ours; therefore I refuse to accept it."

"Not to save your own life?"

"Not even to save my life. This is surely my own affair."

"And hers."

"I shall protect Sylvia, never fear. I am not afraid. Let our enemies
betray their presence by sign or word, and I will set myself out to
combat them. They have already those crimes in Bayswater to account
for. And they will take a good deal of explaining away."

"Then you really intend to reveal the secret of that house in
Porchester Terrace?" he asked, not without some apprehension.

"My enemies, you say, intend to plot and encompass my death. Good!
Then I shall take my own means of vindication. Naturally I am a quiet,
law-abiding man. But if any enemy rises against me without cause, then
I strike out with a sledgehammer."

"You are hopeless," he declared.

"I am, where my love is concerned," I admitted. "Sylvia has promised
to-day that she will become my wife. The future is surely our own
affair, Mr. Shuttleworth--not yours!"

"And if her father forbids?" he asked quite quietly, his eyes fixed
straight upon my well-beloved.

"Let me meet him face to face," I said in defiance. "He will not
interfere after I have spoken," I added, with confidence. "I, perhaps,
know more than you believe concerning him."

Sylvia started, staring at me, her face blanched in an instant. The
scene was tragic and painful.

"What do you know?" she asked breathlessly.

"Nothing, dearest, which will interfere with our love," I reassured
her. "Your father's affairs are not yours, and for his doings you
cannot be held responsible."

She exchanged a quick glance with Shuttleworth, I noticed.

Then it seemed as though a great weight were lifted from her mind by
my words, for, turning to me, she smiled sweetly, saying--

"Ah! how can I thank you sufficiently? I am helpless and defenceless.
If I only dared, I could tell you a strange story--for surely mine is
as strange as any ever printed in the pages of fiction. But Mr.
Shuttleworth will not permit it."

"You may speak--if you deem it wise," exclaimed the rector in a
strangely altered voice. He seemed much annoyed at my open defiance.
"Mr. Biddulph may as well, perhaps, know the truth at first as at
last."

"The truth!" I echoed. "Yes, tell me the truth," I begged her.

"No," she cried wildly, again covering her fair face with her hands.
"No--forgive me. I can't--_I can't!_"

"No," remarked Shuttleworth in a strange, hard, reproach