“You never told me so.”

“Because you did not believe me to be your friend until quite recently.  I hope I have now proved what I have asserted.  If I can do anything to assist you I am only too ready.  I assure you that you have only to command me.”

Sir Henry reflected deeply for a few moments.  The discovery that his daughter was playing him false caused within him a sudden revulsion of feeling.  Unfortunately, he could not see the expression upon the countenance of his false friend.  He was wondering at that moment whether he might entrust to him a somewhat delicate mission.

“Gabrielle shall not return here,” her father said, as though speaking to himself.

“That is a course which I would most strongly advise.  Send the girl away,” urged the other.  “Evidently she has grossly betrayed you.”

“That I certainly intend doing,” was the answer.  “But I wonder, Flockart, if I might take you at your word, and ask you to do me a favour?  I am so helpless, or I would not think of troubling you.”

“Only tell me what you wish, and I will do it with pleasure.”

“Very well, then,” replied the blind man.  “Perhaps I shall want you to go to Paris at once, watch the actions of young Murie, and report to me from time to time.  Would you?”

A look of bright intelligence overspread the man’s features as a new vista opened before him.  Sir Henry was about to take him into his confidence!  “Why, with pleasure,” he said cheerily.  “I’ll start to-morrow, and rest assured that I’ll keep a very good eye upon the young gentleman.  You now know the painful truth concerning your daughter—­the truth which Lady Heyburn has told you so often, and which you have never yet heeded.”

“Yes, Flockart,” answered the afflicted man, taking his guest’s hand in warm friendship.  “I once disliked you—­that I admit; but you were quite frank the other day, and now to-night you have succeeded in making a discovery that, though it has upset me terribly, may mean my salvation.”

CHAPTER XXI

THROUGH THE MISTS

Sir Henry refused to speak with his daughter when, on the following morning, she stole in and laid her hand softly upon his arm.  He ordered her, in a tone quite unusual, to leave the library.  Through the morning hours she had lain awake trying to make a resolve.  But, alas! she dared not tell the truth; she was in deadly fear of Flockart’s reprisals.

That morning, at nine o’clock, Lady Heyburn and Flockart had held hurried consultation in secret, at which he had explained to her what had occurred.

“Excellent!” she had remarked briefly.  “But we must now have a care, my dear friend.  Mind the girl does not throw all prudence to the winds and turn upon us.”

“Bah!” he laughed, “I don’t fear that for a single second.”  And he left the room again, to salute her in the breakfast-room a quarter of an hour later as though they had not met before that day.