“Ismay, love!” the man fairly groaned. “Do you mean me to believe all you’ve been saying? Wait a minute; speak to me; forget everything but that I loved you and you drove me mad!” “Loved me? A thief, a liar, the daughter of a murderess, whose name is a byword!” Her voice rang out clear and wicked. “Oh, no, Mr. Cylmer! You did not love me. You thought you loved me yesterday. Farewell!” His ring lay unheeded on the ground between them, as he sprang to stop her. But she was quick and elusive as a shadow. Cylmer, his courage gone, his heart faint within him, leaned on the stile, as weak as a woman. In all her words there had been only one meaning to him. It was she who had done it, and not her mother. And it was he who had stirred the lagging investigation to fresh life. Girl, sorceress, woman! Whatever she was, she had been a child in his hands till to-day. And it was he who had set the noose about her neck! “Ismay!” he sobbed once sharply, as a man does, from his very heart’s core. Her blood would be on his head, and he loved her still. And yet she had been right. Not all she could have said or sworn would have blotted out those facts that, true or false, stood out so blackly against her. CHAPTER XXIX. A NIGHT’S WORK. White, tense, her nerves like an overstrung bow that goes near to breaking, Ismay ran through the dark to Marchant’s Hold. And as she entered the great hall door any pity that might have lingered in her breast was killed. Cristiane stood by the fire, dressed for dinner, her bare arms very fair against her black dress. “What! alone, and so late. Wouldn’t he even see you home to-night?” she laughed, for Ismay’s face was not hard to read. “He? Who do you mean?” She did not look a thing to play with as she stopped short before the girl who mocked her. “Miles, of course. Wasn’t he nice to you, Ismay? Or did that card I never got stick in his throat?” That card! So when she lost it, Cristiane had found it. It was she who had given it to Cylmer. She who had told everything. “You did it. You!” She could hardly speak. “Yes, it was I,” cheerfully. “You see, I am not such a baby, after all. But, cheer up. He will come back to-morrow. He won’t mind little things like those.” “You took him to my door last night.” But it was not a question, only a statement. “I withdrew him at once, promptly, when I saw it was a mistake,” calmly. And this was the girl whom only yesterday she had nearly died to save! Well, that was over. She could die now, as she pleased. No more would an arm be stretched out to protect her. Never again would a mock ghost play the spy on Marcus Wray. Her eyes were very steady, very evil, as she looked up. “I took that card, and I am very sorry I did,” she answered quietly. “He would have loved me without it. You can think of that for your pains.” Cristiane was suddenly afraid, but she gave a last fling. “Did he love you very much to-day?” she asked involuntarily. Ismay’s face hardened like stone.