knowledge
that I have only to mention to one or two people to make this place too
hot for Maurice Gordon. If he escaped the fury of the natives, it would
be difficult to know where he could go to. England would be too hot for
him. They wouldn't have him there; I could see to that. He would be a
ruined man--an outcast--execrated by all the civilised world."

He was watching her face all the while. He saw the colour leave even
her lips, but they were steady and firm. A strange wonder crept into
his heart. This woman never flinched. There was some reserved strength
within herself upon which she was now drawing. His dealings had all been
with half-castes--with impure blood and doubtful descendants of a mixed
ancestry. He had never fairly roused a pure-bred English man or woman,
and suddenly he began to feel out of his depth.

"What is your knowledge?" asked Jocelyn in a coldly measured voice.

"I think you had better not ask that; you will be sorry afterwards.
I would rather that you thought quietly over what I have told
you. Perhaps, on second thoughts, you will see your way to give me
some--slight hope. I should really advise it."

"I did not ask your advice. What is your knowledge?"

"You will have it?" he hissed.

"Yes."

He leant forward, craning his neck, pushing his yellow face and
hungering black eyes close into hers.

"Then, if you will have it, your brother--Maurice Gordon--is a
slave-owner."

She drew back as she might have done from some unclean animal. She knew
that he was telling the truth. There might be extenuating circumstances.
The real truth might have quite a different sound, spoken in different
words; but there was enough of the truth in it, as Victor Durnovo placed
it before her, to condemn Maurice before the world.

"Now will you marry me?" he sneered.

"No!"

Quick as thought she had seen the only loophole--the only possible way
of meeting this terrible accusation.

He laughed; but there was a faint jangle of uneasiness in his laughter.

"Indeed!"

"Supposing," said Jocelyn, "for one moment that there was a grain of
truth in your fabrication, who would believe you? Who on this coast
would take your word against the word of an English gentleman? Even if
the whole story were true, which it is not, could you prove it? You are
a liar, as well as a coward and a traitor! Do you think that the very
servants in the stable would believe you? Do you think that the incident
of the small-pox