The old man broke down then, and Jim saw tears coursing down the lined and furrowed cheeks. He bit his lip. "It is not impossible, sir. I want to announce the engagement now; now, at this moment, while this charge is hanging over your son’s head. Do you think a thing like that would make any difference to my love for your daughter? It’s at this moment she wants my love and the protection of my name. And she shall have it." Without waiting for a reply he opened the door. Dale stopped him. "I ought to tell you," he said unsteadily, "that last night Mr. Despard, Rupert’s friend, made the same request—told me he loved Marjorie and asked for her hand." "What did you say?" "Of course, I refused," Dale replied. "Why, they’ve only known each other a few days. But, putting that aside, I’m afraid I dislike and distrust the man. I feel he’s one of the men who has led my son into bad ways." He bent over the table and bowed his head between his hands. Again there was a long silence. "You have no objection to me as a son-in-law, Mr. Dale?" "Surely that question needs no answer—but, please say no more now. Leave me, Mr. James." Quietly closing the door behind him Jim walked out of the house into the garden. Taking no notice of Mr. Despard, he drew Marjorie aside and told her what had happened. "I am driving your father—and Mr. Despard—to Newton Abbot in about an hour’s time. When I come back we’ll have a little run in the car—tea together at Moretonhampstead, perhaps. Or, better still, we’ll go over to Hey Tor and have a picnic on our own. Cheer up, darling, all will be well, I know." Bending down, he kissed her in full view of Robert Despard. The latter scrunched the _Western Morning News_ up between his hands with an oath. Waving a farewell to Marjorie, Jim swung through the gate and hurried across the moorlands towards Post Bridge Hall. An hour later he was driving both John Dale and Mr. Robert Despard to Newton Abbot junction. And he could not help feeling some satisfaction when the train carried the latter gentleman away from Devonshire back to London. CHAPTER X. IN SUSPENSE. It was Saturday. A week had passed since Rupert’s arrest, since he had left the little rooms at Westminster and been driven to the police court. It all seemed to him like a vivid dream, in which he played a passive but unwilling part. He had seen no one but the prison chaplain since that dreadful day at the Westminster Police Court. The long wait in a bare cell, the sudden hurrying through dark passages, the Court, with the hum of conversation suddenly stifled—and then he found himself standing in the dock and felt rather than saw that every eye was fixed on him.