"Stephen Davenant," he said, in slow, measured tones, "one word with you before we part. You have gained your end--be what it may; I say for your sake, let it be for good; for if it be for evil, you have one to deal with who will not hold his hand to punish and avenge. Rather than let her know the heritage of shame which hangs over her, I have let her go. If you value your safety, guard her, for at your hands I require her happiness and well being." Stephen's face paled, but the smile struggled to its accustomed place. "My dear Mr. Rolfe," he began, but Gideon stopped him with a gesture. "Enough. I set no value on your word. There is no need for further speech between us. From this hour our roads lie apart. Take yours, and leave me mine." "This is very sad. Well, well; as you say, I have gained my end, but, as I would rather put it, I have done my duty, and I must bear your ungrounded suspicions patiently. Good-bye, my dear sir--good-bye." "I have sworn never to touch the hand of a Davenant in friendship," he said, grimly. "There lies your path"--and he pointed to the Wermesley road--"mine is here, for the present." And with a curt nod, he turned toward the cottage. With a gentle sigh and shake of the head, Stephen, after lingering for a moment, as if he hoped that Gideon's heart might be softened, turned and entered the wood. Once in the shadow and out of sight, the smile disappeared, and left his face careworn, restless and anxious. "Fate favors me," he muttered. "That boor knows--guesses--nothing of the truth. I never thought to get the girl out of his clutches so easily! Now she is under my watch and ken--I hold her in my hand. But--but"--he mused, his lips twitching, his eyes moving restlessly to and fro--"what shall I do with her? Beautiful--she is lovely! How long will she escape notice in London? Someone will see her--some hot-headed fool--and fall in love. She might marry. Ah!" And he stooped amongst the brakes and ferns, and looked up, with a sudden, dull-red flush on his pale cheek, a bright glitter in his light eyes, while a thought ran like lightning through his cunning brain. "Marry her! Why--why should not I?" An answer came quickly enough in the remembrance of the pale dark face of Laura Treherne, the girl to whom he was pledged. But with a gesture of impatience he swept the obtrusive remembrance aside. "Why not?" he muttered. "Then, at one stroke, I should secure myself. By Heaven--I will! I will!" So elated was he by the thought that he stopped and leaned against a tree and took off his hat, allowing the cool breezes to play upon his white forehead. "Beautiful, and the real heiress of Hurst Leigh," he muttered. "Why should I not? By one stroke I should make myself secure, and set that cursed will at defiance, let it be where it may! I will! I will!" he repeated, setting his teeth; then, as he put on his hat, he smiled pitifully and murmured: "Poor Laura, poor Laura!" CHAPTER XIV.