any
sort, with a single spring inexpressibly bestial, he leapt at
Rivington's throat.

But Rivington was ready for him. With incredible swiftness he stooped
and caught his assailant as he sprang. There followed a brief and
furious struggle, and then the Indian found himself slowly but
irresistibly forced backwards across the Englishman's knee. He had a
vision of pale blue eyes that were too grimly ironical to be angry, and
the next moment he was sitting on the floor, two muscular hands holding
him down.

"Not to-night," said the leisurely voice above him. "To-morrow, if you
like, we will begin the cure. Go home now and think it over."

And with that he was free. But he sat for a second too infuriated to
speak or move. Then, like lightning, he was on his feet.

They stood face to face for an interval that was too pregnant with
fierce mental strife to be timed by seconds. Then, with clenched hands,
in utter silence, Dinghra turned away. He went softly, with a gliding,
beast-like motion to the door, paused an instant, looked back with the
gleaming eyes of a devil--and was gone.

The Poor Relation threw himself into a chair and laughed very softly,
his lower lip gripped fast between his teeth.

VI

THE KNIGHT ERRANT'S STRATEGY

It was summer in Weatherbroom--the glareless, perfect summer of the
country, of trees in their first verdure, of seas of bracken all in
freshest green, of shining golden gorse, of babbling, clear brown
streams, of birds that sang and chattered all day long.

And in the midst of this paradise Ernestine Cardwell dwelt secure. There
was literally not a soul to speak to besides the miller and his wife,
but this absence of human companionship had not begun to pall upon her.
She was completely and serenely happy.

She spent the greater part of her days wandering about the woods and
commons with a book tucked under her arm which she seldom opened. Now
and then she tried to sketch, but usually abandoned the attempt in a fit
of impatience. How could she hope to reproduce, even faintly, the
loveliness around her? It seemed presumption almost to try, and she
revelled in idleness instead. The singing of the birds had somehow got
into her heart. She could listen to that music for hours together.

Or else she would wander along the mill-stream with the roar of the
racing water behind her, and gather great handfuls of the wild flowers
that fringed its banks. These were usually her evening str