“I am not thinking of you,” he answered grimly; “by heaven I honour you for what you have done, for however much I may disagree with the act, it is a noble one.  I am thinking of the man who could drive such a bargain with any woman.  You say that you have promised to marry him should he ever be in a position to claim it.  What do you mean by that?  As you have told me so much you may as well tell me the rest.”

He spoke clearly and with a voice full of authority, but his bearing did not seem to jar upon Ida.

“I meant,” she answered humbly, “that I believe—­of course I do not know if I am right—­I believe that Mr. Cossey is in some way entangled with a lady, in short with Mrs. Quest, and that the question of whether or no he comes forward again depends upon her.”

“Upon my word,” said the Colonel, “upon my word the thing gets worse and worse.  I never heard anything like it; and for money too!  The thing is beyond me.”

“At any rate,” she answered, “there it is.  And now, Colonel Quaritch, one word before I go in.  It is difficult for me to speak without saying too much or too little, but I do want you to understand how honoured and how grateful I feel for what you have told me to-night—­I am so little worthy of all you have given me, and to be honest, I cannot feel as pained about it as I ought to feel.  It is feminine vanity, you know, nothing else.  I am sure that you will not press me to say more.”

“No,” he answered, “no.  I think that I understand the position.  But, Ida, there is one thing that I must ask—­you will forgive me if I am wrong in doing so, but all this is very sad for me.  If in the end circumstances should alter, as I pray heaven that they may, or if Mr. Cossey’s previous entanglement should prove too much for him, will you marry me, Ida?”

She thought for a moment, and then rising from the seat, gave him her hand and said simply: 

“Yes, I will marry you.”

He made no answer, but lifting her hand touched it gently with his lips.

“Meanwhile,” she went on, “I have your promise, and I am sure that you will not betray it, come what may.”

“No,” he said, “I will not betray it.”

And they went in.

In the drawing-room they found the Squire puzzling over a sheet of paper, on which were scrawled some of George’s accounts, in figures which at first sight bore about as much resemblance to Egyptian hieroglyphics as they did to those in use to-day.

“Hullo!” he said, “there you are.  Where on earth have you been?”

“We have been looking at the Castle in the moonlight,” answered Ida coolly.  “It is beautiful.”

“Um—­ah,” said the Squire, dryly, “I have no doubt that it is beautiful, but isn’t the grass rather damp?  Well, look here,” and he held up the sheet of hieroglyphics, “perhaps you can add this up, Ida, for it is more than I can.  George has bought stock and all sorts of things at the sale to-day and here is his account; three hundred and seventy-two pounds he makes it, but I make it four hundred and twenty, and hang me if I can find out which is right.  It is most important that these accounts should be kept straight.  Most important, and I cannot get this stupid fellow to do it.”