Cyril put out one slim hand to prevent him. "Wait for one moment," he said quietly, "you must hear what I have to say, and then we can arrange what to do. Durgo, you loved my father?" The negro nodded. "I would rather lose my life than see him dead." Cyril looked at him curiously. "Strange! I did not think that my father was a man to inspire such devotion." "He saved my life," said Durgo impressively. "Humph!" murmured Cyril under his breath. "I'll be bound if he did so, that he took back the full value of his heroic act." Bella looked pained. "Cyril, why do you speak in that tone of your father?" "Because I know him better than Durgo," he retorted. "My father is a--but that is neither here nor there"--he waved his hand impatiently. "Durgo, I am about to speak plainly. I see that you love my father, so I don't wish to hurt your feelings. All the same, I must tell you something about my father which you will not like." "Let me hear," said Durgo frowning, "and I can judge. But you are his son----" "And therefore should speak well of him," ended Cyril bitterly. "I wish I could, but I have suffered too much at my father's hands to have any love for him. However, I shall be as brief as possible." "And as kind," said Durgo meaningly. "And as kind as I can be," retorted the young man cynically; "although my father will be the first to laugh at the idea of my talking kindly of him." "He loves you," said the negro rebukingly. "Did he ever tell you that?" "No. He never mentioned your existence." "Judge then how he loves me," said Cyril coolly. "However, in spite of all, Edwin Lister is my father, so I shall speak as respectfully of him as I possibly can." He threw away a blade of grass he was chewing, and laughed ironically. Bella looked pained. "Cyril! Cyril! your own father!" "Quite so, dear. He is my father. I can say no more, and no less. As to what I know relative to this mystery, you shall hear." The sky had clouded over, and the sun no longer shone. The lark was silent, and a chill wind seemed to breathe over the golden broom and the yellow blossoms of the gorze. Bella shivered, as the change of temperature seemed to suit with cruel exactitude the cynical tones of her lover. She had never heard him talk in this way before, but then she knew very little about him, and absolutely nothing of his past life. Now she was about to hear it, and, from the hard expression of his face, she judged that the story he had to tell was not a pleasant one. As for Durgo, he waited silently, and nothing could be read of his feelings from the dark mask of his face. Edwin Lister had saved his life, and no matter what was said, Durgo did not intend to change his opinion of his master, as the finest man in the wide world.