"I am here to defend him too," said the vicar, taking and kissing the hand extended to him; and as he did so the door softly opened, and Eve glided into the room, to half shrink back and retire; but on hearing the vicar's words she sank into a seat as if unnerved, and the conversation went on. "Tell me now, what is the danger?" said Mrs Glaire. "It is this," said the vicar; "I am firmly persuaded that this house is a sanctuary, and that for the sake of yourself and your niece, Mr Richard Glaire is safe so long as he stays here." "And he will stay here till I can bring him to reason about these people. I would pay the money he demands at once, but he insists that it shall be the hard earnings of his workmen themselves, and I am powerless." "I am willing to lend the men the amount myself, but they will not take it, and I am afraid it would not be received if its source were known." "No," said Mrs Glaire, "you must not pay it. My son would never forgive you. But go on." "I repeat," said the vicar, "that your son is safe while he remains here." "And I say that he shall stay," said Mrs Glaire sharply. "He shall not leave. He has no intention of leaving." "He has made up his mind, it seems, to leave by the mail-train to-night," said the vicar; and as the words left his lips, and Mrs Glaire started into a sitting position, a faint cry behind made them turn round, and the vicar had just time to catch Eve in his arms, as she was gliding to the floor. "Poor child!" he muttered, as he held her reverently, and then placed her in a reclining chair, while a shadow of pain passed across his face, as he felt for whom this display of trouble and suffering was caused. "It is nothing, nothing, Mr Selwood--aunt," faltered Eve, fighting bravely to over come her weakness; "but, aunt, you will not let him go. Mr Selwood, you will not let him be hurt." "No, my child, no," he said sadly, "not if my arm can save him." "Thank you; I knew you would say so, you are so brave and strong," she cried, kissing his hand; and as her lips touched the firm, starting veins, a strange hot thrill of excitement passed through his nerves, but only to be quenched by the bitter flood of misery that succeeded it; and then, making a mighty effort over self, he turned to Mrs Glaire, who was speaking: "But are you sure--do you think it is true?" she exclaimed. "I believe it," he said quietly; "and it is absolutely necessary that he should on no pretence leave the house." "And who says I am to be a prisoner?" asked Richard, entering the room. "I, for one," said the vicar, "if you value your safety, I may say your life." "And by what right do you come meddling again with my private affairs?" said Richard, offensively. "The right of every man who sees his neighbour's life in danger to come and warn him." "Then don't warn me," said Richard; "I don't want warning. It's all rubbish."