"If you married the man Lister," he reminded her. "Yes, he did say so, and declared also that he would give me the manor-house and the farm when he died, if I made you my wife." Bella shrugged her shoulders. "My father does not mean what he says," she remarked disbelievingly; "as I am his only child, the Solitary Farm, as they call it, comes to me in any case. And I see no reason why I should discuss my father's business with you. Stand aside and let me pass." "No." Silas was wonderfully brave for one of his timid soul. "You shall not pass until you learn the truth. You think that I am a fool and weak. I am not. I feel wise and strong; and I am strong--strong enough to withstand temptation, even when you are offered as a bribe." Bella grew somewhat alarmed. She did not like the glittering of his shallow, grey eyes. "You are mad." "I am sane; you know that I am sane, but you think to put me off by saying that I am crazy. I have had enough to make me so. Your father"--here his voice took on the sing-song pulpit style--"your father took me up to an exceedingly high mountain, and showed me the kingdoms of the world. All of them he offered me, together with you, if I murdered Lister." "What!" Bella's voice leaped an octave; "you--you--murder Cyril?" "Yes, Cyril, the man you love. And if I dared----" "Mr. Pence"--Bella saw the necessity of keeping herself well in hand with this hysterical youth, for he was nothing else, and spoke in a calm, kind voice--"my father has not seen Mr. Lister, and cannot hate him." "Go and ask him what he thinks," said Pence fiercely. "I tell you that to-day I was offered everything if I would kill this man Lister." "You are talking at random," she said soothingly; "go home, and lie down." "I am talking of what may come to pass. Your father wishes it, so why not, when I love you so deeply? I offer you the heart of an honest man, and yet you would throw that aside for this profligate." "Cyril is not a profligate," interrupted Bella, and could have bitten out her tongue for the hasty speech. "He is. He comes from London, the City of Evil, that shall yet fall like Babylon the Great. But your soul shall not be lost; you shall not marry him." "I shall!" cried Bella, indignantly, and becoming rash again in her anger; "and what is more, I am engaged to him now. So there! Let me pass." She slipped deftly past him, and walked swiftly homeward. Silas Pence stood where he was, staring after her, unable to speak or move or to follow. Then the sun sank, leaving him in the twilight of sorrow. CHAPTER III A TARDY LOVER