lvia in a
low, pained voice. "Why should Mr. Biddulph be mystified further? If
you are determined that I should sacrifice myself--well, I am ready.
You have been my friend--yet now you seem to have suddenly turned
against me, and treat me as an enemy."

"Only as far as this unfortunate affair is concerned, my child," he
said. "Remember my position--recall all the past, and put to yourself
the question whether I have not a perfect right to forbid you to
sacrifice the life of a good, honest man like the one before you," he
said, his clerical drawl becoming more accentuated as he spoke.

"Rubbish, my dear sir," I laughed derisively. "Put aside all this cant
and hypocrisy. It ill becomes you. Speak out, like a man of the world
that you are. What specific charge do you bring against this lady?
Come, tell me."

"None," he replied. "Evil is done through her--not by her."

And she stood silent, unable to protest.

"But can't you be more explicit?" I cried, my anger rising. "If you
make charges, I demand that you shall substantiate them. Recollect all
that I have at stake in this matter."

"I know--your life," he responded. "Well, I have already told you what
to expect."

"Sylvia," I said, turning to the pale girl standing trembling at my
side, "will you not speak? Will you not tell me what all this means?
By what right does this man speak thus? Has he any right?"

She was silent for a few moments. Then slowly she nodded her head in
an affirmative.

"What right has he to forbid our affection?" I demanded. "I love you,
and I tell you that no man shall come between us!"

"He alone has a right, Owen," she said, addressing me for the first
time by my Christian name.

"What right?"

But she would not answer. She merely stood with head downcast, and
said--

"Ask him."

This I did, but the thin-faced man refused to reply. All he would say
was--

"I have forbidden this fatal folly, Mr. Biddulph. Please do not let us
discuss it further."

I confess I was both angry and bewildered. The mystery was hourly
increasing. Sylvia had admitted that Shuttleworth had a right to
interfere. Yet I could not discern by what right a mere friend could
forbid a girl to entertain affection. I felt that the ever-increasing
problem was even stranger and more remarkable than I had anticipated,
and that when I fathomed it, it would be found to be utterly
astounding!

Sylvia was unwavering in her attachment to myself. Her antagonism
to