The girl had allowed herself to remain in her lover's arms in one long kiss of perfect ecstasy. Then, with a sigh of regret, she had held his hand and gone forward again without a word. When Walter had left, the sun of her young life would have set, for after all it was not exactly exciting to be the eyes and ears of a man who was blind. And there was always at her side that man whom she hated, and who, she knew, was her bitterest foe--James Flockart. Of late her father seemed to have taken him strangely into his confidence. Why, she could not tell. A sudden change of front on the Baronet's part was unusual; but as she watched with sinking heart she could not conceal from herself the fact that Flockart now exercised considerable influence over her father--an influence which in some matters had already proved to be greater than her own. It was of this man Walter spoke. "I have a regret, dearest--nay, more than a regret, a fear--in leaving you here alone," he exclaimed in a low, distinct voice, gazing into the blue, fathomless depths of those eyes so very dear to him. "A fear! Why?" she asked in some surprise, returning his look. "Because of that man--your mother's friend," he said. "Recently I have heard some curious tales concerning him. I really wonder why Sir Henry still retains him as his guest." "Why need we speak of him?" she exclaimed quickly, for the subject was distasteful. "Because I wish you to be forewarned," he said in a serious voice. "That man is no fitting companion for you. His past is too well known to a certain circle." "His past!" she echoed. "What have you discovered concerning him?" Her companion did not answer for a few moments. How could he tell her all that he had heard? His desire was to warn her, yet he could not relate to her the allegations made by certain persons against Flockart. "Gabrielle," he said, "all that I have heard tends to show that his friendship for you and for your father is false; therefore avoid him--beware of him." "I--I know," she faltered, lowering her eyes. "I've felt that was the case all along, yet I----" "Yet what?" he asked. "I mean I want you to promise me one thing, Walter," she said quickly. "You love me, do you not?" "Love you, my own darling! How can you ask such a question? You surely know that I do!" "Then, if you really love me, you will make me a promise." "Of what?" "Only one thing--one little thing," she said in a low, earnest voice, looking straight into his eyes. "If--if that man ever makes an allegation against me, you won't believe him?" "An allegation! Why, darling, what allegation could such a man ever make against you?" "He is my enemy," she remarked simply. "I know that. But what charge could he bring against you? Why, if even he dared to utter a single word against you, I--I'd wring the ruffian's neck!" "But if he did, Walter, you wouldn't believe him, would you?" "Of course I wouldn't."