John Glenalvan and Elinor, his daughter, brought up the rear. Perhaps the old gentleman and his servant were as much astonished at seeing these followers as they were at the sight that met their eyes. Old Dinah recovered her self-possession first of all, perhaps because she had vaguely suspected some such eclaircissement from the facts already in her possession. She rushed forward and caught her disobedient nursling by the hand. "Oh, my darlin', my honey, chile," she cried. "Come away from dat black-hearted wilyun to your grandpa and your ole brack mammy." But to the consternation of everybody, the girl shook Dinah's hand off, and clung persistently to her lover. He drew his arm protectingly around the slight figure, and Golden cried out with pretty, childish defiance: "He loves me! he loves me! and I will not leave him." That sight and those words fairly maddened Elinor Glenalvan. The blood seemed to boil in her veins. "Loves you--ha! ha! loves you, the child of sin and shame!" she cried out, in a hoarse voice of bitter scorn and passion. "Oh, yes, he loves you. That is why he has lured you to your ruin, as a stranger did your mother before you." "Hush, Elinor," said John Glenalvan, in his sternest tone; then he looked at his father, who had crept to Golden's side, and stood there trembling and speechless. "Father," he said, harshly, "take the girl away. I must speak with Mr. Chesleigh alone." "I will not go," said Golden, and she looked up into her lover's face with a strange, wistful pleading in her soft, blue eyes, and in her sweet, coaxing lips. He bent down and whispered something that made her leave his side and put her small hand gently into her grandfather's. "Grandpa, I will go home with you now," she said to him, tremulously, and he led her away, followed by Dinah, who glared angrily behind her, and muttered opprobrious invectives as she went. If looks could have killed, Bertram Chesleigh would never have lived to figure any further in the pages of my romance. CHAPTER X. Bertram Chesleigh was left alone by the lake, with the angry eyes of John Glenalvan glaring upon him, while Elinor, speechless with rage, stood a little apart and watched him. "Mr. Chesleigh, may I ask the meaning of this singular scene?" inquired his host, stiffly. Bertram Chesleigh, standing with folded arms in dignified silence, opened his lips and said, briefly: "It means, Mr. Glenalvan, that I have made the acquaintance of your niece and fallen in love with her." A threatening flash came into Elinor's eyes in the moonlight. She bit her lips fiercely to keep back the words that rose to them. "I am sorry to hear that," said John Glenalvan, in a subdued voice. Inwardly he was raging with anger, but he allowed no trace of it to escape him. "Will you tell me where and how you became acquainted with that child?" "I must decline to do so," said the young man, firmly. John Glenalvan looked around at his daughter.