"But that she should get it!" cried Durban, shaking impotent fists in the air, "after all she has done. And I can do nothing to force her to be fair. Who would have thought the foul old thief would have squandered his gold on her silly face? I could----" Here he caught sight of the frightened looks of Beatrice, and let his hands fall. As he walked past Vivian towards the kitchen, he breathed a sentence in the young man's ear. "She may know much," said Durban imperatively, "but not all." "Great Heaven! Could I tell her all, do you think?" groaned the man. Beatrice caught the drift, if not the exact words of these whispers, and came towards Vivian. Durban was already within the kitchen, and had shut the door. The two were alone--she eager to know the worst; he silent, and tortured with much that he could not explain. "Vivian, Vivian," she continued, and laid her hand on his arm. He shook it off with a shudder. "My dear!" said Beatrice, shrinking back; "oh! my dear," and she stared with fast-locked hands. "Not that," whispered the man, with dry lips. "You might have called me so when we stood under the Witches' Oak, but now"--he made a despairing gesture--"that is all at an end." "Do you take back your proposal of marriage?" asked the girl, colouring. "I do, because I must." Vivian looked at her hungrily, as though he would have given his life to take her in his arms--as was, indeed, the case. "If I did not love you so much," he said hoarsely, "I would lie; but loving you as I do, I must speak the truth." "The whole of it?" she asked bitterly. "So much as I may tell Miss Hedge." "Miss Hedge?" "I have no right to call you otherwise now," said Paslow sadly. "I told you of a bar which prevented my asking you to be my wife?" "Yes; and you said that it had been removed." "I was wrong. It is not removed. I had no right to speak." "What is this bar?" "I cannot tell you, Beatrice." He caught suddenly at her hands. "If I could lie down and die at your dear feet, I would, for my heart is sick within me. I have sinned, and bitterly I am paying for my sin. When I spoke to you under the oak, I was then able to be your true lover, and hoped to be your loving husband. But now"--he flung away her hands--"that barrier which I thought removed, is still between us. I am not a free agent. I dare not ask you to be my wife." "But you have asked me, and I have consented," she panted, red with shame and anger. "Why are you playing with me like this?" "Why are the gods playing with both of us, you mean," he said, with a mirthless laugh. "Were you and I on the other side of the world, we might be happy--and yet, even then it would be impossible. I love you, but you have every right to hate me." "I don't understand one word you are talking about," said Beatrice sharply, and tried to resolve some sense out of his wild words. "Is it that you committed this crime?"