Brenda returned to Kensington with a feeling of dread. It was apparent that Van Zwieten knew something detrimental to her father, but she had grave doubts whether he could use his knowledge. He would have used it before, she thought, had it been a weapon of any strength. As to Harold, she could not conjecture what Van Zwieten's threat implied. He certainly had not killed Malet, nor, on the face of it, did he know anything about the matter. She looked forward anxiously to his arrival with the intention of warning him against his enemy. Only if there was perfect confidence between him and herself could they hope to baffle the wicked schemes of the Dutchman. But Harold seemed to avoid her, and as he had apparently something to conceal, she could not assure herself that he would confide everything to her. In that case Van Zwieten might succeed in implicating him, for she deemed him no match for the Dutchman single-handed. The days passed, and she counted every hour, anxious for that one which would bring her lover to her arms. At length he came one afternoon. She found him looking pale and haggard as with mental torture. She uttered no word of reproach, but threw herself into his arms. He strained her almost fiercely to his breast and covered her face with kisses. They were alone in the drawing-room, as Mrs. St. Leger was out shopping and the colonel was holding forth at his club. For some minutes neither of them spoke. It was Brenda who first broke the silence. "My darling, how glad I am to see you again," she said, looking tenderly into his dark face. "Oh, why did you leave me so cruelly--so suddenly, at Chippingholt?" "I thought you'd ask that," replied he, with an effort to appear gay. "Well, dear, it was for two reasons; in the first place, I was recalled suddenly by my colonel, and besides that I had bad news and did not dare to tell you." "Oh, Harold, as though I could not bear anything for your sake. From whom did you have bad news?" "Fran Van Zwieten, strange to say." She withdrew herself suddenly from her lover's arms, and a feeling of terror came over her. Van Zwieten again--the man seemed to be her evil genius. "What is the bad news?" she asked faintly. "Malet gambled away my twenty thousand pounds. I have nothing but my small income!" CHAPTER IX. MRS. ST. LEGER IS DISCREET. "Is that all?" asked Brenda, drawing a breath of relief. "Oh, you stupid boy, did you run away because you were afraid to tell me that?" Captain Burton stared and drew a breath also--one of amazement. "Well, it's hard to understand a woman," he said, half smiling, half annoyed. "I made sure you'd cry your eyes out when you heard. Don't you understand, Brenda, what it means? If we are to marry at all, it must be on our five hundred a year?"