Rupert looked back at the risk of reprimand. It was at this very spot that his sister Marjorie had left them, going on into Princetown to do the week’s shopping—and to buy herself a present with the money Rupert had given her! He stared dry-eyed along the broad highway. Tears never dimmed his eyes now, as they had done at first. Reaction had come long ago. He had gone through the fire and had come out hardened. For a little while his sufferings had been unbearable. He had prayed for death. Even his love for Ruby Strode had not been sufficient to give him a hold on life. In the great convict prison day and night had been merged into one. There had been no break to the dreadful monotony and the everlasting silence. Time had not been composed of days and nights, but of hours; hours of minutes, minutes of seconds—and each second had been an eternity. Part of his torture had been in thinking of the sufferings of those he loved. Of the woman who had tried to save him, and whose great love had brought him to this pass; of his father and sister, who, perhaps, would never hold up their heads again, ostracised by the so-called decent people. He did not even know how they managed to live, whether they had enough money to keep body and soul together. And it was that thought that sometimes nearly drove him mad. The old man who had sacrificed everything for his sake to make a gentleman of him; his beautiful little sister, who had been standing on the threshold of life with the dawn of love in her heart. He had robbed her, too, of life and of love. Over and over again he had pictured Marjorie and his father sitting in the old kitchen of the little farmhouse alone, afraid even to look at one another, afraid to talk. Shunned by all their neighbours. Poverty facing them, perhaps starvation, the farm going to rot and ruin before their eyes. And yet, had they but known, a fortune waited for them in that old, disused tin-mine. No one knew anything about it but his friend, Robert Despard. His eyes had been opened too late, and he knew what sort of a friend Despard was. He did not even dare hope that the man who had taken their hospitality would play the game and tell John Dale of the vast possibilities that were hidden in the mine on his property. He would keep the knowledge to himself and take advantage of it ... and of Marjorie!—Rupert’s sister—whom he had professed to fall in love with.