But he did take me to see Miss Destiny, and asked her graciously to The Lodge, rather to the annoyance of Gertrude, who had not much love for her miserly aunt. In fact while Monk remained in Burwain--which he did for quite a week--Miss Destiny hovered round the house like a bee round a flower. Once or twice I met her driving in her so-called trap--I agreed with Mrs. Faith that it was a cart--in the company of Lucinda, and she behaved pleasantly to me, although she could not deny herself the impish delight of hinting at my devotion to Gertrude. "Not that you'll ever marry her, Mr. Vance. Walter has other plans. She is to be used to forward his fortunes, as he wants money." I said nothing, but privately determined that the girl should not be sacrificed like a modern Iphigenia on the altar of selfish paternal desires. I kept my counsel, and let Monk talk as he pleased, and was unobtrusively agreeable to Gertrude. Miss Destiny I saw very little of. On the sixth day of Mr. Monk's stay in Burwain, I went one afternoon to The Lodge and found the little old lady in conversation with Striver. The handsome gardener was trying to evade the pertinacity of Miss Destiny, who insisted that he should look after her domain for nothing. "I am sure that my brother," so she spoke of Mr. Monk, "pays you well Joseph, so you can easily give a couple of hours a day to my little place." "I have my duties here," said Striver, scowling as I approached. "But if Mr. Monk gives me orders, I can arrange, for a certain sum." "Oh, I can't pay you a single penny," cried Miss Destiny shrilly. "It's not to be expected. But, if you come, you will find me a friend." "In what way?" asked the gardener, sharply, and not too politely. Miss Destiny did not answer in words. She looked at Striver, then looked at me, and finally glanced towards the house, where Gertrude was standing in the doorway. My rival flushed crimson, and I did also, as we both knew exactly what she meant. On seeing the tell-tale color, she burst into a roguish laugh, and walked towards the porch. A moment later, and she disappeared with her niece into the house. Striver and I looked at one another. "You have no right to come here," said the gardener, who looked handsomer than ever in his rough working clothes. "What do you mean, man?" "Oh, it's all very well calling me man in that lordly way," he said violently, "but I know quite well that you are in love with----" "There is no need to mention names," I interrupted, throwing up my hand, "and I forbid you to speak to me in this way." "_You_ forbid me," cried my rival, laughing bitterly, "as if I feared you, Mr. Cyrus Vance. You have more need to fear me. Yes. After all, I believe you know more about my aunt's death than you chose to say."