Mark trembled with mingled rage and apprehension. “Hello,” said Campbell, in a low voice to Blake, “our friend here seems able to put a spoke in Harwood’s wheel. This is most interesting.” “Who are you?” said Mark, once more. “Who I am does not matter,” said Tom. “Gentlemen,” he now ignored Mark, “I have met some of those who bore Mr. Harwood company upon that day, and----” “And they told you the facts of the case,” cried Lieutenant Blake, anxious to see Mark humiliated. “Come, out with it; let us hear what you have to say.” “I have merely this to say. Mark Harwood did not once have the manhood to place himself within the reach of his cousin’s sabre. He spent his time upon the outskirts of the throng, and his part in the affray consisted entirely of shouting directions to braver men than himself.” A score of cold, contemptuous eyes turned themselves upon Mark; the scorn they felt for him was unmistakable. Mark, quivering with passion, turned upon Tom, his hand raised to strike--but the next instant he was measuring his length upon the ground, and Tom had vanished amidst the quickly gathering crowd. The rooms of the Deering mansion were large ones, but the brilliant gathering to-night completely filled them. It was a strange feeling for the young swamp-rider, a half hour or so after his experience with Mark, to stand a stranger--unknown--in his own home. The crowd had begun to press into the house, for the hour had arrived when Laura was to be made the unwilling wife of Lieutenant Cheyne. Tom would have given anything for a word with her, for Laura had been his mother’s favorite niece, and was a good, brave-hearted girl whom he had always been proud of. But, though he had sought everywhere, he could not catch even a glimpse of her. However, as he stood by the door leading to the main hall, there came a sudden stir among the ladies. A party had just come in; splendidly attired women, officers glittering with orders and gold lace, gentlemen of civil life in powdered wigs and frills starched to a snowy whiteness. And in the midst of them was Laura, looking sad and red-eyed with weeping. Tom started forward, but the thronging crowd was too great and he was forced back to the quiet spot near the door which he had occupied before. And, as fate willed it, in a few moments poor Laura, who had crept out of the chattering, laughing, exclaiming crush to cry, stood at his side. “Laura,” said he eagerly. “Laura.” His tone was low, but the sound reached her; and she looked at him, frightened and surprised. “Laura,” said he. “Don’t you know me?” “Cousin Tom,” whispered she, delight mixed with fear. “Oh, what are you doing here? You have placed yourself in great danger; why did you come?” “To see you.” “To see me!” “And to ask you if this, which is to take place here to-night, is with your free will.” Laura did not answer, but sobbed.