“And so,” she said, her lip curling, “when your wedding-day is so near, and the woman you have won is making ready for your marriage, you amuse yourself in talking love to me! And that is your idea of honor, Mr. Black? You are well named. Craven by name, and Craven by nature!” She inclined her head haughtily and dashed on. Black, choking with rage, hurried in close pursuit. The lodge gates swung open at their approach, and they galloped up the avenue. Lady Wynde came out upon the terrace to meet them. Neva dismounted at the carriage porch, the terrace being only upon one side of the mansion, and with a haughty little bow to Lady Wynde passed into the house. Black dismounted and gave his horse in charge of the stable lad who had taken in hand the horse of Neva, and then walked toward the open drawing-room window with his betrothed wife. “What is the matter between you and Neva, Craven?” asked Lady Wynde jealously. “You look as black as a thundercloud, and she looked like an insulted queen. What have you been saying to her?” “I thought it time to divulge our secret to her, my darling,” said Black hypocritically. “Our wedding-day is so near that I deemed it best to inform her. I met her out riding, and seized upon the occasion to declare the truth.” “And what did she say?” “She fairly withered me with her scorn; recommended me to marry Matilda Artress; and seemed to regard my marriage with her father’s widow as a species of sacrilege. I hate her!” he hissed between his clenched teeth. Lady Wynde smiled, well-pleased. “And so do I,” she acknowledged frankly. “But it is for our interest to counterfeit friendship for her. Be patient, Craven. Some day you and I may bring down her haughty pride to the dust.” “Suppose she refuses Rufus?” “You and I will soon be married, Craven, and in our union is strength. Tell Rufus to write to Neva, delaying her answer to his suit for a month. By that time we shall be married. If she refuses then to accept your son as her husband, we can contrive some way to compel her obedience. I am her step-mother and guardian, and have authority which I shall use if I am pushed to the wall. I promise you, Craven, that we shall secure our ten thousand a year out of Neva’s fortune, and that we shall compel the girl to marry your son. Leave it all to me. Only wait and see!” CHAPTER XIX. NEVA’S CHOICE FORESHADOWED. In accordance with the advice of his scheming father, Rufus Black wrote a letter to Neva Wynde entreating her to take a month or six weeks, instead of the single week for which she had stipulated, for the consideration of his suit. And Neva, struggling between conflicting feelings, whose nature the reader already knows, and glad to be relieved of the necessity for an immediate decision, gratefully accepted the offered reprieve.