"Yes," said Vincent, with a certain scorn. "It was for my sake they were so ready to suspect—it was for my sake they were so eager to regard everything from the attorney’s point of view! They would not take my word for anything; they would rather trust to their private enquiry offices. I was supposed to be so easily blinded; the swindlers had such a willing dupe; no reliance was to be placed but on the testimony of spies. What childish rubbish! Why, I introduced my aunt to Mr. Bethune and his granddaughter: she could not find a word to say against them—but her suspicions remained all the same! And then apparently she went and consulted with my father. It was so dreadful that I was being cheated by those two dangerous characters! Couldn’t the lawyers and their private inquiry agents—couldn’t they make out some story that would appal me? Couldn’t they make up some bogey—straw, and an old coat—that would terrify me out of my wits? And then when I wasn’t appalled by their idle trash of stories—oh, for goodness sake, get those desperate creatures smuggled away out of the country! No safety unless they were hidden away somewhere! And then they went to the old man; and I can imagine how they persuaded him. The greatest kindness to every one concerned if only he would fall in with their views; he would save his granddaughter from entering a family who had mistaken, but undoubted, prejudices against her; and of course they couldn’t allow him to put himself so much about without endeavouring to pay part of the cost. It was no solatium to the young lady—oh, no, certainly not!—probably she was destined for much higher things; and it was no gift to himself; it was merely that the relatives of that hot-headed young man were desirous of pleasing themselves by showing how much they appreciated his, Mr. Bethune’s, generosity in making this little sacrifice. Well, they succeeded: but they little knew—and they little know—what they have done!" Perhaps there was something in the proud and withal disdainful tones of the young man’s voice that was quite as convincing as his words; at all events, his friend said— "Well, I sympathise with you, Vin, I do really. But you see how I am situated. I am an emissary—an intermediary—I want peace——" "It is no use saying peace where there is no peace," Vincent broke in. "Nor need there be war. Silence is best. Let what has been done go; it cannot be undone now." "Vincent—if you would only think how fond your aunt is of you—if you would think of her distress——" "It was she who ought to have considered first," was the rejoinder. "Do you imagine I have suffered nothing, before I went to America, and then, and since? But that is of little account. I could forgive whatever has happened to myself. It is when I think of some one else—sent adrift upon the world again—but it is better not to talk!"