ha ha!"

"You are an old man," said Rand. "It is well for you that you are. I
wish to know who is responsible for these conjectures, suspicions,
charges--whatever term you choose, sir, for all are alike indifferent to
me--which brought you here to-night? Who, sir, is the principal in this
affair? You are an old man, and you are my wife's kinsman; doubly are
you behind cover; but who, who, Major Churchill, set you on to speak of
towering ambition and blood-drenched wings and broken vows and deceived
innocence, and all the rest of this night's farrago? Who, I say--who?"

"Ask on, sir," answered the Major grimly. "There is no law against
asking, as there is none to compel an answer. Sir, I am about to remove
myself from a house that I shall not trouble again, and I have but three
words to say before I bid you good-night. I warn you not to proceed with
your Luciferian schemes, whatever they may be, sir, whatever they may
be! I warn you that it is ill travelling over the mountains at this
season of the year, and I solemnly protest to you that my niece shall
not travel with you!"

"And who," asked Rand calmly,--"and who will prevent that?"

"Sir," answered the other, "a grain of sand or a blade of grass, if
rightly placed." He shook his long forefinger at the younger man. "You
have been fortunate for a long turn in the game, Lewis Rand, and you
have grown to think the revolving earth but a pin-wheel for your
turning. You will awake some day, and since there is that in you which
charity might call perverted greatness, I think that you will suffer
when you awake. In which hope, sir, I take my leave. Mr. Rand, I have
the honour to bid you a very good-night."

The master of Roselands rang the bell. "Good-night, Major Churchill. I
am sorry that we part no better friends, and I regret that you will not
tell me what gatherer up of rumour and discoverer of mares' nests was at
the pains to procure me the honour of this visit. I might hazard a
guess--but no matter. Joab, Major Churchill's horse. Good-night, sir."

He