"I do not know him, but I know human nature," retorted Robin. "What heir does not live in hopes of some day inheriting? I shall make no conditions with him, but place the proof of your father’s first marriage in his hands. Can you doubt that he will use that weapon to put himself in your place? Oh! don’t flatter yourself that my death will clear the worst danger out of your path. Alive, you have a dozen ways of silencing me; dead, I have one way to ruin you—utterly." The two men regarded each other for a few seconds intently. Robin’s face expressed cold, implacable determination, the other, deadly hostility. Lord Beachcombe turned suddenly and rapped sharply on the door. It was instantly opened by the jailer, and he strode out without another word or glance. Robin flung himself into the chair, and gave way to a deep and gloomy reverie. From time to time, broken sentences escaped him. "What is the use, after all?"—"It makes little difference whether I die now, or live to be hanged some other time"—and other remarks of a pessimistic and dismal nature. Then he fell to writing, but after a while, tore the paper into shreds, and sat moodily watching the sallow reflection of daylight fading slowly behind the bars. *CHAPTER VII* *A WEDDING-RING FOR A KISS* Robin had been alone half-an-hour or so, when the door was again opened, and another visitor announced. "Here, Highwayman," cried the jailer, "a lady wants to see you now. You Knights of the Road are always in favor with the women." "I know no women," said Robin roughly. "Certainly none that would come here to see me." "Well, shall this one come in?" demanded the jailer. "I’ll warrant she’s young and pretty, and a real lady, too! She came in a chair!" "Oh! let her in, let her in. Pray don’t keep a real lady waiting in the passage," said Robin, who foresaw some begging petition, or, perhaps, the request of some frolicsome damsel for a lock of his hair for her album, or a bequest of the rope that hanged him, for luck! "Be seated, Madam," he added, as a slender figure, wrapped in a heavy cloak and closely veiled, glided timidly into the cell. "What service can I render you?" "Can I have a few words alone with you?" murmured the visitor. The jailer, who had been hanging round, curious to see and hear, withdrew, with a laugh and a coarse jest, and locked the door after him. The lady threw off her veil, revealing the homely features and sparkling eyes of Margaret Moffat. "You know me not," she said. "Yet we have met before, Robin Freemantle." "I can not believe," replied Robin gallantly, "that, once seen, you could ever be forgotten by me." "Well, possibly you did not see me; one far more attractive engrossed all your attention, and ’tis from her I come, to ask as favor from you, that which many of the highest in the land have offered in vain."