"Your hand--life of my life," he whispered softly; and as she gazed at him wildly, her hand, as if drawn by the magnetism of his nature, glided slowly into his, and was clasped in his nervous grasp. "I am going to wait." "No," she said more firmly. "This for the last time. They would kill me--they would kill you." "No," he said. "An hour ago I would have welcomed death; now life opens before me in its fullest sunshine of joy. They shall not kill you; they shall not kill me, for I know you love me and have suffered, and it has made me strong." "Impossible, impossible," she whispered, with her eyes fixed upon his. Then he loosed his hold of her gloved hand, dropping back and raising his hat as the carriage rolled on. He stood and watched it for a few minutes till it had passed out of sight, and then drawing himself up, feeling that a breach of invigorating life had run through his being, he turned to walk back across the path, and found himself nearly confronting the man who had occupied so much of his waking thoughts, and whose eyes now seemed to flash as they gazed fiercely in his. "Well," said Chester to himself, as he set his teeth hard, "I am ready for the worst. Am I to learn the mystery of the big house now?" And he took a step forward to meet the man he felt to be the great enemy of both their lives. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. THE GAME IS UP. To Chester's surprise James Clareborough's face hardened and grew stony as they approached, and the next moment he had passed him without a word or the slightest sign of recognition, and when, stung by jealous solicitude for the woman he loved, Chester turned and followed, he saw his enemy take another direction to that in which Marion was being driven. Then days passed--then weeks; and in spite of constant watchfulness Chester could not get a glimpse of her who filled his thoughts. The reason was patent--the family had left town, and he had once more to track them out. But this was easy, and in a day or two he was down at the nearest spot where he could unobserved obtain lodgings, ostensibly trout fishing the stream that meandered by The Towers, the Clareboroughs' Kentish estate. Still he could not obtain a second interview. He knew, though, that which filled him with exultation and patience to wait--he was loved. There were troubles at The Towers in the lower stratum, all connected with speculation; and, though money was worthless in these days in Chester's eyes, the speculation affected his fate. It was in this wise:-- Roach looked puffy, and especially so beneath the eyes, where a couple of pendulous bags disfigured his important-looking countenance.