“You know what happened, Mr. Gifford, so I need not go through that.  The man showed himself the cowardly bully that he was.  Somehow up there alone with him, as at least I thought, in the dark, my courage gave way, and it was only when the man sought in his vehemence to take hold of me that anger and disgust cast out fear.  It was quite by accident that I touched and caught up the chisel lying on the window-sill.  As the man’s hand sought me it struck the edge of the chisel, and got a wound; that must have been how the blood came upon my dress.  He seized my arm, and after a struggle wrenched the implement away.  But I never struck him with it, far from giving him his death-blow.  The chisel was never in my hand afterwards.  When I rushed for the door in a sudden panic, for, knowing that I had hurt him, I believed the man in his rage might be capable of anything, and when in springing after me he stumbled and fell, the chisel must have been held by him edge upwards, and so pierced him to his death.”

“That, I am certain now,” Gifford said, “is what must have happened.”

“And you thought I had stabbed him?” the girl said with a reproachful smile.

“I hardly dare ask you to forgive me for harbouring such a thought,” he replied.  “Yet had it been true I, who had been a witness of the man’s vile conduct, could never have blamed you.  If ever an act was justifiable—­”

An elongated shadow shot forward on the ground in front of them.  Gifford stopped abruptly, and with an involuntary action his companion clutched his arm as both looked up expectantly.  Next moment Gervase Henshaw stood before them.

CHAPTER XXV

DEFIANCE

For some moments Henshaw did not speak; indeed, it was probable that the unexpected success of his search for Edith Morriston—­for such doubtless was his object—­had so disagreeably startled him, that he was unable to pull those sharp wits of his together at once.  But the expression which flashed into his eyes, and that came instantaneously, was of so vengeful and threatening a character, that Gifford felt glad he was there to protect the girl from her now enraged persecutor.

“I did not expect to find you here, Miss Morriston.”

The words came sharply and wrathfully, when the man had found his glib tongue.

Gifford answered.  “Miss Morriston and I have been enjoying the view and the air of the pines.”

The commonplace remark naturally, as it was intended, went for nothing.  Henshaw affected not to notice it.

“I am glad I have come across you, Miss Morriston,” he said, with an evident curbing of his chagrin, “as I have something rather important to say to you.”

“I am afraid I cannot hear it now, Mr. Henshaw,” the girl returned coldly.

Henshaw’s face darkened.  “I really must ask you to grant me an interview without delay,” he retorted insistently, as though secure in his sense of power over the girl.  “I am sure Mr. Gifford will permit—­”