‘Yes, father.’ The voice betrayed no shadow of reluctance. ‘It has been my cherished scheme for years—even when he was a friendless outcast. I would for some reasons he were still poor and friendless, so that my wealth might enrich him. But now I shall see you reigning as queen at Ladywell Manor.’ Roma’s face grew cold and haughty, yet her voice was gentle—even playful. ‘Perhaps he may have other views himself, father. I am not the only woman in the world.’ The blind man shook his head with a gentle smile of certainty. He had all the quiet egotism of a nature wrapped up in itself—of a man whose will had never been crossed, because he had never mingled with his fellows. ‘No, Roma. I have read his nature already. I can bend him to my will. But it will not be needed, I think. He has seen you. He will see you again. That will be enough. Roma, you must do your part. I shall expect it of you.’ ‘Yes, father.’ He put up his hand and took hers caressingly. ‘You are quite heart-whole, my child? You have never loved any man except your old father?’ Her eyes softened with unspeakable tenderness. ‘Never, father—never, never!’ she answered passionately; ‘and I do not think I ever shall.’ He smiled like a man well pleased. ‘Oh yes, you will, my little Roma. You will love your husband, and make him a good wife, as my daughter should do. You will love him when you are married, Roma. Love should come after marriage, not before, if it is to last.’ CHAPTER VIII. A TALK IN THE TWILIGHT. At last Maud’s cherished dream was realized, and she found herself at Ladywell Manor, reigning there supreme, with only gentle Aunt Olive for guide and companion. The beautiful house, with its great rooms and wide corridors, seemed like a palace to her; and the luxury and costliness of her surroundings were delightful, after the somewhat sordid treatment she had received at Thornton House. Such a brother and such a nephew had never, surely, existed before; of this fact Maud and her aunt were from the first quite convinced; and they grew more and more certain of it, when they found, each day, fresh proofs of his generosity and care. Tor, it must be confessed, spent Phil’s money somewhat lavishly; but, all the same, it was not reckless or thoughtless expenditure. During the ten years that the two friends had travelled together, it had pleased Phil to keep a rough estimate of the amount he owed Tor, so that when his fortune was made (by the finding of gold or diamonds, by some enormous legacy, or some marvellous stroke of fortune), he should know how much he must pay back to his friend.