'This robbery is cruel and infamous!' exclaimed Dulcie, trembling with grief and just indignation; but Shafto only laughed in anger and bitterness--and a very hyena-like laugh it was, and as some one was coming down the secluded lane, he turned away and left her in the twilight. He felt himself safe from opprobrium and punishment, as he knew well she was loth to make any complaint to her father on the subject; and just then she knew not how to communicate with Florian, as the darkness was falling fast, and the hour of his departure was close at hand. She thought it not improbable that Shafto would relent and return the locket to her; but the night was far advanced ere that hope was dissipated, and she attained some outward appearance of composure, though her father's sharp and affectionate eyes detected that she had been suffering. He had heard from her some confused and rambling story about the family secret, the packet, and the peerage, a story of which he could make nothing, though Shafto's bearing to himself that evening seemed to confirm the idea that 'there was something in it.' Anyway, Mr. Carlyon was not indisposed to turn the event to account in one sense. 'Likely--likely enough, Dulcie lass,' said he; 'and so you'll hear no more of these two lads, if they are likely to become great folks, and belong to what is called the upper ten; they'll never think again of a poor village belle like you, though there is not a prettier face in all Devonshire than my Dulcie's from Lyme Regis to Cawsand Bay.' He meant this kindly, and spoke with a purpose; and his words and the warning they conveyed sank bitterly into the tender heart of poor Dulcie. By this time the cousins were sweeping through the darkness in the express train by Exeter, Taunton, and so forth; both were very silent, and each was full of his own thoughts, and what these were the reader may very well imagine. Heedless of the covert and sneering smiles of Shafto, Florian, from time to time, drew forth the photo of Dulcie, and her shining lock of red-golden hair, his sole links between the past and the present; and already he felt as if a score of years had lapsed since they sat side by side upon the fallen tree. Then, that he might give his whole thoughts to Dulcie, he affected to sleep; but Shafto did not sleep for hours. He sat quietly enough with his face in shadow, his travelling-cap of tweed-check pulled well down over his watchful and shifty grey-green eyes, the lamp overhead giving a miserable glimmer suited to the concealment of expression and thought; and as the swift train sped northward, the cousins addressed not a word to each other concerning those they had left behind, what was before them, or anything else. After a time, Shafto really slept--slept the slumber which is supposed to be the reward of the just and conscientious, but which is much more often enjoyed by those who have no conscience at all.