“Let him be,” said Andria pitifully. “Besides, if we are going away! And we shall be quite safe with you in the house”--“and Raimond!” she added in her mind, the thought of him bringing light to her eyes, color to her lips. “Yes, exactly,” he agreed quickly, though he had no idea of sleeping in the house or letting the man he had brought with him sleep there either. That madman would tear him limb from limb if he could; Mr. Egerton knew only too well that the very sight of him would rouse boundless fury in the dumb thing that ran up and down the deserted gardens whence his delight had fled. He would never dare to stay in the house knowing that his crazy enemy had ever been able to enter it. “How did he get in?” he asked. “I don’t quite know,” she stammered. “I was up-stairs.” She had forgotten all about Heriot stuffed away in the servants’ quarters till now. She had it on the tip of her tongue to avow everything, but something furtive, dishonest, in Egerton’s face stopped her. “Better wait,” she thought. “I can tell Raimond first. He will know what to do.” And though Egerton had explained far more than he had imagined to her all was not clear yet. As he rose to go she rose, too, and looked at him. “Why did you tell me this was Bermuda?” she asked suddenly. “From inadvertency, at first--the house is called Bermuda. Then because I feared you would rebel against being banished to an uninhabited part of the Azores. I fancied you had not been accustomed to--dulness!” and at the covert meaning of the words and the lie that began them, she caught her breath. There had been no inadvertence in his mention of Bermuda, first or last. “I wanted Beryl out of England, you’re right!” he added, as if he knew what was in her mind. “I pitied her. I had no wish to see a long arm stretched out from the convent to claim her, for of course she has told you her story. I hope to see her happily married, not dragging out existence in prison, all but the name. And I knew no other place to put her. But that,” with his queer laugh, “will be remedied now.” Something in the assured expectancy of his voice woke a dreadful thought in Andria Erle. Like a flash the glamour fell from her eyes, she put two and two together. He meant to see Beryl safely married; he had brought Raimond Erle to this place; the things dovetailed with horrible accuracy, though she could not see what Raimond had to do with Egerton. “You mean----” she said; she could hardly speak. “I mean one never knows what the day may bring forth,” he answered lightly. “If you look from your window you may understand.” She had no need to. Their voices, Beryl’s and Raimond’s, came up to her gaily where she stood. Had she been deaf not to have heard them before? It was as if a gulf of darkness had opened under her feet, yet she would not flinch if pride could keep her steady. Raimond--did Egerton mean it was for her sake he had come?