“Gone away! Oh, indeed! That is good; that is very clever! You have arranged that very well. Yesterday he was too ill to see me--to answer one little question. To-day he is well enough to travel--he is gone away. Good! he has gone. I can follow.” She pursed up her lips and nodded her head at me vigorously. She was white with rage. “You are welcome to do anything which seems reasonable to you,” I answered, with at any rate a show of firmness. “Mr. Deville, I will say good afternoon. It is time I was at home.” He kept by my side with the obvious intention of seeing me to the gate; but as we passed the girl she took hold of his arm. “No! I say no! You shall not leave me like this! You are treating me shamefully, Mr. Deville. Am I not right? That girl is hiding her father from me. She is helping him away that he may not tell me of the man who killed my brother! You will take my part; you have always said that you were sorry for me. Is every one to be my enemy? You too! It is justice that I want! That is all!”? He threw her delicately gloved hand off roughly. “What nonsense!” he declared. “I have been sorry for you, I am sorry for you now; but what on earth is the good of persecuting Miss Ffolliot in this manner? Her father has been ill, and of course he has not desired to be bothered by strangers. You say you wanted to ask him a question. Be reasonable; he has answered it by letter. If you saw him, he could only repeat his answer. He has only been here for a few months. I have lived here all my life, and I tell you that there is no one by the name of Maltabar in the county.” “There was the photograph in that cabinet,” she persisted--”within a few yards of the spot where he was killed. I know that Philip Maltabar hated him. I know that he would have killed him if he could.” “But what has all this to do with Mr. Ffolliot?” he persisted. “Well, I begged him to see me,” she urged, doggedly. “He is the clergyman of the parish, and he certainly ought to have seen me if I wished it. I don’t understand why he should not. I want advice; and there are other things I wanted to see him about. I am sure that he was kept away from me.” “You are very silly indeed,” Bruce Deville said, emphatically. “Surely his health was more important than the answering a question for you which has already been answered by people in a much better position to know. As to advice, mine has always been at your service. I have been ready to do anything for you in reason.” “You have been very good,” she said, with trembling lips, “but----” “You must excuse me now,” he interrupted, “I have something to say to Miss Ffolliot.” “I am going in,” I answered. “Please do not come any further. Goodbye.” I nodded to him, the girl I ignored. If a glance could have killed me, I should have been a dead woman. I left them alone and went on up to the house. Somehow I did not envy her Mr. Deville’s society for the next quarter of an hour. CHAPTER XXII AN UNHOLY COMPACT