But how explain it? How explain what herself she did not know? She looked from night that came stealing up the valley to his face that had a shade of night. She heard the wind that now was in gusty beat against them, and above the sound could hear his breathing. She could only wring her hands and say again: "Percival, I was always to;" and when he did not answer, "Let me go now, Percival." He answered her then. "You loved me. How can you do this? You loved me. Why did you not tell me?" She cried as if she were distracted, "Oh, oh! I asked you not to leave me. It was a long time. You were not here." He caught on to that. "I am here now. It shall not be. Dora, I am here now!" "It is done," she said. "It is done!" He seemed for the first time to realise the complete abandonment, the unresisting resignation to her fate, that was in her every word and tone. His voice went very low. "Dora, are you going to marry him?" "I was always to." It was the beginning and the end of her will. "I was always to." She had no question of it. He threw up his arms in wild despair at its repetition. "O my God! What a thing to tell me! What a thing to be! Why? Why? Do you love him? Is he anything to you? Why were you always to marry him?" She gave the reason her mother had never concealed from her. "He is Lord Burdon. It was arranged long ago. My mother--" The sound he made stopped her. As if he had been stabbed and choked his life out on the blow, "Ah!" he cried. "That is it. Because he is what he is. If he were like me this would never have happened. If he were not what he is it would be ended." She appealed "Percival! Percival!" wrung her hands and turned and went a step. When she looked again she saw his face as none had ever seen it, twisted in pain and dark with worse than pain. He was not looking at her, but down upon Little Letham where Burdon Old Manor lay. She approached him and spoke his name, touched him, but he did not move. She left him there and once looked back. He still stood as she had left him. CHAPTER XIII THE BIG FIGHT OPENS I There had been one years before that had cried, "You are Lord Burdon!" and one that had received it, first in light mock at its folly, then in bewilderment at its truth. There was one cried the same words at "Post Offic" on this night and one, groaning in torment of spirit, that put it aside as a jest untimely, then, convinced of it, got to his feet and heard as it were the world shattering to pieces in his ears.