John Dale sighed and shook his head. He had forced himself to believe his daughter would forget. He had hoped, he had prayed, that she would have grown to see things in a reasonable way, and that this sudden promise of wealth would entirely change her point of view of life and love. "Sir Reginald will never consent to his son marrying you," he replied harshly. "Why, Jim is little more than a boy, he doesn’t know his own mind. He has already forgotten." Marjorie smiled and said nothing more. She knew that she would see him in a few days’ time, for he had applied for special leave on urgent private affairs, and he had written assuring her that he would be at the Hall again within twelve or fourteen days. He also hinted that he had important work in hand, that he might be doing some long distance flights on a new monoplane containing improvements, which were his own inventions, later on in the year. And he was down for early promotion. The twelve days of waiting for her lover’s return were long and weary ones. Blackthorn Farm was no longer the lonely, forgotten homestead, tucked away in a secluded part of the moorlands it had been formerly. Tourists and trippers thronged to look at the curious old farmhouse and to watch the works being erected a few hundred yards away. The place was over-run by workmen. All day long cars and lorries were rushing to and fro along the main road between Princetown and Post Bridge and Moretonhampstead. Solitude and loneliness, which had been so easy to find in the old days, disappeared. Marjorie had to take long walks before she knew she was safe from intrusion. She dreaded meeting friends and acquaintances more than the strangers who came to stare at her old home. She was not afraid of being cut or shunned. Instinct warned her, that now it was known vast wealth was hidden in the old mine, people would conveniently forget the shame that had fallen on her name. They would no longer think of her as the convict’s sister, but as the future heiress. Shame made her want to hide from every one but her lover. Even from her father and the labourers and farm hands on the estate. She was ashamed—not of herself or her brother, but of them! At last, one Friday morning, a note arrived from her lover saying that he would reach Post Bridge Hall that evening. Of course the news of the happenings at Blackthorn Farm had been carried to him. He told Marjorie that his father would be absent on Friday evening, and asked her as soon as it was dark to go straight up to the Hall. He did not want anyone to know of his arrival. So Marjorie said nothing. Her love had become too precious a thing to be talked about. Moreover, she did not want Despard to know of Jim’s presence at the Hall. Feeling secure in the knowledge that John Dale approved of his love for Marjorie, Despard had pressed his suit on every available opportunity, giving her no peace. When he found it was useless to plead, he even threatened her.