"This is your part," he said, in low, distinct tones, "and remember that the stake you are playing for is as great and greater than mine. I am playing for love, you are playing for love, and for wealth, and rank, and influence, all that makes life worth living for, for such as you." "You are insolent!" "No, I am simply candid. Between us two there can be no further by-play or concealment. If she obeys this command of his, and--" and he groaned--"I fear she will obey it! they will start by the eleven o'clock train, and he will await them at the London terminus. They must start by that train but they must not reach the terminus." She started, and eyed him in the dusk. He smiled sardonically. "No, I do not take extreme measures until they are absolutely necessary, Lady Lenore. It is an easy matter to prevent them reaching the terminus, a very easy one--it is only a matter of a forged note." Her lips moved. "A forged note?" He nodded. "Yes; having bidden her take a decided course, he must write and alter his instructions. Do you not understand?" She was silent, watching him. "A note must come from him--it will be better to write to the boy, because he is not familiar with Lord Leycester's hand-writing--telling them to get out at the station before London, at Vauxhall. They are to get out and go to the entrance, where they will find a brougham, which will take them to him. You understand?" "I understand," she said. "But the note--who is to forge--write it?" He smiled at her with malignant triumph. "You." "I?" He smiled again. "Yes, you. Who so well able to do it? You are an adept at manipulating correspondence, remember, my lady!" She winced, and her eyes blazed under their lowered lids. "You know his hand-writing, you can easily obtain access to his writing materials; the paper and envelope will bear the Wyndward crest. The note can be delivered by a servant from the Hall." She was silent, overwhelmed by the power of his cunning, and a reluctant admiration of his resource and ready ingenuity took possession of her. As he had said, he was no slave--no puppet to be worked at will. "You see," he said, after allowing a moment for his scheme to sink into her brain, "the note will be delivered almost at the last moment, at the carriage door, as the train starts. You will do it?" She turned away with a last effort. "I will not!" "Good," he said. "Then I will find some other means. Stella Etheridge shall never be Lord Leycester's wife; but neither shall a certain Lady Lenore Beauchamp." She turned upon him with a scornful smile. "To-morrow, when he stands balked and discomfited, filled with impotent rage, and sees me carry her off before his eyes, I will give him something to console him. This little note to wit, and a full account of _your_ share in this conspiracy which robs him of his prey." "You will not dare!" she breathed, her head erect, her eyes blazing.