And then suddenly she began to speak in a full, quiet voice that penetrated the deep hush with a bell-like clearness.

“Men,” she said, “it is very kind of you to cheer me, but you will never do it again.  I have something to tell you.  I don’t know in the least how you will take it, but I hope you will manage to forgive me if you possibly can.  Mr. Green is your friend, and he knows nothing about it, so you will acquit him of all blame.  The deception is mine alone.  I deceived him, too.  I know you all hate the Farringmores, and I daresay you have reason.  You have never spoken to any of them face to face, before, because they haven’t cared enough to come near you.  But—­you can do so to-night if you wish.  Men, I am—­Lord Wilchester’s sister.  I was—­Joanna Farringmore.”

She ceased to speak with a little gesture of the hands that was quite involuntary and oddly pathetic, but she did not turn away from her audience.  Throughout the deep silence that followed that amazing confession she stood quite straight and still, waiting, her face to the throng.  A man was standing immediately behind her and she was aware of him, knew without turning that it was Saltash; but the one being in all the crowded place for whose voice or touch in that moment she would have given all that she had neither spoke nor moved.  And her brave heart died within her.  If he had only given some sign!

A hoarse murmur broke out at the back of the great barn, spreading like a wave on the sea.  But ere it reached the men in front who stood sullenly dumb, staring upwards, Saltash’s hand closed upon Juliet’s arm, drawing her back.

“After that, ma chere,” he said lightly into her ear, “you would be wise to follow the line of least resistance.”

She responded to his touch almost mechanically.  The murmur was swelling to a roar, but she scarcely heard it.  She yielded to the hand that guided, hardly knowing what she did.

As Saltash led her to the back of the platform she had a glimpse of Dick’s face white as death, with lips hard-set and stern as she had never seen them, and a glitter in his eyes that made her think of onyx.  He passed her by without a glance, going forward to quell the rising storm as if she had not been there.

The man in the leather coat was with him.  He had taken off his mask, and he paused before Juliet—­a cynical smile playing about his face.  It was a face of iron mastery, of pitiless self-assertion.  The eyes were as points of steel.

He bent towards her and spoke.  “I thought I should find you sooner or later, Lady Jo.  I trust you have enjoyed your game—­even if you have lost your winnings!”

She spoke no word in answer, but she made a slight, barely perceptible movement towards the man whose hand upheld her.

And Yardley laughed—­an edged laugh that was inexpressibly cruel.

“Oh, go to the devil!” said Saltash with sudden fire.  “It’s where you belong!”