Captain Desfrayne rose, and went over to his mother’s little writing-table. As if afraid to trust to his continuance of purpose, he sat down and wrote a few lines to Frank Amberley, asking him to make an appointment, as he desired to consult him on a matter of importance. He showed the note to his mother, enclosed it then in an envelope, addressed and stamped it, leaving it on the desk ready for the post. The ordeal he had so dreaded had been passed through. The terrible secret had been revealed. Now he wished he had spoken of it long ago. “You are going to Gloucester? When?” “On Wednesday. The regiment is stationed at Holston, some miles from Gloucester.” “Holston? Why, is not that near the place where Flore Hall is situated?” “Yes. I look forward to going over the old house once more as one of the few pleasures in store for me down there. I feel thankful to get away now.” Neither Captain Desfrayne nor his mother knew that the old Hall in which he had spent so many days of his childhood had been left to Lois Turquand by her dead benefactor. The storm had passed, leaving but little trace behind. Mrs. Desfrayne easily persuaded her son to remain for the rest of the evening with her. On Wednesday Captain Desfrayne was to go to Gloucester. On Monday he was to visit Madam Guiscardini, according to the appointment made in the gardens, though it seemed worse than useless to renew the pain and distress he had suffered that day. His mother was passionately averse to his seeing the woman who had so fatally entrapped him. “Nay, mother; it will be best to ascertain clearly how we are to spend our future lives,” Paul said. “We must come to a clear understanding some way.” On reaching home, he found a letter from Frank Amberley, dated that morning, before his own had been written, asking if it would be convenient for him to attend on Tuesday a meeting of the partners of the firm, to go more fully into the details of business having reference to Miss Turquand’s affairs. Paul Desfrayne saw it would not be so easy to shrink from his duties as sole trustee and executor to the beautiful Lois as he had hoped it might be. As he drifted into a broken, uneasy slumber that night, his last thoughts turned upon Lois, sincerely trusting it might not be necessary for the young girl to attend the meeting. Why should he have this fear--this undercurrent of aversion to encountering his beautiful charge? He had seen her only twice. He persuaded himself she was cold and beautiful as an antique statue. He argued to himself that a world-worn, half-weary man of thirty could scarcely be acceptable to a young girl of eighteen. He chose to feel certain that being dictated to in her choice must of itself suffice to render him unwelcome.