d like a flash and tried to run--I followed and caught her in five
seconds. I grasped her arm and held her fast, savagely, I suppose, for
she trembled as she looked at me.

"'Let me go, Mr. Liston,' she said, in a shaking voice; 'you hurt me!'

"'No, by Heaven,' I said, 'not until you answer me half a dozen
questions. The first is: 'Was it Laurence Thorndyke with whom you ran
away?'

"Her eyes flashed fire, the color came back to her face, her hands
clenched. She burst forth into such a torrent of words, choked with
rage, interlarded with oaths, that my blood ran cold, that my passion
cooled before it. She had been inveigled away by Thorndyke, there was no
sham marriage here--no promise of marriage even; I will do him that
justice, and in six months, friendless and penniless, she was adrift in
the streets of New York. She was looking for him night and day, if ever
she met him she would tear the very eyes out of his head!

"Would she go home? I asked her. I would pay her way--her mother would
receive and pardon her.

"She laughed in my face. What! take _my_ money--of all men! go back to
the village where once she had queened it over all the girls--like this!
She broke from me, and her shrill, mocking laugh came back as she ran
and joined her companions. I have never seen her since.

"That is my story, Miss Bourdon. Two years have passed since that
night--my dull life goes on--I serve Mr. Darcy--I watch Mr. Thorndyke. I
have come to his aid more than once, I have screened his evil deeds from
his uncle as I have screened this. He is to be married the first week of
December to Miss Helen Holmes, a beautiful girl and an heiress. The last
duty I am to perform for him is to hush up this story of yours, to
restore you to your friends like a bale of damaged goods. But I think
his time has come; I think it should be our turn now. It is for you and
me to say whether he shall inherit his uncle's fortune--whether he shall
marry Helen Holmes or not."

CHAPTER XIV.

A DARK COMPACT.

The twilight had deepened almost into darkness. Mr. Liston
unconsciously, in the excitement of the tragedy of his life, told now
for the first time, had risen, and was walking up and down the room. His
quiet voice, never rising above its usual monotonous level, was yet full
of suppressed feeling and passion. Now, as he ceased, he looked toward
the still figure sitting so motionless before the smouldering fire. She
had not stirred once, t