Van Zwieten cast an amused look at Scarse, and the old man winced again. He turned away and poured himself out a glass of brandy. Without taking any further notice of him, Brenda put on her wet cloak and left the room, followed almost immediately by the Dutchman. Van Zwieten had many questions to ask his host, for he knew a good deal, and guessed more; but this was not the time for cross-examination. It was imperative that the identity of the deceased should be ascertained, and Van Zwieten wished to be on the spot when the discovery was made. As he left the room he heard the glass in Scarse's trembling hand clink against the decanter, and the sound made him smile. He guessed the cause of such perturbation. The rain had ceased for the moment, but the wind was still high, and dense black clouds hurtled across the sky. A pale moon showed herself every now and then from behind the flying wrack, and fitfully lighted the midnight darkness. As she was with Van Zwieten, Brenda took a wide circle through the village street. There were many people about in spite of the bad weather--some with lanterns--but Brenda could not gather from the scraps of conversation she heard whether the report of the dead man lying in the orchards had got abroad. In silence Van Zwieten strode along beside her, apparently indifferent to anything. His attitude irritated the girl, and when the wind lulled for a moment she demanded sharply where he had been on that night. "You will be surprised to hear, Miss Scarse, that I went to see Captain Burton." "And why?" asked Brenda, taken aback by this answer--the last she had expected to hear. "To warn him," replied Van Zwieten, coolly. "Warn him--about what--against whom?" "About my engagement to you--against myself." "I am not engaged to you, but to him," said Brenda, almost with a cry of despair. It seemed impossible to make this man understand how she hated him. "I think you are engaged to me," said the Dutchman, deliberately. "You say no, but that is girl's talk. I am not to be beaten by a girl. I always get what I want, and I want you." The wind rose again, and further conversation was impossible. Brenda walked on, praying for strength to escape this terrible man. She could not rid herself of the idea that the dead man was her own true lover. Van Zwieten might have seen him, as he said, might have quarreled with him and shot him. The fear chilled her heart, and when next the wind fell she again taxed Van Zwieten. "You killed him?" she cried. "You will insist on that, but you are wrong. I never saw Captain Burton. He was not at the inn when I called." "He had gone to town," said Brenda, breathless with joy. "No, he had gone to the Rectory."