She was true to her promise and while Macneillie was amusing everyone with stories of various _contretemps_ of stage life, she contrived to carry off Ralph to see the invalided patriot; after which they had a cosy little talk in the drawing-room with no one but Baby Donal, a sturdy little man of three, to keep them company. “Evereld has told me about yesterday afternoon,” said Mrs. Hereford, who was quite well aware that she must plunge boldly into the very heart of the matter and not wait for him to beat about the bush. “I should never have spoken so soon if it had not been for the thought of her Swiss tour with that knave and his solicitor,” said Ralph hotly. “Forgive me for the expression, but it is not too strong for him.” Mrs. Hereford laughed a little. “You needn’t measure your words so carefully; a Kelt is accustomed to much more fiery language than that. And you really think Sir Matthew Mactavish a knave? I confess he is a man I intuitively dislike, but I thought he was a great philanthropist and very much respected.” “So he is,” said Ralph, his face hardening, “but some day the world will find him out. Some day when he has ruined and murdered others as he ruined and murdered my father. What a mistake it is only to hang people who are taken red-handed! They should rather hang the speculators whose victims may be reckoned by hundreds. There are far more cruel ways of murdering people than by poison, or knives, or guns.” She had watched him closely as he spoke and saw that his wrath and indignation were genuine and deep. A great pity filled her heart, and she understood how intolerable it must seem to Ralph that the girl he loved should still be in the power of this despicable sham philanthropist. “I think you were quite right to speak to Evereld,” she said warmly. “And now that you have spoken, the worst of your anxiety ought to be over. The knowledge that you belong to each other will be strength to both of you.” All the bitterness died out of his face at her words, leaving it once more frank and boyish, and ingenuous as it was meant to be. The rasping sense of injustice had done some damage to his character, but the goodness of Macneillie and the gift of Evereld’s love had already done much to obliterate the traces of the evil influence. His heart went out now to the brave noble-minded woman who so readily gave him her thought and sympathy. “Evereld told me you would understand,” he said gratefully, “I don’t think I could have kept silent, but of course evil-minded people are sure to say that it is only her fortune I want.”