“I’m worn out,” she thought; “I’m beginning to imagine things. It couldn’t have been Egerton’s laugh I heard, for he wouldn’t dare come here at night--and he couldn’t have known he’d any reason to watch us.” But argue as she liked, some sound had shaken her nerves till she dared not strike a light lest some watcher outside might see. “Beryl,” she said, standing by the girl’s bed in the dark, “Beryl!” “Hush!” said a voice, “I’m here,” and Andria made out a white figure by the window, and groped to the girl’s side. “Something woke me, I thought. Andria, I thought I heard a shot! Where’s Mr. Heriot?” “A shot!” Andria turned cold, till she remembered she had watched him safely out of sight and not a sound had broken the stillness. “You couldn’t have,” she said, bringing all her common sense to her aid; “you must have been dreaming! He’s gone away, Beryl. I made him go.” “Gone! Where--what for?” she stared in the dark. “I sent him. I was afraid to let him stay. Beryl, we’re in a dreadful place. His going was the only chance to save us.” “What do you mean he’s to save us from?” cried Beryl, stamping her bare foot. “If there’s anything to save us from he’d better be here.” She was wild with misery. That was what his half-hearted answer had meant, and he did not care enough even to bid her good-by. “He couldn’t do anything here. They’d kill him if they found him. Do you know what I heard to-night?” But the girl did not answer. She was putting on her clothes in the dark. “Why did you send him--what for?” she asked harshly. “I sent him to a town--he says there is one--to get a boat and come back and take us away. It’s all we can do. Egerton isn’t Egerton at all, he only calls himself that, and he means to carry you off and marry you to Mr. Erle or leave you here to die.” “I’ll never go with him. Why did you send Mr. Heriot away? There’d be time after we’re left here to run away in a boat.” “There’d be no time for anything, for Heriot and me.” But the words did not touch the girl. For the first time a distrust of Andria seized her. “You sent him away because he loves me!” she cried. “I don’t believe Mr. Erle wants to marry me. I’ve believed everything you say, like a fool, and I don’t even know why you call yourself Holbeach. For all I know your name may be Heriot. He knew you when he came here.” “My God!” said Andria Erle. No blow of her life had ever hurt her like this one. She pulled a sealed envelope from the bosom of her dress and thrust it passionately into Beryl’s hand. “Look at that, and you’ll see my name,” she cried, “and may God forgive you! I swear before Him that Heriot is not and never was anything to me.” Something in the utter agony of the voice broke through the suspicion, the jealousy, of Beryl Corselas’ heart.