What were his spoils? Abundance of this world’s goods, the envy of hosts of less successful men, and the affection----? He paused at that; affection of whom? It was not a pleasant thought that there were only two beings in the whole world genuinely attached to him; an old and faithful servant, a woman whose fidelity withstood the outbursts of his petulance, and his daughter. Aldwyth was fond of him--yes, he was sure of that. But there was a lurking feeling that she would have been fonder still if he had only given her a chance. His cold reserve had kept her at a needless distance. He had denied her nothing that she asked for, but he had volunteered little for which she had not asked. He had shown no real concern in her interests or pursuits. Yet he had reason to know hers was a warm, impulsive nature like her mother’s, quick to believe and love, swift to be rebuffed and chilled. The possibilities of closer intimacy were now remote. Young Herrick, as was natural, would have the first place in her thoughts. Presently she would marry, and he, the envied and successful man, would be--alone. Of that strange interview with Marcus White, Aldwyth had told her father nothing. The condition of his health forbade it at the time; but now that the mysterious nervous attack which had caused her so much alarm seemed to have been wholly shaken off; now that his step was firm and his colour healthier, her mind was exercised as to her duty. Westwood, at his table, looked up as his daughter, with reflective face, walked past the open window of the library. “Deep in thought?” he said, inquiringly. She stopped, and returned a pace or two. “I was wondering where we should go when we leave here,” she answered. “Back to town,” her father replied, with raised eyebrows; “but of course it won’t be until the third week of October.” “The House won’t be sitting then, will it?” “No, but the judges will.” “Father,” she said impulsively, “need you go back to the Bar?” “I need not, but I shall,” he answered rather coldly. “Why do you ask?” “Is it--is it wise?” she stammered. “Wise!” he exclaimed, amazed. “Why need you do it?” “In the first place, I shall have to prosecute those scoundrelly incendiaries, who have already gone for trial.” “But, surely, that will be dangerous?” “For whom?” “For you, father; you know that you were threatened.” “Threatened men live long,” he answered, with a lightness that perhaps was a little strained. “You surely would not have me neglect an obvious duty because some unknown blackguard sends me an empty threat?” “The threat may not be empty. At Folkestone you told us others had been threatened, that there was a real conspiracy, and if so----” “If so, one must do one’s duty all the same. My health was broken down at Folkestone. I was not myself. Why, my dear girl, if I kept out of this case they would end by calling me a coward. I should be virtually driven into private life.” There was a pause.