‘Don’t be afraid, madam,’ said the mysterious woman, in a sweet, reassuring voice; ‘I only wanted a few words with you. I may not tell you who I am, but I have heard your story, and I pity you.’ ‘You pity me!’ said Ruth, astonished. ‘Why?’ ‘Because I know what is in store for you.’ They had walked along by the side of the park, away from the lodge gates to a place where the hedge grew thickly over a low-lying wall. ‘Do not speak in riddles,’ exclaimed Ruth. ‘If your object is a friendly one—as something in your manner tells me it is—speak freely and let me know the worst. You said my husband’s liberty was threatened—by whom?’ ‘By justice.’ Ruth started back. The old suspicion rushed back upon her, and her face flushed hot, and then went deadly pale. ‘By justice?’ she stammered. ‘I do not understand.’ ‘Listen to me, madam, for my time is short. There are those to whom the history of your husband’s past life is known. Soon they will accuse him openly. One of his former associates will turn Queen’s evidence against him. His deadliest enemy knows all. I tell you this now, because I have suffered myself, and I do not wish to be a party to that which will be a life-long separation between husband and wife. I am doing wrong, but I cannot help it.’ ‘Yes—yes!’ cried Ruth, ‘I believe you. But what am I to do?’ ‘Bid your husband leave this place to-night. Tell him that the secret of the great gold robbery is known to Mr. Gurth Egerton, and that to-morrow he may be arrested.’ Ruth gave a cry of horror—a cry which died away on her lips as a loud rustling by the hedge announced the presence of some one—some one who had perhaps overheard all. Ruth and her informant walked quickly away. ‘Go now,’ said the woman. ‘You have no time to lose. Let your husband fly at once. To-morrow it will be too late.’ ‘Yes; I will! I will!’ cried Ruth, almost fainting with horror and grief. ‘But tell me how you know this.’ ‘How I know it!’ said the woman, passionately flinging up her veil. ‘Look at me well—you, whose husband I have saved—and remember me. I am the wife of George Heritage. I am the rightful mistress of these broad lands. My husband is a convict—a hunted felon. He was the victim of a vile plot, which your husband concocted. I know all now; and yet I forgive him for your sake. I want no wife’s agony on my head if it can be spared. Your husband ruined mine. I have come to save yours!’ Ruth buried her face in her hands as Bess poured out her wild words—words wrung from her heart. ‘Remember,’ said the woman, ‘to-morrow it will be too late.’ As she spoke she walked rapidly away, leaving Ruth rooted to the spot. As soon as her limbs would obey her will, terrified and heartbroken, Ruth staggered, rather than walked, back to the hall. Coming down the walk she met her husband. ‘Edward!’ she cried, ‘where are you going?’