"WHEN ROGUES LIE AWAKE."
Up to this time the captain had been making holiday. He had been resting after his exertions for his country in the stone quarries at Portland, enjoying a little quiet repose amid the luxuries and beauties of the Park. But while he had been reposing he had not allowed himself to be lulled into a false sense of security.
He was fully aware that the position which he occupied at Penruddie was intangible and untenable.
He was, though John Mildmay's oldest and best-loved friend, only a visitor at the Park, and a guest of Mrs. Mildmay.
But the captain had determined from the first to change the position from that of a guest on sufferance to one of power and possession.
Captain Murpoint, as he leaned back in the carriage returning to the Park, watched from between his half-closed lids the thoughtful, pensive face of the girl who was usually so light-hearted, careless, and talkative.
"Is she in love with him?" he asked himself. "What a pity it is one cannot pick the secret chamber of a woman's heart as he picks a doorlock! I hope she may be; love is blind for all but the adored one, and Miss Violet's eyes will have no regard for me in my little game while they are fixed on the brave and stoical Leicester."
Poor Violet, it was not until some time afterward that she knew how cunning a spider was the considerate and well-bred Howard Murpoint.
Both the ladies were tired when they reached home, and ascended to their rooms, to which Captain Murpoint insisted upon carrying their silver candlesticks. Then, when he had heard the key turned in their respective chambers, he glided off to his own.
On the sofa sat Jem fast asleep, his head on his arm, and his thick, muscular hands—which still above the wrists bore the marks of the gang-chain—clinched at his side.