Mrs. Belswin, as it will be seen, was not a religious woman when she thought thus, and was willing to sacrifice dozens of human lives in order to get rid of her enemy. It was simply Balzac's mandarin over again, and Mrs. Belswin, with her savage disregard of human life, would have sacrificed all the mandarins in China, yea, China itself, if by so doing she could have retained her position undisturbed. However, there was but small possibility of either mandarin or ship perishing to please her, so she began to wonder in her own mind how she could get rid of Pethram before he could arrive at Thornstream. Ah, if Stephano Ferrari---- Stephano Ferrari! The idea came to her like an inspiration, and she hurriedly thought out a plan. Ferrari loved her, he would do anything to get her to marry him. Well, she would do so provided he got rid of Pethram and secured her position with her daughter. Murder! no, not murder, but suppose Pethram disappeared? Then---- Her brain was in a whirl, her throat was dry with excitement, and she leaned against a fence for a few minutes to keep herself from falling, for the earth seemed spinning round her and the sky red as blood before her eyes. With an effort she pulled herself together and looked around. "Mrs. Belk's cottage," she said, with a gasp of relief! "I'll go in and rest." CHAPTER IX A RUSTIC APOLLO. "The marble statue of an antique god May win our admiration for a time, Seeing it lacks not any outward grace, But stands a type of flesh idealised. Yet as we gaze in silent wonderment, We weary of the irresponsive stone, Because the cold perfection wants a soul." It was without doubt a charming cottage--such as one reads of in a fairy tale. Clay walls, thatched roof, wide diamond-paned casements, and twisted chimney, with all the violent colours subdued to a pleasant neutral tint by the sun and rain, while ivy, rose-trees and wistaria clambered over all, enclosing it in a network of greenery. And the garden--oh, it was a most delightful garden; not too neat, but all the handiwork of man softened by the gentle touch of nature. Tall hollyhocks, odorous stocks, crimson-tipped daisies, flaunting dahlias, and staring sunflowers grew together in riotous sweetness, breaking bounds here and there as they nodded over the low white fence and bent across the narrow path leading up to the rose-wreathed trellis of the porch. There was an apple-tree, too, on one side--a gnarled, moss-tufted apple-tree, already snowy with white blossoms, and on the other a low-branched cherry-tree, looking like a frosted twelfth cake. Pigeons fluttered around the eaves of the cottage, fowls strutted among the flowers, and over all blazed the hot sun of summer from the cloud-dappled sky. It was really charming in its rustic picturesqueness, and Mrs. Belswin, pausing at the gate, looked regretfully at this vision of bucolic ease so far removed from her own feverish existence.