"Who can fathom human enmity, or the ingenious cunning of the evil-doer?" asked the grey-faced rector quite calmly. "Have you never stopped to wonder at the marvellous subtlety of human wickedness?" "Those men are veritable fiends," I cried. "Yet why have I aroused their animosity? If you know so much concerning them, Mr. Shuttleworth, don't you think that it is your duty to protect your fellow-creatures?--to make it your business to inform the police?" I added. "Probably it is," he said reflectively. "But there are times when even the performance of one's duty may be injudicious." "Surely it is not injudicious to expose the methods of such blackguards!" I cried. "Pardon me," he said. "I am compelled to differ with that opinion. Were you in possession of the same knowledge as myself, you too, would, I feel sure, deem it injudicious." "But what is this secret knowledge?" I demanded. "I have narrowly escaped being foully done to death. I have been robbed, and I feel that it is but right that I should now know the truth." "Not from me, Mr. Biddulph," he answered. "Have I not already told you the reason why no word of the actual facts may pass my lips?" "I cannot see why you should persist in thus mystifying me as to the sinister motive of that pair of assassins. If they wished to rob me, they could have done so without seeking to take my life by those horrible means." "What means did they employ?" he asked. Briefly and vividly I explained their methods, as he sat silent, listening to me to the end. He evinced neither horror nor surprise. Perhaps he knew their mode of procedure only too well. "I warned you," was all he vouchsafed. "Sylvia warned you also." "It is over--of the past, Mr. Shuttleworth," I said, rising from my chair. "I feel confident that Sylvia, though she possessed knowledge of what was intended, had no hand whatever in it. Indeed, so confident am I of her loyalty to me, that to-day--yes, let me confess it to you--for I know you are my friend as well as hers, to-day, here--only an hour ago, I asked Sylvia to become my wife." "Your wife!" he gasped, starting to his feet, his countenance pale and drawn. "Yes, my wife." "And what was her answer?" he asked dryly, in a changed tone. "She has consented." "Mr. Biddulph," he said very gravely, looking straight into my face, "this must never be! Have I not already told you the ghastly truth?--that there is a secret--an unmentionable secret----" "A secret concerning her!" I cried. "What is it? Come, Mr. Shuttleworth, you shall tell me, I demand to know!" "I can only repeat that between you and Sylvia Pennington there still lies the open gulf--and that gulf is, indeed, the grave. In your ignorance of the strange but actual facts you do not realize your own dread peril, or you would never ask her to become your wife. Abandon all thought of her, I beg of you," he urged earnestly. "Take this advice of mine, for one day you will assuredly thank me for my counsel."