" she whispered. "Believe me, that is impossible. Now leave
me, pray."

"Nothing is impossible to a man who loves as I love you," he whispered.

"No, no; once more, I tell you that we must never meet again."

"And I tell you," he whispered back, "that you are part of my life, and
that while my heart beats I will never give you up. Marion, we must
meet again sooner or later; I live for nothing else. Your hand one
moment."

"No, no!" she moaned.

"Your hand--life of my life," he whispered softly; and as she gazed at
him wildly, her hand, as if drawn by the magnetism of his nature, glided
slowly into his, and was clasped in his nervous grasp.

"I am going to wait."

"No," she said more firmly. "This for the last time. They would kill
me--they would kill you."

"No," he said. "An hour ago I would have welcomed death; now life opens
before me in its fullest sunshine of joy. They shall not kill you; they
shall not kill me, for I know you love me and have suffered, and it has
made me strong."

"Impossible, impossible," she whispered, with her eyes fixed upon his.

Then he loosed his hold of her gloved hand, dropping back and raising
his hat as the carriage rolled on.

He stood and watched it for a few minutes till it had passed out of
sight, and then drawing himself up, feeling that a breach of
invigorating life had run through his being, he turned to walk back
across the path, and found himself nearly confronting the man who had
occupied so much of his waking thoughts, and whose eyes now seemed to
flash as they gazed fiercely in his.

"Well," said Chester to himself, as he set his teeth hard, "I am ready
for the worst. Am I to learn the mystery of the big house now?" And he
took a step forward to meet the man he felt to be the great enemy of
both their lives.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

THE GAME IS UP.

To Chester's surprise James Clareborough's face hardened and grew stony
as they approached, and the next moment he had passed him without a word
or the slightest sign of recognition, and when, stung by jealous
solicitude for the woman he loved, Chester turned and followed, he saw
his enemy take another direction to that in which Marion was being
driven.

Then days passed--then weeks; and in spite of constant watchfulness
Chester could not get a glimpse of her who filled his thoughts. The
reason was patent--the family had left town, and he had once more to
track them out. But this was easy, and