He began to feel as if the net he had spread for others was becoming entangled about himself, and the chains which he had prepared for our heroine were beginning to gall him severely. Cupid was busy at work, but—would he win? Enid Chichester wept unrestrainedly for a few moments. The hope was so unexpected, she had schooled her heart so long to bear her lot, that this sudden rift in the clouds, revealing the brightness beyond, was too dazzling to her sorrow-shadowed soul, wholly overpowering her. At last she started suddenly, and said, in a quivering, grateful voice: “Oh, Mr. Moulton! it was so unexpected I could not help it, and you have my deepest gratitude, even though you should not succeed.” The look which she shot at him contained something stronger than mere gratitude. “I am a stranger to you, Miss Chichester. Are you sure that you can trust yourself to me. I fear you look upon me as being really better than I am,” he said, searching her face closely, and with a rather remorseful tone. “I know I can,” she answered, confidently. “But should I happen to do something, between this and the time that I could effect your escape, that seemed to you most unworthy—that would merit perhaps your sternest disapprobation—what then?” She looked at him for a moment, with a puzzled air, then smilingly replied: “If you should—if I should be very, very much displeased with you for anything you might do, still I should feel that there was some good in you—that you were noble and kind at heart—and I should not fear to trust you.” “I thank you, and bless you for your words. I feel them more deeply than I can express,” returned Ralph, the tears actually springing to his eyes at so much trust and confidence. He pressed her little hand reverently, and hearing footsteps approaching, he hastily left her, saying he would see her again, and passed on to his room, sadder and more dissatisfied with himself than he had ever been in his life. He was not all bad, as she had said. There was a germ of truth and goodness within his heart which, if nourished and tended in the sunshine of purity and love, might yet bloom with beauty and fragrance. CHAPTER XXVII. “I AM ONE OF THEM.” Early on the morning of the same day on which Ralph imparted his diabolical design to our heart-broken heroine, two men sat in the room back of the one which was occupied by Squire Moulton and his nephew, at the inn before spoken of. We recognize them at once—one as its former occupant, Ronald Edgerton, who now sits without his previous disguise; and the other as Fredrich Weimher, Dora’s former friend and lover. The latter had only a few days before returned from his foreign tour, and immediately on arriving, his first inquiry had been for his old friend, Robert Ellerton.