"All right!" he muttered within himself. "My hour has come. The vengeance
of the '_dog_' shall be complete! Oh, but how I will glory in _my_ triumph,
and the proud one's disgrace! I'll make her _feel_ what it is to insult a
nobleman by blood! Gods, how the memory burns my brain of that indignity!
An unknown girl to scorn and cast contumely upon one of England's line of
lords! This night be the stain wiped out!"

Lost! lost! _lost_! demon! from thy presence we turn away! Villain and
victim, there is a God above!

* * * * *

The morning dawned, and the sun rose as cloudless as though no deeds of
crime, needing the darkness to cover them, had been perpetrated on the
earth. The Waltons left with the company they expected to join at Pittsburg
on the succeeding day, not knowing that Durant had slept under the same
roof with them. No, not so fast. One of their number _did_ know the
fact--Ellen. Was it that knowledge that caused the paleness on her cheek,
that aroused the anxious solicitude of her tender and watchful parents?

"Are you sick, my daughter?" was the mother's affectionate inquiry. But she
was cheered by the assurance that there was no serious cause of alarm; and
that Ellen was only a little unwell. Without any mishap, they reached their
new home in Kentucky.

Two weeks had passed, and Eliza Fleming was still unmarried. During that
time, she had seen Durant but twice, and he appeared desirous of avoiding a
private interview. She was not slow to perceive this, and it filled her
mind with misgivings of his truth, or the sincerity of his protestations.
She demanded an interview; the demand was acceded to; and she said: