knew. Did he--did he----" But, raising his eyes
suddenly, he saw the whiteness of Cynthia's face, and did not finish his
question. "Listen to me!" he said, with sudden sternness. "This man
belongs to them that put me in prison and believe me to have murdered
Sydney Vane. Do you understand that, girl?"

"Father, he would trust you--he would believe in you--if once he saw you
and talked to you."

"So you mean to betray me to him, do you?"

"Father--dear father!"

"If you say a word to him about my being in England, Cynthia, you may
just as well put a rope round my neck or give me a dose of poison. For
buried alive at Portland I never will be again!"

"He would no more betray you, father, than----"

"Promise me that you'll not breathe a word to him about me!"

"I promise."

"And swear?"

"I swear, father--not until you give me leave."

"I shall never give you leave. Do you want to kill me, Cynthia? I'd
never have thought it of you after all you said! Come, my girl, you
needn't cry; I did not mean to suspect you; but I'm so used to being on
my guard. Does he know whose daughter you are?"

"No, father."

"You haven't dared to tell him, and yet you wanted to put my safety in
his hands!"

"I am sure he is too kind, too noble, to think of betraying any one!"
Cynthia pleaded; but her father would not hear.

"Tut! If he thinks I murdered his cousin, he wouldn't feel any
particular call to be kind to me, I guess. I should like to understand
all about this affair, Cynthia. Come, sit down on this bench here under
the trees, and tell me about it. Don't vex yourself over what I said; I
was but carried away by the heat of the moment. Now are you promised to
this Mr. Lepel--engaged to him, as you young folk call it?"

"I don't know whether I can tell you anything, father," murmured
Cynthia.

"You'd better," said Westwood quietly, "because it hangs on a thread
whether I ain't going to denounce Mr. Lepel as the man that killed Mr.
Sydney Vane. I never thought of him before, although I did see him at
the trial and knew that he'd been hanging round the place. He was her
brother, sure enough--he had a motive. Well, Cynthia?"

"Father, if you are thinking such terrible things of Hubert, how can I
tell you anything? You know I--I love him; if you accuse him of a crime,
I shall cling to him still--and love him still--and save him if I can."

"At your father's expense, girl?"

She writhed at the question, and twisted he