The corners of the man’s mouth hardened.  He was about to speak and show himself in his true colours; but by dint of great self-control he managed to smile and exclaim, “Then you will take no heed of these wishes of the man who loves you so dearly, of the man who is still your best and most devoted friend?  You prefer to remain here, and wear out your young life with vain regrets and shattered affections.  Come, Gabrielle, do be sensible.”

The girl did not speak for several moments.  “Does Walter really wish me to return?” she asked, looking straight at him, as though trying to discern whether he was really speaking the truth.

“Yes.  He expressed to me a strong wish that you should either return to Glencardine or go and live at Park Street.”

“He wishes to see me?”

“Of course.  It would perhaps be better if you met him first, either down here or in London.  Why should you two not be happy?” he went on.  “I know it is my fault you are consigned to this dismal life, and that you and Walter are parted; but, believe me, Gabrielle, I am at this moment endeavouring to bring you together again, and to reinstate you in Sir Henry’s good graces.  He is longing for you to return.  When I saw him last at Glencardine he told me that Monsieur Goslin was not so clever at typing or in grasping his meaning as you are, and he is only awaiting your return.”

“That may be so,” answered the girl in a slow, distinct voice; “but perhaps you’ll tell me, Mr. Flockart, the reason you evinced such an unwonted curiosity in my father’s affairs?”

“My dear girl,” laughed the man, “surely that isn’t a fair question.  I had certain reasons of my own.”

“Yes; assisted by Lady Heyburn, you thought that you could make money by obtaining knowledge of my father’s secrets.  Oh yes, I know—­I know more than you have ever imagined,” declared the girl boldly.  “You hope to get rid of Monsieur Goslin from Glencardine and reinstate me—­for your own ends.  I see it all.”

The man bit his lip.  With chagrin he recognised that he had blundered, and that she, shrewd and clever, had taken advantage of his error.  He was, however, too clever to exhibit his annoyance.

“You are quite wrong in your surmise, Gabrielle,” he said quickly.  “Walter Murie loves you, and loves you well.  Therefore, with regret at my compulsory denunciation of yourself, I am now endeavouring to assist you.”

“Thank you,” she responded coldly, again turning away abruptly.  “I require no assistance from a man such as yourself—­a man who entrapped me, and who denounced me in order to save himself.”

“You will regret these words,” he declared, as she walked away in the direction of Woodnewton.

She turned upon him in fierce anger, retorting, “And perhaps you, on your part, will regret your endeavour to entrap me a second time.  I have promised to speak the truth, and I shall keep my promise.  I am not afraid to sacrifice my own life to save my father’s honour!”