Perhaps, after all, the conversation Gertie had heard was connected with this very chcque. It might have been stolen from him by Heckett and his companions. She went downstairs and questioned Gertie, who with Lion at her feet, sat in a Windsor chair, timidly regarding the two servants, who eyed her in return with ill-concealed suspicion. Gertie assured Ruth that she had heard a plan for getting the gentleman out of the way discussed, and that one of the men had said, ‘We must make London too hot to hold him.’ Ruth easily allowed herself to be convinced that Marston was in real danger. She determined to put her scruples on one side, and act at once. She could trust no one with her secret. She would go herself. What harm could come of it? None. And the good that might result was incalculable. Between ten and eleven Ruth, deeply veiled, rang the visitors’ bell at Eden Villa. When the servant came to the door and asked her her business, she trembled, and felt inclined to run away. Mustering all her courage, and speaking quickly, lest the girl should detect her agitation, she asked if Mr. Marston was within. ‘I’ll see, ma’am,’ answered the girl cautiously. ‘What name?’ ‘Say Miss Adrian, on important business.’ The girl asked Ruth inside the hall, closed the door, and went in search of her master. Ruth went hot and cold, and trembled violently. A sudden revulsion of feeling came on her, and she seized the handle of the door to open it and fly. At that moment the girl returned and requested Ruth to follow her. Hardly knowing how she walked across the hall, Ruth obeyed, and was shown into an empty room. A minute afterwards Marston entered. ‘Miss Adrian,’ he said, bowing, ‘to what fortunate circumstance am I indebted for this visit?’ He spoke in an easy tone of every-day politeness. His expressive features belied the indifference he endeavoured to assume. ‘I beg your pardon,’ gasped Ruth, ‘but——’ Then her brave spirit gave way. Distressed, terrified at the position in which she found herself, a thousand old memories of the times past rushed upon her, and, bursting into tears, she buried her face in her hands. In a moment Marston was by her side. ‘Ruth! dear Ruth!’ he exclaimed, ‘for Heaven’s sake what does this mean? Dare I hope that——’ Ruth drew away the hand he had seized. ‘Mr. Marston,’ she exclaimed passionately, ‘it means that I was wrong to come here. I came to warn you of a deadly peril; hear me, and let me go.’ ‘Ruth, if you have come to tell me of the deadliest peril I shall ever be in on this side of the grave, I will welcome it since it has brought us face to face once more.’ Was he acting, this man, or were the impassioned accents in which he spoke the honest reflex of his feelings? ‘Hush!’ exclaimed Ruth; ‘you must not speak to me like that. We are strangers.’