In that moment of resentment against the tyranny of his employer, he forgot all the dangers which the Secret House threatened; all its swift and wicked vengeance. He only knew, with the instinct of a beast of prey who saw its quarry stolen under its very eyes, the loss which this man was inflicting upon him. Five minutes later he was in Brakely Square with the girl. She was pale and worried; there were dark circles round her eyes which spoke eloquently of a sleepless night. "I do not know what to do," she said. "I am very fond of Frank. I can speak to you, can I not, Count Poltavo?" "You may confide in me absolutely," he said, gravely. "And yet I am not so fond of him," she went on, "that I can marry him yet." "Then why do you?" he asked. "How can I disobey this?" She held the letter out. He took it from her hand with a little smile, walked to the fireplace and dropped it gently upon the glowing coals. "I am afraid you are not carrying out instructions," he said, playfully. There was something in this action which chilled her; he was thinking more of his safety and his duty to Farrington than he was of her, she thought: a curiously inconsistent view to take in all the circumstances, but it was one which had an effect upon her after actions. "Now listen to me," he said, with his kindly smile; "you have not to trouble about this; you are to go your own way and allow me to make it right with Farrington. He is a very headstrong and ambitious man, and there is some reason perhaps why he should want you to marry Doughton, but as to that I will gain a little more information. In the meantime you are to dismiss the matter from your mind, leaving everything to me." She shook her head. "I am afraid I cannot do that," she said. "Unless I have a letter from my guardian expressing wishes to the contrary, I must carry out his desires. It is dreadful--dreadful,"--she wrung her hands piteously,--"that I should be placed in this wretched position. How can I help him by marrying Frank Doughton? How can I save him--can you tell me?" He shook his head. "Have you communicated with Mr. Doughton?" She nodded. "I sent him a letter," she hesitated. "I have kept a draft of it; would you like to see it?" A little shade of bitter anger swept across his face, but with an effort he mastered himself. "I should," he said, evenly. She handed the sheet of paper to him.