“Make him go,” she breathed. “Get him out o’ dis. Dey’ll murder him if dey finds out. It ain’t no use his wantin’ to marry her nor trying to fight for her. Dey’ll just walk plunk over him, and all she’ll ever know is dat he ain’t come back some morning.” She shambled off after the girl, but there was tragedy in her working face. From old, old times she had known that there was no way but giving in with Egerton. If the girl were meant for his nephew he would have her in spite of ten Heriots and without an open refusal. “Come in,” repeated Andria, as Heriot stood irresolute in the doorway. “I think we must all be mad to stay out of doors after last night.” She spoke with an irrepressible shiver; he looked so handsome and debonair, and the odds against him were so great. “I’d rather not go into Erceldonne’s house,” he hesitated, “but there’s so much to say. And you can’t stay out here.” “I don’t think you can either,” he said dryly. Then Beryl had said nothing! But there had been no time. And after all, why should he trust their safety to a madman’s word? “Perhaps so,” he returned irrelevantly, entering and fastening the door. “Look here. I--I wonder if you’ll think I’ve behaved like a blackguard? I don’t know. I mean to marry that girl, and I haven’t one farthing to rub against another, while she--you heard what Erceldonne said about her?” “You told her so?” “Not about the money, nor anything but myself. I--oh, it’s been a mad evening! Do you know she saw that crazy old man and spoke to him?” “Then she did scream!” said Andria sharply. “Yes: but when I got there she had tamed him as she tamed the jaguars. He could have killed her, but instead she says he promised not to hurt us any more.” Andria turned swiftly away from the lamp that he might not see her face as Egerton’s story about the madman came back to her. The remembrance of all it must mean chilled her to the bone. “Begin at the beginning,” she temporized. “How did she get away from----” she could not say the name. She sat silent as he obeyed. If Egerton’s story were true, that jabbering lunatic’s daughter must have been Beryl’s mother! And yet, how could she tell it to Heriot? A queer, dull passion rose in her and seemed to choke down the words she would have tried, perhaps, to say. Heriot was all that really stood between Raimond and Beryl--let him find out her history for himself. “Besides, I don’t believe it!” she thought, and knew she lied. She scarcely dared look up lest he might ask if she knew who the crazy creature was that haunted the place. “Mr. Heriot,” she said quickly, “you’re in earnest about Beryl?” “Yes,” he answered very quietly, but she saw his mouth tighten. “What right Erceldonne has to her I don’t know, but it isn’t any better than mine. As for her being rich,” with a quick, sweet laugh, “when I get her away from here I’ll never inquire about her fortune.” “Or her people?” She could not keep in the dangerous question.