But the diabolical plausibility of Lucille’s rejoinder destroyed the last vestige of hope for Frank, who was less familiar with the laws of his country than every well-educated Briton should be. “You are right,” he groaned, “I did it--I _must_ have done it. And--what on earth shall I do _now_, Lucille?” Her face, past its first youth as it was, became rapt and transfigured with tenderness as she bent over him and laid one slight burning hand on each of his shoulders. “I will tell you,” she said, in her low, cooing accents; “if you stay here, you are lost! For after your rash visit to Inspector Brown at Scotland Yard, nay, before that, the detectives have been upon your track. It cannot be many years, or months, perhaps, before they hunt you down, even in such a remote island as Guernsey. And if you are arrested and brought to trial, Fenella will be powerless to screen you any longer. As your wife she will be unable to give her testimony in your behalf, as you are doubtless aware. I alone know your guilt, but do you think that I would betray you? Why, I love you, Frank; I think I have always loved you, even when I seemed to hate you most. And now that you have saved me from a hideous death, oh! my dear, my dear, how can I give you up? No, fly with me at once. We will go to South Africa, where society is freer and healthier than here, and conventional prejudices do not exist. Come, Frank, come ere it is too late.” The miserable man wavered on the couch; he did not love this woman, not at least with any passion deserving the name, but he was in her power. And how, how could he face his lovely innocent Fenella with the consciousness that he was a murderer? As he still hesitated, there came a resounding knock at the trellised door which made them both start. “The detectives!” whispered Lucille de Vigny, “_already_; quick, Frank, the back door.” But Frank Onslow had not lost all his manliness; he drew himself to his full height with a proud dignity. “Back doors are not exactly in my way, Lucille,” he said, “let them take me. I am ready to atone with the last remnant of my miserable, ill-spent life.” And the door flew open as he spoke--but it was no detective that entered. Fenella came in in her pretty light frock, her small cheeks flushed with a now unaccustomed rose tint, and something of the old, merry, mischievous sparkle in her tan-colored hazel eyes, for she had been laughing and talking on the way up with Jacynth, and telling him how she had fascinated the steward of the steamer, until, with her customary light-heartedness, she had almost forgotten the gravity of the errand on which she came. Jacynth’s dark, clean-shaven face, with the imperturbable expression and the firmly molded jaw, was visible over her slim shoulder.