l, I'll tell you," he said coolly. He took a half sheet of note-paper
out of the breast-pocket of his coat, drew the lamp on the table towards
him, and looked at certain figures and notes written on the paper.

"I went this morning in town to look up your uncle's will. Of course I
remember all about that old chap at Manchester. I often speculated on
what he was going to leave you. Unfortunately for me he lived just a
little too long. But I find from the copy of the will that he left
you--three--thousand--pounds. Not bad, considering that you were never at
all civil to him. But three thousand pounds is more than you require to
run this small farm on. You owe me damages for the injury you inflicted
on me by the loss of--first, your society; second, your financial
prospects. I assess it at five hundred pounds. Pay me that small sum,
and--well, I engage to leave you henceforth to the Captain,--and
your conscience."

He bent forward across the table, his mocking eyes fixed intently upon
her. There was silence a moment--till she said:--

"And if I refuse?"

"Oh, well, then--" he lifted a paper-knife and balanced it on his hand as
though considering--"I shall of course have to work up my case. What do
you call this man?--John Dempsey? A great fool--but I dare say I shall
get enough out of him. And then--well, then I propose to present the
story to Captain Ellesborough--for his future protection."

"He won't believe a word of it."

But her lips had blanched--her voice had begun to waver--and with a cruel
triumph he saw that he had won the day.

"I dare say not. That's for him to consider. But if I were you, I
wouldn't put him to the test."

Silence again. He saw the fluttering of her breath. With a complete
change of tone, he said, smiling, in a low voice:--

"Rachel!--when did you begin to prefer Dick Tanner to me? No doubt you
had a jolly time with him. I suppose I can't undo the divorce--but you
would never have got it, if I hadn't been such an innocent."

She sprang up, and he saw that he had gone too far.

"If you say any more such things to me, you will get nothing from me--and
you may either _go_--" she pointed passionately to the door--"or you may
sit there till my people come back--which you like."

He looked at her, under his eyebrows, smiling mechanically--weighing the
relative advantages of prudence or violence. Prudence carried the day.

"You are just the same spitfire, I see, as you used to be! All r