So anxious was I to hold Gertrude in my arms that I halted the Rippler before the gate of The Lodge and proposed, dripping as I was, to have an interview before driving on to the Robin Redbreast. I soon made my way to the door, and rang the bell. The house looked forlorn and dismal in the misty rain, and there was a chill in the atmosphere. But love cares very little for such discomforts, so I smiled gaily at Eliza when she appeared at the door. She was a sour-faced, elderly woman, with a silent tongue, and usually never opened her mouth, even to me, although I was a constant visitor. But on this occasion, with a somewhat disturbed face, she spoke eagerly and seemed pleased to see me. "Thank goodness you have come, sir," she whispered, with a backward glance, "I know you'll make him clear out." "Make who clear out, Eliza?" I asked, staring. "That Joseph, sir." "The gardener?" "Yes, sir. Ever since you have been away, he's been haunting the house. It's sheer lunacy, sir, but he's in love with Miss Gertrude, and follows her like a dog. An hour ago he forced himself into the house, and is now talking with her in the drawing-room, and--oh, sir," she caught hold of me, as I compressed my lips and strode past her, "don't anger him: he's a desperate man." "I'll break his neck," said I drily; "let me go, woman," and wrenching my sleeve from her grasp, I walked to the drawing-room door, and flung it open. "Cyrus!" Gertrude saw me at once, and flung herself across the long room to nestle in my arms, "I am so glad you are here. He--he"--she pointed to the gardener--"he's quite mad." Striver, dressed much the same as he had been when I interviewed him in the Mootley corner shop, stood sullenly at the end of the room. Apparently he had pinned Gertrude in a corner, but his turning to see who was entering had given her the chance, and now she was safe by my side. The fellow looked as handsome as ever, but his face was scarlet with anger, and his fists hung clenched by his side. Feeling myself to be the master of the situation I was comparatively cool. "What the devil do you mean, man?" I said, with pointed and intended insolence. "He is mad: he is mad," cried Gertrude, clinging to me, and replying for the man, who still kept a sullen silence. "He forced his way into the house and has been saying dreadful things." "Things you cannot deny," said Striver, moistening his dry lips with his tongue. "Mr. Vance, you had better keep out of this, or it will be the worse for her," and he pointed to Gertrude. I removed her arms from my neck and walked straight across the room. Before Striver was aware of my intention I had my hands on his throat and was shaking him as a terrier does a rat. With desperate efforts he tried to tear away my grasp, but could not do so, and his face was rapidly turning black with strangulation, when Gertrude ran to my side. "Don't kill him, for God's sake, Cyrus."