Mr Muirhead was waiting for them when they arrived at Shepherd's Hotel, and greeted them with his customary cordiality. As they ascended the stairway together he said: "Remington, I want you to dine with us to-night. Don't refuse. I have arranged for a special American dish, which I am going to prepare myself." "Oh! What is that? If it's as good as the cocktails you make, I can't refuse," said Raife, laughingly. "It's better, much better, my boy. It's `lobster newburgh,' and, if you don't like it I shall count you an enemy of my country." "My dear Mr Muirhead, I could not be an enemy of the country that produced your genial self and your gracious daughter," was Raife's flattering retort. The dinner that night was served with rather more ceremony than usual, and Mr Muirhead's dish was a great success. Hilda did not participate so much as usual in the conversation, and her father rallied her on her quietude. At the close of dinner an attendant brought a telegram for Mr Muirhead. He opened it and having read it exclaimed, "Pshaw! that's a nuisance. Remington, will you excuse me? This calls for attention. I must cable to the bank. I don't suppose I shall be more than half an hour. Hilda will entertain you." When her father had gone, and they were alone, they sat, as was their wont, for some time in silence. Hilda poured out some coffee and handed it to Raife. In doing so she touched his hand. The momentary contact thrilled him and he broke the silence. "Hilda, perhaps I was wrong in speaking as I did this afternoon. Yet it is true. Let me tell you more of the buried incident, and of another tragedy in my life." Raife told of his father's murder and those fateful dying words which warned his son to beware. He told some portion of his association with the mysterious Gilda Tempest. Then he added: "There must be a kink in my own character somewhere, which I have inherited from some of my filibustering ancestors. Or perhaps there is gipsy blood in me. Things seem to happen differently to me--than to other men. But everything appears to be in my favour. I am rich, and I am the head of a distinguished family. Yet I have a wandering spirit, and an uncontrollable desire for the unconventional. I am rudderless and cannot steer a straight course." He had looked straight at the carpet during his narration, and his tones had been agitated. He paused and, raising his head, met her eyes gazing at him with a pained, sympathetic look. When their eyes met neither flinched, nor did they speak for some seconds. At length Hilda placed her hand on his arm saying, "Raife, I'm so sorry. How I wish I could help you." Raife sprang to his feet and, holding her hands apart, each in one of his, exclaimed passionately, "Hilda, dear, sweet Hilda! You can help me. I love you madly! Let me love you! Will you be my wife? Will you steer me to a better, a more useful life?"