THE END
was a silent one; I did not dare to disturb it, and, for a while, only the gentle "hush—sh—sh" of the leaves, stirred by the evening breeze, broke the peaceful stillness of the glade.
Then we heard a murmur of voices, deep-toned and low. We could not hear the words spoken, though we both strained our ears, and presently Lady Molly arose and cautiously made her way among the trees in the direction whence the voices came, I following as closely as I could.
We had not gone far when we recognised the voices, and heard the words that were said. I paused, distinctly frightened, whilst my dear lady whispered a warning "Hush!"
Never in all my life had I heard so much hatred, such vengeful malignity expressed in the intonation of the human voice as I did in the half-dozen words which now struck my ear.
"You will give her up, or"
It was Mr. Felkin who spoke. I recognised his raucous delivery, but I could not distinguish either of the two men in the gloom.
"Or what?" queried the other, in a voice which trembled with either rage or fear—perhaps with both.
"You will give her up," repeated Felkin, sullenly. "I tell you that it is an impossibility—do you understand?—an impossibility for me to stand by and see her wedded to you, or to any other man for the matter of that. But that is neither here nor there,"
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