Lucy broke from Leslie, and with a cry of terror flung herself on Ralph's arm, and looked over her shoulder at Yorke's stern face.
Yorke stopped and started, his face grew red and then white, and he strode forward.
"What!" he cried, under his breath. "Are you——."
Ralph Duncombe put Lucy from him gently, and came a step forward to meet him.
"Yes," he said gravely, "my name is Ralph Duncombe."
"You!" said Yorke, as if his amazement over-mastered his anger. "Do you mean that it is you who bought up my debts and hunted me down?"
"It was I!" said Ralph stolidly.
"But—but——." Yorke groaned. "Why? Why, what harm did I ever do you? Why, man, I never saw you before to-day. I never saw your name until I read it in the writs! Why? Why?" and he stood with clenched hands, the veins standing out on his forehead.
Ralph bit his lip, but he looked full into Yorke's blazing eyes.
"Why did you do it?" demanded Yorke in a low voice, which was all the more ominous for its quietude. "What was I to you that you should concern yourself in my affairs? That you should try and ruin me? It was you who drove me——," he was going to say "into a marriage with Lady Eleanor," but he stopped himself in time. "Why did you do it?"