ver a word had he wherewith to meet that hail of angry,
contemptuous questions. The answer that had been so ready to his lips
that night at Worcester, when, in a milder form the Tavern Knight had
set him the same question, he dared hot proffer now. The retort that Sir
Crispin had not cause enough in the evil of others, which had wrecked
his life, to risk the eternal damnation of his soul, he dared no longer
utter. Glibly enough had he said to that stern man that which he dared
not say now to this sterner beauty. Perhaps it was fear of her that
made him dumb, perhaps that at last he knew himself for what he was by
contrast with the man whose vices he had so heartily despised a while
ago.

Shrinking back before her anger, he racked his shallow mind in vain for
a fitting answer. But ere he had found one, a heavy step sounded in the
gallery that overlooked the hall, and a moment later Gregory Ashburn
descended. His face was ghastly white, and a heavy frown furrowed the
space betwixt his brows.

In the fleeting glance she bestowed upon her father, she remarked not
the disorder of his countenance; whilst as for Kenneth, he had enough to
hold his attention for the time.

Gregory's advent set an awkward constraint upon them, nor had he any
word to say as he came heavily up the hall.

At the lower end of the long table he paused, and resting his hand upon
the board, he seemed on the point of speaking when of a sudden a sound
reached him that caused him to draw a sharp breath; it was the rumble of
wheels and the crack of a whip.

"It is Joseph!" he cried, in a voice the relief of which was so marked
that Cynthia noticed it. And with that exclamation he flung past them,
and out through the doorway to meet his brother so opportunely returned.

He reached the terrace steps as the coach pulled up, and the lean figure
of Joseph Ashburn emerged from it.

"So, Gregory," he grumbled for greeting, "it was on a fool's errand you
sent me, after all. That knave, your messenger, found me in London at
last when I had outworn my welcome at Whitehall. But, 'swounds, man," he
cried, remarking the pallor, of his brother's face, "what ails thee?"

"I have news for you, Joseph," answered Gregory, in a voice that shook.

"It is not Cynthia?" he inquired. "Nay, for there she stands-and her
pretty lover by her side. 'Slife, what a coxcomb the lad's grown."

And with that he hastened forward to kiss his niece, and congratulate
Kenneth upon be