“My little girl mustn’t fret,” he murmured. “I know it is all dreadful, but it will pass. We think now there is no way of escape, because we can see none, but we shall find a way. My darling must leave everything to me and place implicit confidence in me.” But though he spoke thus his heart was heavy. And on the top of it all here was Yootha alone with him in his house-boat for the night. True, nobody need know, but the risk of discovery existed, and so long as it existed there was danger, especially in view of his and Yootha’s experience during the past few hours. Blackmailers he had for years looked upon with loathing, and always he had told himself that should he by any extraordinary mishap ever render himself open to blackmail he would then and there face the music, attack his attacker, thrash him if need be, do anything and everything sooner than accede to any scoundrel’s proposals. And yet here he was hemmed in with Yootha and on the point of becoming an unwilling accessory to another’s blackmail in order to shield, not himself only--that, he told himself, he never would have done--but the woman he loved to distraction, and to protect her honor. The prospect was too awful, and, as he thought about it now, racking his brain to find a way out of the net which had been so cleverly drawn around them both, every way seemed blocked, and a cold perspiration broke out all over him. Silently he kissed Yootha once more as she bade him good night, and for several minutes they remained locked in each other’s arms. When he was alone again, Tom came to him. In his hand was a large, rather bulky gray envelope. “This was brought for you, sir, about six o’clock, and as it is marked very urgent I took the dinghy and rowed to the boat where you had gone to tea, but the gentleman told me you had just left.” “What gentleman?” “I don’t know his name, sir, but----” And he described his appearance. “La Planta,” Preston said aloud, with a frown. Then he took the letter and went below to read it by the light of the lamp, leaving Tom on deck. About two minutes later the ex-soldier stopped abruptly in his work of folding up the deck-chairs, and listened. No sound was audible. “Strange,” he murmured. “I could have sworn I heard a groan.” Stepping very quietly, he crept down the few steps, then peered into his master’s cabin, the door of which stood half open. Preston, seated with his elbows on the table, his head resting between his hands, was staring at some letters spread out in front of him. Thus he remained for several moments, motionless, though from where Tom stood his heavy breathing was audible. Tom gave a light knock on the door, then entered. Preston gave no sign. “Is there anything more I can do for you, sir, before I go to bed?” the man asked. Preston did not reply. He still made no sign, and seemed unconscious of the other’s presence.