er and her mother; they said that Mrs.
Vane at Beechfield Hall knew them and was kind to them. Some said that
she paid them; but nobody knew what for."

"And she is lodging in the same house with you and following you about?
Then I'll tell you what she is, father--she is a spy of the Vanes. She
suspects you and wants to put you in prison again. Oh, father, do change
your lodgings, or go straight back to America! You have been in England
a month, and it is very dangerous. You have nothing to stay
for--nothing; and, if you like"--her voice sank almost to a whisper--"I
will go back with you."

"Will you, Cynthy? There's my own good girl!" said her father, an
unwonted sense of pleasure beaming in his eyes. "You're one of the right
sort, you are, and you sha'n't regret it. But, as to danger, I don't see
it. There's nobody can recognise me, as you are well aware; and what
else have I to fear?" Cynthia had noted before that he was almost
childishly vain of his disguise. She herself was not disposed to rely
upon it with half so blind a confidence, for she knew how easily the
secrets of "making-up" can be read by an experienced eye. "Besides, Miss
Meldreth was lodging at Mrs. Gunn's before ever I went there--so that's
a pure coincidence. If she'd come after I went down to Beechfield,
there might be something in it. But it's an accidental thing."

"It may be accidental, and yet a source of danger," said Cynthia
anxiously. "I wish you would go back to the States at once, father. I am
quite ready to go. There is nothing to keep me in England now."

"Why, have you broken off with that young man?" said Westwood sharply.

"Not altogether." The remembrance of the previous night's kiss under the
umbrella made Cynthia's cheeks burn red as she replied. "But since I
know what you have told me--that he is a relative of the Vanes of
Beechfield--I have determined that it cannot go on. He and his family
would hate me if they knew. I cannot forget the past; I cannot forget
what they did and said; and I do not see how I can marry a man who
unjustly believes that my father was his kinsman's murderer." The fire
came back to her eyes, the firmness to her voice, as she spoke.

Westwood watched her admiringly.

"Well spoke, my little girl--well spoke! I didn't think you had it in
you--I didn't indeed! Let him go his way, and let us go ourn. I didn't
tell you all that I might ha' done when I came back from Beechfield the
other day, because I di