every farthing, you villain!
or I never give you a sixpence again;" and Sir Hugh rode on as though
bound for London, but stopped a mile farther forward, at a place where
two roads met; and entrusting his papers to his servant, bade him
hasten on with them, whilst he galloped back through the darkness in
the direction of his home.

Home, indeed! Had it ever been home to Sir Hugh? Would it be home
to-night? When he got back there, and skulked into his own house like
a midnight thief--what would he do?--why was he galloping so fast? Sir
Hugh set his teeth tight, and holding his powerful horse hard by the
head urged him on faster than before. The lights are all out in the
little village of which he is sole master, and his horse's hoofs
clattering through the street rouse the sleepy inmates for an instant
ere they return to their peaceful rest. Sir Hugh is not sleepy; he
feels as if he never should want to sleep again.

How dark it is in the Park under those huge old trees! He fastens his
horse to one of the drooping branches, and after removing his pistols
from their holsters spreads his cloak over the heaving flanks of the
heated animal. Habit is second nature, and he does not forget the good
horse. He strides through the shrubberies and across Lucy's garden,
crushing with his heavy boot-heel the last flower that had lingered on
into the winter. There is a light streaming from one of the windows in
the gallery. Ha!--he _may_ be right--he may not have returned in vain.
For an instant a feeling of sickness comes over him, and he learns for
the first time that he _had_ cherished a hope he might be deceived.

He can let himself in by the garden-gate with his own pass-key. Ere he
is aware, he is tramping up the corridor in his heavy horseman's
boots--his hand is on the door--there is a woman's shriek--and Sir
Hugh's tall, dark figure fills the doorway of Lucy's sitting-room,
where, alas! she is not alone, for the stern, angry husband is
confronted by Ned Meredith!

Lucy cowers down in a corner of the room with her face buried in her
hands. Cousin Edward draws himself up to his full height, and looks
his antagonist steadily in the face, but with an expression of calm
despair that seems to say fate has now done her worst. Sir Hugh is
cool, collected, and polite; nay, he can even smile, but he speaks
strangely, almost in a whisper, and hisses through his set teeth. He
has double-locked the door behind him, and turns to Cousin