“I’ve known her long enough.”

“Well, tell me whether I am correct in my estimate of her character.  If I am, I do not fear.  She’s very clear-headed, sharp, and clever; a hater of humbug, a despiser of cant.”

“True enough; but what’s this got to do with the matter?”

“In spite of this, however,” went on Voltaire without heeding Miss Staggles’ query, “she has a great deal of romance in her nature; has a strong love for mystery, so much so that she is in some things a trifle superstitious.”

“I can’t say as to that, but I should think you are correct.”

“Then she’s a young lady of very strong likes and dislikes, but at bottom is of a very affectionate nature.”

“Affectionate to nearly every one but me,” muttered Miss Staggles.

“She is intensely proud—­”

“As Lucifer!” interrupted Miss Staggles.  “This is her great weakness,” went on Voltaire.  “Her pride will overcome her judgment, and because of it she will do things for which she will afterwards be sorry.  Is this true?”

“True to the letter.  You must be a wizard, Herod Voltaire, or you couldn’t have summed up her disposition so correctly.”

“Her sense of honour is very great.  She would sacrifice her happiness to do what was thought to be honourable.”

“I believe she would.”

“Then my path is marked out,” said he, savagely.

From that time I could catch nothing of what was said, although they conversed for five minutes at least.  But it was in whispers, so low that I could not catch a word.

Presently they got up and went away, while I, with aching head and fast-beating heart, tried to think what to do.  Everything was mystery.  I could not see a step before me.  Why should Miss Staggles be so willing to help Herod Voltaire, and what were the designs in his mind?  What was his purpose in getting at a correct estimate of Miss Forrest’s character?

I went to the house pondering these things in my mind, and, arriving there, heard the hall clock strike the quarter, from which I knew it was a quarter past six.  We were to dine at seven that day, and, as I did not usually make an elaborate toilette, I knew I had plenty of time.  I felt I could not go in for a few minutes; my brain seemed on fire.  I turned to take a walk towards the park gates, when I heard a footstep, and turning, saw Simon Slowden.

“Can you give me ten minutes before dinner, sur?” he said.

“I dare say,” I said.

He led me into the room in which we had spoken together before.  “There’s something wrong, yer honour,” he said in a low voice.

“How do you know?”