“You overrate my determination, my strength of will, all the fine and noble qualities which, somehow or other, you still contrive to imagine in me,” said she gently. “I have no such force of character as you think. I’m a poor, wretched puppet, dancing to anyone who is clever enough to play the right tune. Don’t hope, don’t hope.” “I do hope, all the same,” cried he passionately, and hurriedly, as Arthur, perceiving that he was coming too soon, delayed a little, and lingered just out of earshot. “I want you to make this appeal, and to let me know the result. Will you? Will you?” She smiled sadly. “I can tell you the result already,” said she despondently; “but if you like, I will make it.” He had no time to say more, for Arthur had joined them, rather sheepishly, rather bewildered. He carried Miss Davison back to her friends, and then caught Gerard up as he was leaving the grounds, having made him a sign that he wanted a word with him. As soon as the two young men met, Arthur spoke-- “Rachel is treating you badly,” said he. “How do you mean?” “Well, she’s encouraging you, I could see by her looks, and yours. But--she’s engaged to Denver Van Santen all the time.” Gerard was startled. “Are you sure?” “Denver says so--so do the family. It’s looked upon as settled.” Gerard laughed harshly; but he would not believe. “They may think so, but they may make too sure,” he said. Arthur Aldington threw at him a compassionate look, as one does at a man, once intelligent and amiable, who has just been declared a lunatic. But the words which rose to his lips, words of congratulation to Gerard on his escape, he thought it wiser not to utter. CHAPTER XVIII At the end of a week Gerard received a letter addressed in a hand-writing which he did not know, but which he felt sure was that of Rachel Davison. The very envelope and note paper seemed, he thought, to be characteristic of her. The letter itself was very short. “DEAR MR. BUCKLAND,--I have kept my word to you. I have tried, and I have failed, as I said I should. Burn this, please.--RACHEL.” Gerard looked long at the words, which seemed to burn into his brain. He knew what misery of effort and failure they recorded. But he did not comply with her command and burn the letter. He folded it carefully again, and treasured it as he might have done a communication from a dear friend. It seemed to him to be the knell of all his hopes. But in spite of the despair with which the letter and his knowledge of some of the facts of Rachel’s position inspired him, he did not cease to think about her, and to wonder if there were no possible means of freeing her from the unseen hands which were holding her prisoner. If he had believed Denver to be an honorable man, he would have stifled his own feelings, and would have found consolation in knowing that, by marrying him, she would free herself at once from the thraldom in which she was held.