At first I did not know what to do. On an impulse I was for setting out for the woods, there to find Arnold Millard, and acquaint him with what had happened. But in the very act of doing that I drew back, trembling; for I seemed to know what must inevitably happen then. Living, as I seemed to do, in the intimate thoughts and hopes and hatreds of the boy, I knew that what must happen would be an encounter between Murray Olivant and the younger man; and whatever punishment must be meted out to Olivant must, I felt, be left to me, and not to the boy. Before I stirred at all in the matter I must have time to think, and I must, above all, find out whether Murray Olivant was still in the house. I could not, of course, get into the house again in the ordinary way; I must needs creep about the grounds, and watch. I went round to the terrace, and drew near enough to look in at the windows, and to see Lucas Savell sitting alone in the room, with his hands folded on his lap, and his head nodding to slumber. I tried gently to unfasten one of the long French windows, but in vain; and I was just turning away, when I saw him wake up, and shake his head, and blink his eyelids, and look about him. I saw him go to the door of the room, and apparently call out to some one in the house; then come back, closing the door after him. He made straight for the windows, and I was only just in time to draw back out of the way. After fumbling for a moment or two with the fastenings, he got the window open, and called out into the dark garden-- "Barbara! Barbara! What's become of you?" There was no answer, and he stood for a moment fretfully muttering to himself. I was so close to him that I heard him say that no one ever attended to his wants, and that he was a poor neglected creature, and he wished that he was dead. While he stood there, the door of the room was opened, and Olivant came in. "What are you bawling about?" I heard him ask. Savell turned away from the window, leaving it open. "I want Barbara," he said peevishly. "She knows I want her at this time; there are lots of things she has to attend to that no one else can attend to. I'm actually left here--a poor invalid--with nothing to drink. It's a shame!" "You're not likely to see your precious Barbara again--at all events for a long time," said Murray Olivant, leaning against a table, and looking at the other man. "So make up your mind to that." "Eh?" Savell stared at him, with a frightened look on his face. "What do you mean?" "I mean that the lady has taken matters into her own hands, and has run away with that scoundrelly half-brother of mine--young Millard," said Olivant slowly. "He's been hanging about here for a long time--before ever he came to dinner at all--and I've been afraid that something of this sort would happen. It's a pity; because I had a better fate in store for the girl, as you know."