and so near the wire there, and provided the other perfect
conditions for tragedy? Why should he intervene? It would never have
crossed his mind to do Soolsby harm, yet here, as the man's arm was
stretched out to strike him, Fate offered an escape. Luke Claridge was
stricken with paralysis, no doubt would die; Soolsby alone stood in his
way.

"You see, Soolsby, it has gone on too long," he added, in a low,
penetrating tone. "It would be a crime to alter things now. Give him the
earldom and the estates, and his work in Egypt goes to pieces; he will
be spoiled for all he wants to do. I've got my faults, but, on the
whole, I'm useful, and I play my part here, as I was born to it, as well
as most. Anyhow, it's no robbery for me to have what has been mine by
every right except the accident of being born after him. I think you'll
see that you will do a good thing to let it all be. Luke Claridge, if
he was up and well, wouldn't thank you for it--have you got any right to
give him trouble, too? Besides, I've saved his life to-night, and... and
perhaps I might save yours, Soolsby, if it was in danger."

Soolsby's hand had moved slightly. It was only an inch from the wire.
For an instant the room was terribly still.

An instant, and it might be too late. An instant, and Soolsby would be
gone. Eglington watched the hand which had been resting on the table
turn slowly over to the wire. Why should he intervene? Was it his
business? This thing was not his doing. Destiny had laid the train of
circumstance and accident, and who was stronger than Destiny? In spite
of himself his eyes fixed themselves on Soolsby's hand. It was but a
hair's breadth from the wire. The end would come now. Suddenly a voice
was heard outside the door. "Eglington!" it called.

Soolsby started, his hand drew spasmodically away from the wire, and he
stepped back quickly.

The door opened, and Hylda entered.

"Mr. Claridge is dead, Eglington," she said. Destiny had decided.

CHAPTER XXVI. "I OWE YOU NOTHING"

Beside the grave under the willow-tree another grave had been made.
It was sprinkled with the fallen leaves of autumn. In the Red Mansion
Faith's delicate figure moved forlornly among relics of an austere,
beloved figure vanished from the apricot-garden and the primitive
simplicity of wealth combined with narrow thought.

Since her father's death, the bereaved girl had been occupied by matters
of law and business, by affairs of the estate; bu