“I am sure you do,” she said wistfully, and impulsively half put out her hand.

He caught it as she was in the act of checking the action and drawing it back.  “You may be sure—­quite sure, of my devotion,” he said, and raised her hand to his lips.

An exclamation and a sudden start as the hand was quickly withdrawn made him look up.  Edith Morriston’s eyes were fixed with something like fear on an object behind him.  An intuition told him what it was before he looked round to see Henshaw, with his characteristic, rather stealthy walk, coming towards them.

Gifford set his teeth hard as the two faced round and awaited Henshaw’s approach.

“This man shall not annoy you,” he said in an undertone.

“Don’t quarrel with him, for heaven’s sake,” she entreated in the same tone, under her breath, as the disturbing presence drew near.  There was a strange excitement in her voice, though none in the set face.

“I think your brother is looking for you, Miss Morriston,” Henshaw said in his even voice when he was within a dozen paces of them.

“I was just going to look for him,” the girl replied in a voice strangely changed from that in which she had talked with Gifford.  “Isn’t it lucky?  Mr. Gifford has picked up in the garden a brooch I lost some days ago.  I did not dare to tell Dick, as it was his gift.”

Henshaw gave a casual glance at the ornament.  “I congratulate you,” he responded coolly.  Then Gifford saw his eyes seek hers as he added:  “Where was it found?  Near the tower?”

The covert malice of the insinuation was plain in the questioner’s look, although the tone was casual enough.

“No.  On the lawn,” Gifford replied quietly.

CHAPTER XIX

IN THE CHURCHYARD

Nothing more of importance happened that day at Wynford, and Gifford had no further opportunity of private talk with Edith Morriston.  But it was evident to him, and the knowledge gave him intense concern, that the girl went in fear of Gervase Henshaw.  That he was intimidating her, and using his brother’s death for that purpose, was beyond doubt, and the very fact that Edith Morriston was a woman of uncommon courage and self-control, one who in ordinary circumstances would be the last to give way to fear or submit to bullying, showed how serious the matter had become.

Gifford on his part determined that this intolerable state of things must come to an end, and that in spite of the command laid upon him by the girl, he would now pit himself against her persecutor.  He had given no actual promise, and even if he had it would have been drawn from him in ignorance of certain means which he possessed of help in this crisis.

And a significant circumstance which came to Gifford’s knowledge a day or two after his interview with Edith Morriston in the garden of Wynford, was the cause of his beginning to take action without further delay.