"Richard Lanyan! You! You! You, who broke your father's heart,--you, the Etonian scholar,--you, base as you are, stoop to be the assassin!" "Yes, curse you!" gritted the answer from between the clenched teeth of the writhing assailant. "And why?" "Because you have been the ruin of father, and not I. You occupy his place in Parliament. You took away Lanyan Hall. You took away the only woman I ever loved, and it is--revenge." "Lanyan, listen to me," sternly, and still keeping his grip. Ande related in brief epitome the injuries he and his and the Vivians had received at the hands of Richard and his father, closing with the question: "Who has been the injured party? Your father's place I occupy because the people put me there. Your father lost Lanyan Hall because of his foolish speculations. If I hadn't bought it, some one else would. His death was mainly brought on by your own sottish conduct." The eyes of Lanyan flamed with sullen passion, as he muttered, "I'll not endure this from you," and again made an effort to escape. "Make another effort to escape and I hand you over to the watchman, or perhaps better still I could kill you where you are. What would the law and opinion say if I should? They would say it was good riddance of a rough character and in self-defence, and you see I have the strength to carry it out." Lanyan paled a little, notwithstanding the brave heart he had, for he realised that he was but feeble in the hands of this man, his captor. He ceased his struggles and listened sullenly. "But I have other plans," said Ande, gently. "I believe the fellow who won a prize at Eton is capable of better things. I place the best construction on your past actions. It was the ungovernable love for Mistress Alice Vivian that caused much of your past action." There was no answer. "I know that was the cause, and also the cause of your whole life being spent thus, and also of this last attempted deed. And I had been searching for you for months before your father's death, plunging into every slum and dive of London. I promised to bring you back to your father, and thus prolong his days. Your name was the last he called upon in his delirium. I tried to find you, but failed." Ande released his grasp, for it was unnecessary. Lanyan was weeping in an agony of remorse and wretchedness. "But still the hour is not too late now to begin again in right paths, and rear up your family name to its former, ancestral honour. You can do it." "I cannot," groaned Lanyan, all hatred and vengeance apparently gone from him. "I cannot; I have no money, and to live honestly in a poor position----No--No."