The Colonel was dazed, like a man struck by a cyclone. He stood, as it were, among the ruins of that imaginative structure which, in collaboration with his life-long friend and comrade in arms, Sir Stephen Laughton, he had erected with fond and elaborate care for his child. He found himself defeated, humiliated, and worse, for, as he thought, his honour was involved. As he recovered his mental poise his indignation rose. His wrathful eyes wandered from face to face, seeking sympathy and help, and finding none, searching out a point of attack. As most vulnerable he lit upon the young Englishman who, looking wretched and embarrassed, had edged somewhat behind the Reverend Donald Fraser, standing uncompromisingly fronting the wrathful man. “Guy, I deeply regret this—eh—most—eh—unhappy, most disgraceful—eh—occurrence. Will you explain to your respected father my deep disappointment and regret. Tell him—but what is there to say? What can a man do in such a case as this?” He waved his hand vaguely toward the two young people pilloried as culprits before him. “What can a man do, I ask you?” “If I may venture a suggestion, sir,” replied Guy, with the air of a man offering perfectly disinterested advice, “I should say congratulations all around were in order.” “Congratulations!” shouted the Colonel. “Damnation!” “Edgar, my dear Edgar,” protested his wife. “My dear, allow me. And you, sir,” he said, turning abruptly to the Reverend Donald Fraser, “can you condone such proceedings? What do you say, sir?” “Sir, with your permission,” said the minister with solemn gravity, “in words of weightier authority than my own, I would say, ‘Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing, and obtaineth favor from the Lord.’ Who are we that we should seek to oppose the leadings of providence?” “Providence?” snorted the Colonel. “The devil!” “Edgar, I beg you,” pleaded his wife, who in twenty-two years had never seen her husband in such a mood. “My dear, my dear, you must allow me. In this matter my honour is involved.” Then, wheeling upon Paul, in tones of chilling courtesy he said, “And you, sir, all that I shall say to you is this, that I have the honour to wish you good night.” “Colonel Pelham!” entreated Paul. “You will find your horse in the stable, sir,” said the Colonel, bowing profoundly. Paul stood motionless for a moment, then with an answering bow he replied gravely, “Good night, Colonel Pelham. Good night, Aunt Augusta.” “Wait, Paul, for me,” said Peg, starting forward. “I’m going with you.” “Not tonight, Peg,” said Paul. “When I am ready for you I shall come for you.” “And when will that be?” inquired the Colonel ironically. “Tomorrow, sir. Today, I am glad to say, Pine Croft comes back into my hands, clear of all encumbrances.” “Clear?” gasped the Colonel. “Clear,” said Paul quietly. “Tomorrow I shall come for your daughter.” “You defy me, sir?” shouted the Colonel. “Edgar, I beseech you——” cried his wife.