“Nothing will ever induce you to change your mind?” she asked, slowly.

“No, nothing in the wide world.”

She paused for a few minutes, then she quietly lifted her arm from the chair.

“Has it ever struck you,” she said, “it may be in my power to do you deadly mischief?”

“I never thought you capable of such a thing, nor do I believe that it is in your power.”

“It is,” she said; “you and your sister are both in my power.  If you are a wise man, you will take my terms and save yourself while there is time.  Of course, if I were Lady Trevelyan, my interests would be yours; then, if I knew anything against your welfare, I should keep the secret faithfully—­ah! a thousand times more faithfully than if it concerned my own life.”

She looked earnestly at me.

“You hold no secrets of mine, Coralie.  I have no secrets.  Thank God, my life is clear and open—­a book any one may read.  Supposing I had a secret, I should not purchase the keeping of it by any such compromise as you suggest.  I detest all mysteries, Coralie—­all underhand doings, all deceit.  Speak out and tell me, Coralie, what you mean.”

“I shall speak out when the time comes.  Once more, Cousin Edgar, be reasonable; save yourself—­save me.”

She withdrew some steps from me, and looked at me with her whole soul in her eyes.

“I will not hear another word, Coralie.  I do not wish to offend you, or to speak harshly to you; but this I do say—­if ever you mention this, to me, hateful subject, I will never voluntarily address you again—­never while I live.”

She made no answer.  She turned, with a dignified gesture, and quitted the room.

I never gave one serious thought to her threats, looking upon them as the angry words of an angry woman.  They did not even remain upon my mind or disturb my rest.

CHAPTER XI.

On the following day Lady Thesiger had arranged to come to Crown Anstey with Agatha, for the purpose of choosing from some very choice engravings that had been sent to me from London.  I asked Sir John to accompany them and stay at lunch.  It was always a red-letter day to me when my darling came to my house, and I remember this one—­ah, me!—­so well.  It was fine, clear and frosty; the sky was blue; the sun shone with that clear gold gleam it has in winter; the hoar frost sparkled on the leafless trees and hedges; the ground was hard and seemed to ring beneath one’s feet.

“A bright, clear day,” said Coralie, as we sat at breakfast together.

“Yes,” I replied.  “Coralie, will you see that a good luncheon is served today?  Sir John and Lady Thesiger are coming—­Miss Thesiger, too—­and they will remain for lunch.”

Her face cleared and brightened.

“Coming today, are they?  I am very glad.”

I looked upon this as an amiable wish to atone for the unpleasantness of last night, and answered her in the same good spirit.