“For a time I lived in retirement, caring only for my child, teaching her, as she grew older, to hate all mankind but her father. I succeeded, as I thought. Then I left her at school, and set forth to strike another blow. I found my enemies gone, they had removed, and I feared to inquire of those who could have told me where, lest I should be recognized. “For years I hunted you—you and the Hawksleys. I did not find you until this spring. By chance I found this retreat, and fitted it up for use. Then I brought Lola here. You remember the excitement that she caused, as the strange rider—a better name would have been _decoy_, for that was her duty. I first gained her good views of those I hated—just how does not matter now. “Her first success was in luring Fred Hawksley here. Then I stole away his sister—your betrothed, as you say. _You_ came next. After you will come your sister Mary Colton. Then the rest of the Hawksleys. Before forty-eight hours roll by, all of those included in my vow of vengeance will be dead—_dead_, do you hear?” hissed Westmayer, in a low, malignant tone of voice. “But Fannie—you have not—” “It matters little to _you_ whether she be dead or not. If not, she will be, soon. So will you. But I need the fresh air. I leave you to think of what I have told you, and to compose your mind for what is to come. If you sleep, pleasant dreams—ha! ha!” and laughing malignantly, the monomaniac left the chamber. The conflicting emotions that racked Campbell’s mind on hearing this strange disclosure, can scarcely be imagined—most certainly not described. Besides clearing up the mystery that had enshrouded his father’s murder, it also revealed to him the full peril that threatened his own as well as the lives of his friends. So deeply buried was he in thought that he did not hear the soft footfall nor the faint rustle as Lola seated herself beside him. Her large, dark eyes were filled with a gentle light foreign to her fiery, passionate nature, and her cheek glowed with the swift flow of blood. As Campbell, aroused by that strange consciousness one feels when being fixedly gazed upon, raised his eyes, his face darkened with a frown. In a harsh tone he uttered: “Well, I am waiting—proceed. Of course you come here to tell me some frightful story of how I have wronged you, possibly through my great-grandchildren, or something of that sort, and that you have sworn deadly vengeance against me and mine. Proceed—but for pity’s sake, cut it short.” “You wrong me, Mr. Campbell,” and Lola’s voice sounded low and soft. “I am no enemy of yours—I would be your friend, if you would permit.” “My friend—and _his_ daughter?”